Whenever I get the chance, I love to wander around old churchyards. I don’t have a macabre or Gothic fascination with graveyards, but I am intrigued by the inscriptions on old gravestones that tell so much about the past. I get special delight from finding odd and eccentric memorials such as the one in Brightling, Sussex where Mad Jack Fuller had himself entombed in a pyramid. Inside, so it is rumoured, his corpse is seated in a chair with a glass of wine in his skeletal hand. More normally squires, indeed generations of squires, are laid to rest in grand ancestral vaults with achievements and decorations listed. By contrast one might find a sad row of children’s graves with mawkish Victorian inscriptions. Search around in the long grass at the end of the churchyard that is left to nature ...