Holy Places: Tony Lynn

THERE might be little doubt that the Cenotaph in London is a holy place. While nobody fought, died or was buried there, it stays a most poignant and powerful memento mori — a national monument where so many query, consider and reflect on God and his works.

Some 129 miles from the Cenotaph is Whitwell and Reepham Station, Norfolk. It is on a disused railway line that after linked Norwich to other East Anglian towns and is now a traffic-free path, Marriott’s Way, named after William Marriott, engineer and manager. The route is 26 miles in length and takes the walker or cyclist through wonderful countryside, happily avoiding villages and towns. Being in Norfolk, it’s, after all, level.

At Whitwell and Reepham Station — where refreshments and second-hand books are on offer — trains and carriages in various stages of repair may be seen. From there, looking towards Norwich, the observant walker or cyclist can see some cubes of concrete beside Marriott’s Way. The cubes are about 18 inches high, somewhat grubby and discoloured, but each bearing an easy message: wonder, calm down, listen, wait. Perhaps barely bossy, but an encouragement to journey slowly and thoughtfully.

The cube closest to the station is different from the others since it tells a story. Like its neighbours, it is roofed in soil and lichen, so it takes effort and time to read the words incised into the concrete. It is a memorial to William Frost who, in 1844, murdered his 4 young daughters — quite a jolt to read such words and to contemplate what they might mean here amid the tranquillity of the Way.

THOUGH a tanner by trade, Frost had been a preacher within the Revivalist movement. Religion overtook him, he became a Ranter and he killed his children because he didn’t want them to face the sinfulness of this world. By dying, he argued, they’d reach heaven, unsullied, a lot the earlier. It is an astonishing argument. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was dismissed at his trial and Frost was sent to a lunatic asylum in London.

Such a tragic and heart-rending tale moves me every time I pass by. Yeats’s lines sum up my feeling: “A pity beyond all telling is hid in the guts of affection.” But why should I consider this block, this memorial, this place to be holy? Just just like the Cenotaph in London, it has turn into for me a spot to reflect and pray. Of course, I believe of the horrors inflicted on those children: the violence, the agonies, the deaths — all done for love of them and of God. But it will not be only a story of the past. Similar brutality continues to be suffered by children today, the perpetrators sometimes claiming to experience the driving force of God — similar to that Ranter, William Frost.

What Frost did was done within the name of God and, he believed, for the everlasting betterment of his daughters. The end justifying the means? Such a really narrow boundary between the love that builds up God’s kingdom and that which tragically destroys it.

The Revd Tony Lynn is a retired priest now living within the diocese of Norwich.