All Saints' Anglican Church, Gresham, Norfolk

Our plans for today shifted a bit as a result of visiting some of my wife's relations. Instead of going to Sheringham, the town she calls home, we finished up going about six miles inland, to Gresham, where at least one of her brothers was born, and where her mother and father are buried in a churchyard, along with several other relations.

Part of the church is 1000 years old, dating from Saxon days, according to my brother-in-law. There's a large round tower, and at least two sections to the church, where an extension has been put on at a later date. Even the extension is very old.

While we were there, some workmen were doing repairs. This is an ongoing job, apparently, as the church requires some extensive renovation. However, it's still being used, and that's a plus in itself.

You can read about it in more detail here, especially about the octagonal baptismal font, which has renditions of the seven sacraments, plus Jesus' Baptism.

The graveyard had recently been mowed, mostly, and wet grass was everywhere, sticking to the soles of our shoes. The oldest gravestones seem to be from Victorian times, but that may only mean that earlier ones have vanished into the earth, or have been removed, or never existed in the first place. There are a number of recent headstones, since people still have connections with the place, and presumably they have family plots.

Such antiquity brings a sense of awe to people visiting, but awe of a different kind occurred when I rubbed my hand against some of the ancient beach stones that made up the round tower, and half of one fell out. Oh, dear. Celia picked it up and claimed it: a family heirloom, perhaps?