The Nine Men Of Madeley
I want to take us back to St Michael’s churchyard in Madeley now, for there are still more stories to be told. Let us pause amongst the headstones and breathe deeply, for there is a lot to take in here. Notice the subtle changing hues of green, the moss and lichen clinging to the crumbling edifices, obscuring names and dates. Perhaps it is autumn, and a soft chill wraps around us as we listen to the robin or coal tit’s stalwart song. This place would have been grand one, a cemetery to rival Greyfriars or Kensal Green. However now, its beauty lies in its decay. Nature is reclaiming many of the monuments, blanketing the churchyard in a sense of quiet reflection. Far from looking forgotten or neglected, it feels fitting, as if the land is welcoming the dead home. Here the past feels tangible, we feel implored to remember. Remembrance is a curious thing, isn’t it? The act of remembering allows us to breathe life into the lost, welcome them into our space and time, remind them that they sti...
