Welcome

Welcome to our website. Whether you want Weddings or Word from Wormingford, to find out about or services or to take a tour of our Churches, we hope you enjoy touring our website - and we look forward to meeting you in person.

Word From Wormingford

RichardB on April 18th, 2014

Thomas Hardy’s tree reminds Ronald Blythe of a childhood mystery AS WITH most of us, my past offers itself either as a serial that promises to run and run, or as vignettes that are complete in themselves. I am idling around the childhood market town when a VR letter-box says: “Halt!” Two schoolmistresses are passing. They are sisters, […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 17 April 2014

RichardB on April 12th, 2014

Ronald Blythe sees the contradictions in a funeral held in the spring CHILLY spring rains, pear blossom clotted on the bough, damp cat, seeds to sow, and a new name to paint on the incumbents board. The reassuring prayer of a mower that starts at first pull. And Easter everywhere. So why not preach on immortality? […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 11 April 2014

RichardB on April 12th, 2014

A flower prompts memories of a bike ride in Ronald Blythe‘s past AS ALWAYS, the fritillaries halt me in my tracks. Since I search eagerly for most seasonal treasures, I have never understood why a small group of them under the walnut tree are not seen until they wave at me to stop. They are about […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 4 April 2014

RichardB on March 29th, 2014

Ronald Blythe‘s features are moulded in clay in the hands of a sculptor EVERY now and then, whatever hour it is, getting up becomes an imperative. I have never worked out why. But I am at the window, looking out at the moon, which is staring in. It appears yellow, and lopsided, throwing huge shadows […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 28 March 2014

RichardB on March 21st, 2014

Ronald Blythe reveals the source of his knowledge about the Holy Land THIS delectable springtime continues. Lunch in the garden on Sunday after matins. All the birds operatic. The horses on the sloping meadows benign. The Wordsworthian daffodils under the budding fruit trees making a show. “They make a show,” an elderly woman said as she […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 21 March 2014

RichardB on March 14th, 2014

Ronald Blythe recalls a dear friend, as he attends her funeral ASH WEDNESDAY: even Joel wails in the wilderness, “Repent, repent!” The white cat slumbers on a paid bill, the sun hot on her breast. The horses converse under the bare may-tree. The garden is covered with flowers. The spring has come. For T. S. Eliot, […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 14 March 2014

RichardB on March 8th, 2014

Ronald Blythe is happy to leave choices over new plumbing to the expert THE urgency of late-February days. Winter dawdles, but spring can’t wait. Last week’s mud is this week’s flower-drift. Acres of snowdrops run amok in the wood. And the birds sing. Heavens, how they sing! But in the village, whenI say “Isn’t it glorious?” […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 7 March 2014

RichardB on February 28th, 2014

Ronald Blythe makes up his mind where he is in the liturgical year   It being too good to be inside, I check the oil tank, walk the muddy paths, and survey the snowdrops, which are legion. They clothe the rises and the hollows in their thousands, with their matchless whiteness and their sudden appearance. One […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 28 February 2014

RichardB on February 22nd, 2014

Ronald Blythe‘s outing to London leaves the white cat unimpressed NATURE’s light is tentative and subdued. Wild waves have driven the gulls inland. They bounce around on the muddy field, gorging on horse feed. Not a soul about, and almost painfully quiet. I choose hymns for matins and evensong, and rewrite a sermon. For there […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 21 February 2014

RichardB on February 14th, 2014

Ronald Blythe is hoping for a priest who likes ancient waterways   THE farm track lurches along from puddle to puddle. The unseen brook below me is a village Tiber. The air is soft, the sky low and colourless. But the catkins – never such pollen ropes! They swing like censers, rocking the blackbirds. We are […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 14 February 2014