Passing the somewhat imposing redbrick edifice that is Bridgewater Spiritualist Church yesterday evening whilst on one of my customary nocturnal rambles, I was surprised to note that the lights of the church hall were on. A faint chanting seemed to be coming from within. The church, which I believe Roland Franklyn made reference to in his letters, was originally built by a Baptist denomination in the late 1940s before being bought by the Spiritualists in the 1960s.
But there are things far older than Christianity which flounder in the nameless abysses beyond Time, and to which the residents of the Horsingdon Triangle still, on occasion, make obeisance.
No comments:
Post a Comment