I visited this village church during the Ledbury Poetry Festival. Tiny and crammed full of stuff, more like a shed than a church. I left this poem in the font.
This unvestried space from the 14th century,
when men of the cloth carried their accoutrements,
their tackle and garb, their tools of the trade.
In these times of outreach and accumulation
the House of God needs a utility room
for:
home-made marmalade,
gro-bags and jam jars,
cuddly toys to distract from the life hereafter,
teapot and chalice,
sacrament and jaffa cakes,
and enough j-cloths and sponges
to wipe away the sins of the world.
All are welcome here in God’s Conservatory.