A Da Vinci Code Moment

Torrential rain fell from a brown-grey sky. Impromptuancient key.Eventually the key turned and I pushed
streams formed themselves inthe middle of the roads,open the heavy door. Immediately inside the door it
making driving difficult. It was very cold.I have often hadwas dark, and the darkness became intense after the
the experience, in my researches, of penetrating intodoor swung shut behind me. Moving forward, I entered
ever more remote areas of the county, only to findthe main body of the church where a brownish light
even more obscure communities that lie beyond. Justcame through the windows from the wet afternoon
as you think you know a region, it surprises you withsky. The rain thundered down on the roof.The interior
yet another aspect that appears, as if fromwas basically one large room divided into a nave and
nowhere.Such a district is the south-easternmost parta chancel. The furnishings were sumptuous Victorian,
of the escarpment (the hills peter out, but unexpectedlywith brass chandeliers suspended over the chancel like
appear again, at a lower level, hidden by trees). Thisgolden crowns (looking up at them through the murky
group of wooded hills is crossed by a confusing catslight I saw that they held candles, so yet another
cradle of lanes between two market towns. There isbuilding in the twenty-first century lit by candlelight).
an unsettling quality to the atmosphere in this locality,Some indifferent medieval wall paintings, preserved
almost a creepiness - not entirely unpleasant, but theremore for their great antiquity rather than any artistic
are places you would not want to stay after night hasmerit.I had walked about halfway down the length of
fallen. An example being the village I went to lastthe church, when my intuition told me, insistently:
Sunday.It comprised a tiny estate around ansomething is behind you . Looking round I saw the
Edwardian hall, the village all of a piece architecturally.upper half of the west end was filled by a gallery, and
The village was at the base of a small valley, with aon this gallery I could see dazzlingPre-Raphaelite
sluggish and meandering river going through it. Steepfigures (highly coloured with golden halos). In the gloom I
slopes to the sides of the valley, very green fields,thought for a moment (an unpleasant moment) the
hedgerows bordering the lanes with oak trees dottedfigures were alive (it was a real "Da Vinci Code"
along them (the trees so swathed in ivy they appearmoment!), until rationality gained control andI could see
to be choking). There were a few large farmhouses,that they were painted on a huge elaborate cabinet, of
and a short street of cottages, all built in a picturesqueimmense proportions, containing the church
style (knapped flints, redbrick quoins, high gables). Theorgan.Returning the key to the bungalow I again stood
cottages were physically small, but had a grandiosein the rain (not so heavy) while the old lady talked
appearance, as if they were miniature mansions - theabout the village. The parish had been dominated for
rooms inside these cottages must be miniscule(theover a century by a dynasty of Rectors who passed
picturesque life was always uncomfortable). Out in thethe Living down, father to son, in a sort of ecclesiastical
fields, placed strategically for theatrical effect, weremonarchy. The organ was one of the treasures of the
isolated cottages, now ruined and tumbledown, sheeparea, and had been brought to the church during the
looking inquisitively out of the gaping holes where theSecond World War when the village it was previously
front doors would have been.Crossing the river over alocated in had been taken over by the military. There
small humped-back bridge, I entered a world that washad been a long feud between the Rectors of the
cold, damp and beautiful. There was an extremelychurch and the lords of the manor, and one of the
sharp bend to the road, and then the little village streetmore irascible occupants of the Hall had been buried
with the main entrance to the hall at the end (the halljust inside the church door so that everyone entering
was a jewel of Edwardian architecture - anthe building stepped on his grave. I jotted down all her
expansive, self-satisfied sort of building, built for astories into my notebook, the falling spots of rain
banker in 1905 and allowed to run-down in recentmaking the ink run. Just as I was leaving I asked her
years following the death of a young heir in a carabout a reference I had read in an obscure local
crash). To one side of the hall gates was the church,history that the parish had once had two medieval
high on a bank, with a round tower and heavychurches, and that the ruins of the other church could
buttresses supporting thewalls.I got the key to thestill be seen."Ah, but it's no longer in ruins" she said
church from a nearby bungalow, standing in the rainmysteriously. "It's been restored in the last few years.
while the elderly lady searched for it, then continuing toThe restoration has been a labour of love by one man.
stand in the rain while she chatted about the village (IIt's up on the ridge by the old bridlepath. It's not easy to
was right about thehouses being damp - the closenessfind. You can't drive there, you'll have to park up at the
of the river and the canopy of trees create a denselyfield gate and walk."I wrote down her directions and a
moist environment). The grass was very spongy in therough map so that I could find the way if I ever
rain, and the path up to the church porch was slippery.returned to the village.
The lock was stiff, and I struggled for a while with the