used to completely creep me out. Now I love a good graveyard. It's probably an age thing. Hidden away there are numinous and peaceful places that are worth seeking out to sit in and be still. Down an alleyway off one of the shopping streets in Woodbridge there is a worn brick wall wearing this badge:
The poetry of Bernard Barton is an unknown quantity but quiet place for use by the public is a magnet.
The grille in the oak door beckons to a fairly small plot, say quarter of an acre, with trees, birdsong, tussocky grass and a sprinkling of headstones. Oh, and of course a bench to sit on. A discrete noticeboard gives the history of the place. The last burial was in 1937. The Quaker meeting house was sold of in the last quarter of the last century and the graveyard was given to the Woodbridge Town council.
The mission of the Quakers is that God can be found in the every day experience of any man. This led to Quakers eschewing violence: conscientious objectors, anti-slavery, involved in reform of the criminal justice system. Initially headstones were considered as pieces of pomp and not allowed.
The burial ground is now a nature reserve and a discrete notice invites the visitor to nip down to the Town Hall to report any sitings of butterflies or unusual wild flowers.
When in Woodbridge, I always make a beeline here.
