All Saints’, Laxfield
A windy but delightful walk with Nick at Covehithe a week later redeemed my failure to explore the area on the day of my concert. I was introduced to the coastal plant ‘Alexanders’ – a strange name in both its first and last letters (a capital A, and an ‘s’, even in the singular). Nick told me its name, and I told him it was edible, having heard it mentioned in the context of foraging. I couldn’t remember enough about its edibility to suggest picking some; but now, having done my homework, I will certainly not walk past it again without doing so.
Our walk was followed by a heavenly vegetable lunch at Darsham Nurseries café, and then we decided on Laxfield for an afternoon church visit, after passing by Nick’s house to pick up my cello. I had driven through the village various times, but it always seemed to be late afternoon or early evening when I had run out of stamina and wanted to get home. It had obviously never made enough impression on me to include it in my day’s plans, probably because it was in the centre of the village and looked large, with a cramped churchyard, none of which qualities particularly attract me. But this is simply because I’ve been spoilt with tiny and remote churches. In the grand scheme of England’s church settings, Laxfield’s is a lovely one, and its interior soon had me feeling ashamed of my prejudices.
