By rail and coach, we managed to make it to our mother’s land. Ignoring all our usual instincts, we headed straight for the church. After meandering through the surrounding graveyard, we found a collection of familial gravestones in a little grove tucked behind the back corner of the building. Lots of fallen stones, one more recent (and intact) one listing the 15 or so interred there, which we took as an indication that somewhere, at some point, some members of our family actually attended church.
As we took our final picture, we heard a ‘caw’ from above… so quoth the raven (on commands from further above, we imagine).
Conveniently, there was a pub across the street (‘The King’s Head’). We strolled in and ordered a pint of the local ale (Lady Godiva—with a label very risqué by British standards). T’was a magnificent pub, resplendent in deep varnished wood, stone tile, and patterned maroon carpet, featuring a glorious set of juxtapositions: a pinball machine flashing the phrase “Bling Bling” among the aged pool tables and dart boards on the upper floor, a widescreen plasma TV above the fireplace below. There, we watched the races with the locals, who peppered the action with insights such as, ‘We’re getting lashed’ and ‘A horse farted’.
We got one more pint and summoned up our courage to ask the barmaid if she had heard of the family farm (under its most recent name). Stating that it sounded familiar, she proceeded to poll the other patrons, and a consensus was reached: we’d need to go to the top of the hill and turn right, but it was a little late and a little far to get there this particular evening. Stating that we’d just go and get a look-see, we strode to the top of the hill, knowing all the while that we’d be heading there posthaste.
After trudging along a ‘country road’ (read: no sidewalks), passing some other farms, and an ancient church bearing our given name, we reached another village and another glorious country pub. No one there had ever heard of it, so we decided it wasn’t meant to be (answering that age-old question) and got another pint from a tap adorned with a horseshoe.
We never did find the Stud Farm either, leading us to believe they may have been one and the same.
