6 May 1996

Then Stockerston, and trouble getting the key. Not in the new house. 'No, I haven't got it. Try the Hall.' So back we go to the Hall, where we were before, where we have already wandered in the yard looking at closed doors, green and white, with glass in them and without, and parked cars, but where nobody appeared, and there seemed to be no bells or knockers, no indication of which doors might lead to somewhere inhabited. This time we have to look closer. One bell. A young man and two spaniels emerge, and, with the key, which is a most promising big iron one, we go back to where Nigel and Kate are waiting on a bench by the porch.

There are no aisles, but rather chapels beyond the arcades. There are fine, heavy roofs, nave, chancel and chapels, a set of them. The brasses have been lifted and fixed on a board, which faces you as you come in. The figures are six feet tall and have notably vigorous hands. The scent is of woodworm killer. There is old glass in its original window. A frightfully active man is climbing half onto the recumbent cross to nail Christ down, stretching His arm out taut and thin. Here is an excellent St Christopher. But, close to the south wall of the chancel, near the altar step, is what we have come here for. A six foot, smoky grey-white marble slab, ...