> YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN > > It was two years ago, almost to the day that I > realized a dream , long > held , of going back to Nottinghamshire and the > little country village of > West Markham. > How many hours I had dreamed away , thinking of a > storybook setting that > had been formed since childhood , as I worked the > routine ,and sometimes > monotnous chores necessary to get a paycheck, I > would let my mind wander to > what I perceived to be the"old home so long ago"... > > Then I was going home again , I was actually > getting on the plane to > England , we boarded at Cincinnati , Ohio, bound > for my land of dreams , > we mounted up on the wings of the wind and from > seven miles up I could see > the hills of home gradually fade as the sun dimmed > and disappeared into the > shadows of the west... Northeastward towards the > north atlantic , passing > the crowded cities of Washington and New York , > they blinked with a million > lights not unlike standing on a mountain top and > watching the fireflies in the valley below in > western Virginia... and then the foggy Atlantic, > and we sleep.... > > Wow its daylight again and there's land > below , beautiful green land > , Emerald Green I think and somehow such a > comforting feeling , We are > getting close , and then there it was , the > unmistakable English > countryside , we were circling and we were > informed that this was London > and we would be at Heathrow in fifteen minutes , I > am glued to the window , > my heart pounding with anticipation , Oh , I want > to see it all... " Who > said you can't go home again"... > London was crowded and impersonal and > not my destination anyhow, > so we caught the train to Nottingham, and as most > of you know the train is > very desirable to "view" the country side , > cars, all those British cars > , and they drive on the wrong side of the road > [left :-)] , and the small > towns with the narrow streets , pretty girls and > handsome boys just like back > home , and every small town has a towering Church > steeple that spoke to my > heart of a people with a faith that reaches back > through the foggy > mysterious ages of time and toil , building a > monument with their labor of > love to a benevolent God and ...for me to see as I > came home , ahhhhh I have > a spiritual feeling of belonging here.... I see > the fields and orchards > with the hedgerow fences that reach the sky in the > distances all neat and > orderly , a mosaic of colors that no picture ever > touched by artist brush > could compare... > West Markham is a small village and as small > villages go that yet > retained somewhat of the storybook setting that I > had anticipated , narrow > , neat streets with cottages behind picket fences > and adorned with the > reddest roses that you can imagine , friendly > people, who would go out of > their way to be polite and helpful, [ I only met > one person while I was > there who was obnoxious and he was from New York] > The Church of all Saints its called, built in > the eighth or ninth > century, with some latter addition, stands on > high ground that slopes > off over green fields to the river Idle > and surrounded by old chesnut trees, but not near > as old as the Church... > Around the Church yard are numerous tomb stones and > I searched for an old > Markham grave and found none , Why is there no > Markham gravestones ? I ask > the custodian there , and he replied , "Oh they > are here all right but they > are on the bottom" , on the bottom ? I asked and > he says " yes they were > buried here many , many years ago and we dig new > graves on the same place > about every hundred or two hundred years , Yes > Your folks are probably five > or six layers deep", we dig a grave where one was > and if we find some bones > we dig a small pit in the bottom of the new > grave for them".... > Going in the door of the Church is a spiritual > experience also , you > realize that, that your Grand parents of perhaps > thirty generations ago > came in through this door , to kneel at that stone altar and > pray for forgiveness and > ask mercy on a sick child, or a son taken away to > war , for deliverance > from raiding strangers, and a good crop this > year... > As you get accustomed to the light you see that > one end of the building > has a dirt floor with real old wooden pews and the > scene causes you to sigh > with a tear , it must look like this when time and > circumstances drove a > gentle farm family off toward Ollerton ,Oxton, > Sedgebrook and ... > eventually America , Africa < Australia , Canada > and the ends of the earth. > > Standing in front of the altar stone that is > about three by five feet > you contemplate the scope of time and thank God > for genetic stock that > built this field stone structure, that calls to > Markhams everywhere to come > home again, and thank the God that accepted the > tears shed on this native > stone, and a Saviour that preserved the holy seed > , by always making a place of refuge > from the storm... Yes this is one of my homes > ... > > I would love to go back again soon and it > would be wonderful if we > could have a family reunion there , to join hands > and thank God for > creating us with our ability to love one > another...... > Columbus Carl Marcum. > Wayne , WV. USA > > >