Being in the heart of England the landscape is very different from my coastal home. The earth that lies exposed in new ploughed fields is finer than the heavy clods on Whitburn Moor.

The hills have a curvaceous quality in their undulations that makes them quite unlike the crags and ridges of the north.

The towns and villages are different too, with an almost historic quality that is obvious in the many thatch roofed dwellings, but also in more artisan buildings.

The colours have a warmth that arises from the blend of autumn light and rich hued stone that is exemplified in this church that I passed on my travels. Stopping to stroll around, it was immediately apparent that this was a place with some history from the monumental nature of some of the graves.

The surname on these stone coffins reads “Spencer“, and the avenue of oaks that runs from the church leads to the resting place of a more noted family member.

I considered taking no portrait at all today as a mark of respect to this most photographed of women; whose death was arguably the result of a need to escape the lens, for this is Althorp.In the end I did take a portrait, but much later in the day and in far less poignant surroundings.

Paul was enjoying a pint with his mates in the pub where I was staying and the only unwelcome attention resulted from the stick that his mates gave him. Diana at least has peace now.


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