Uffington Churchyard Poem by Giles Watson

Inspired by a series of photos by Ian Bateman, taken, as this photo of my own was taken, when Uffington churchyard was in all its former glory. When I arrived in Uffington in 2006, the parish churchyard in summer and autumn was a glory to behold. Parts of the meadow between the gravestones had been allowed to grow unchecked throughout the year, and the stones themselves stood in a sea of umbels and seeding grasses. Since then, a new and stricter regime has converted the churchyard into a monotonous lawn, and only the yews and the ivy on the gravestones remain as a reminder that such places can be a haven for wildlife. Ironically, many churchyards in the city of Oxford are better wildlife-refuges than those in country villages. I should hate to be buried in a manicured churchyard where wildness was banished beyond the lych-gate, but the thought of being buried where wildflowers and trees are permitted to grow unchecked is one of the great consolations of mortality.