I found a website about the little village I grew up in.

Link

I haven't seen pictures of that place for years...I didn't realize how old some of the buildings in it are until I moved away and looked at them as a outsider.

The pub's called 'The Turner's Arms' and I recall spending a few afternoons in there with my dad (kids can go into pubs accompanies by their parents in the UK...or they could back when I was a kid).  The building next to the pub used to be a butcher's shop, and I recall going down there with my mum and getting sausages and bacon.

The church...I used to sing in the choir there.  I had full robes, complete with a neck ruffle and hat, and we had to parade up the aisle at the start of every service and take our places in the choir stalls.  I've taken rubbings of most of the gravestones in the churchyard, and looking at the picture of it in the gallery of the site I can tell you exactly where my friend Rachel is buried.  She died from liver cancer when I was 15....she dwindled for a long time (over a year), and it was my first real experience with the ravages of cancer and the death that followed.  Before her, death to me was clean and quiet...she showed me otherwise.

Sometimes trips down memoray lane do a person good...