This is a bit roundabout, but while looking for the lyrics to Third Carol for Christmas Day, I noticed an article on an Irish historical site about holy wells throughout Ireland. This triggered memories of the small village in England where I lived as a child. It is called Needingworth but is closely connected to an even smaller village, Holywell. I spent a lovely half-hour finding and enjoying maps and historical information about the area.
When Kevin and I visited the UK in 2003, we spent a day driving from Brett & Gretchen Seamons home in Surrey to this area to see my childhood home and also take a look around Cambridge.
As we drove and walked around the village of Needingworth, details, murky in memory, returned to clarity as I saw again the streets I walked every day to the Holywell School, a Church-of-England Primary School. I saw the thatch hooks, used for 
removing thatch from burning buildings, on the wall in the High Street. When I was young, the wall was very old and bowed in the middle. Now, the historical hooks hang on a newer wall. There are still several beautiful thatched homes in the village.
removing thatch from burning buildings, on the wall in the High Street. When I was young, the wall was very old and bowed in the middle. Now, the historical hooks hang on a newer wall. There are still several beautiful thatched homes in the village. I showed Kevin the tiny village 'lock-up' that I used to stare, horrified, into on the way to school. The old, Victorian, I think, school building is gone, but the the wall around the schoolyard is still there. I used to clamber over this wall to grab horse chestnuts with which to play 'conkers'. The game was played by poking a hole through the 'conker' through which a knotted string was threaded. One player held his/her 'conker' by the string while another player tried to hit it with his or her own 'conker'. The player with the harder, and typically larger, 'conker', would eventually break the others and remain champion until another child found a stronger nut- thus the temptation to leave the schoolyard in search of a winning 'conker'. The chestnut trees were huge and over-hung much of the schoolyard and some of the orchard on the other side of the wall.
We used to have religious instruction each morning at school, complete with hymn singing and occasional visits from the Rector. We sang the Psalm, The Lord is My Shepherd, to a tune different from the one in our current Church Hymnbook. I remember preferring it infinitely and singing it in my head after I moved from England so I wouldn't forget. Sadly, time has erased it from my mind.
Kevin and I made our way out of the village to the Pike and Eel Pub on the banks of the River Ouse. My parents used to eat out there. The pub is in an incredibly old building(with additions) that looks a lot like the house in the movie Cold Comfort Farm. The food was very English and really good, but apparantly they are not used to serving 'outsiders' there and we were stared at and treated quite rudely.
We drove by my childhood friend, Katie Weston's house on Bluntisham Rd, and looked for, but didn't see, the house and chicken farm of the Bates-the older couple that babysat me and my siblings as children.
Yesterday, as I read the historical sketch of the area, I wished I could return again and really explore it. It never occured to me over the years that the name of the school and neighboring village, Holywell, actually referred to a well with a historical and religious tradition, and I am now fascinated with the idea. Here are some links if anyone wants to check it out:
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