When there is a gentle breeze blowing in a meadow it is as if there are voices softly talking, and the meadows in churchyards have a particular atmosphere all of their own. For me there is something so beguiling about seeing gravestones and tombs surrounded by grasses and meadow flowers. The grasses move in the wind and seem to have whispered conversations between the headstones, or perhaps they are sending messages from grave to grave. Standing there it seems as though the whole churchyard has come alive with movement and shared stories.

A gentle breeze is one thing however, but to be in a meadow in a gale is another matter entirely, especially in a churchyard such as Glynde in East Sussex, UK, where the church is situated on a hillside. Here the gale can blow quite strongly across the Downs and then the atmosphere in the churchyard becomes even more animated; the whispered words of the grasses become louder as their sentences spin around the tombs. I have visited Glynde at different times of the year, but I think one of my favourite times is when the meadow is in full bloom in May and June and then later in the summer when the grasses begin to seed. The rattle of the seed heads has its own language.

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In recent years leaving the grass to grow or actually sowing a meadow to become a wildlife habitat in churchyards has become popular, managing the meadow to let the flowers and grasses seed and fall, ready for the next cycle in the coming year. After this the meadow is usually cut for winter, a crisp canvas for when the new green shoots start to appear again in the spring.

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The poems and images on this page are a celebration of the meadows in English churchyards that I have visited and lingered long enough to have overheard the whispered conversations between the gravestones.  

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