On The Outskirts Of Crawley

 Crawley was a regular small town and then the railways came and then the airport came and then the planners earmarked it for development as a London overspill area. I've been through it a few times and have formed the opinion that it's not somewhere I'd care to live. This may be unkind and unfair but I doubt that I'll ever be in a position where I have the time and the inclination to wander about in it and do it justice.

We were in the outskirts yesterday to meet up with Ian and Jenny. Got off the train at Three Bridges, had lunch at a nice pub and visited the (basically Saxon) church of St Nicholas at Worth. I'd been to St Nicholas before- I'd have said quite recently but I looked it up and it was nine years ago- when I was a mere babe in arms of 64. My, my, my.....

Here's something I missed on that first visit, the expansive verse epitaph on the grave of John Alcorn, long time clerk and sexton of the parish, who died in 1868, aged 81.

Time honoured friend, for fifty-three full years,
He saw each Bridal's joy, each Burial's tears :
Within the walls by Saxons reared of old.
By the stone sculptured font of antique mould,
Under the massive arches in the glow.
Tinged by dyed sunbeams passing to & fro,
A sentient portion of the sacred place,
A worthy presence, with a well worn face.

The lych gate's shadow o'er his pall at last.
Bids kind adieu as poor old John goes past.
Unseen the path, the trees, the old oak door,
No more his foot-falls touch the tomb paved floor,
His silvery head is hid, his service done,
Of all those Sabbaths absent only one.
And now amidst the graves he delved around
He rests & sleeps, beneath the hallowed ground.

Charming, nest pas?

Here's a picture of the church interior looking west framed by the "massive" Saxon chancel arch...