There was an old belief that on St Mark’s Eve, the night of 24 April, you could sit up in the churchyard and see who was going to be married and who was going to be buried in the coming year. Watchers went out on purpose to do it. The woman in this story did not.
She lived at Werrington and went to the rectory at Paston to do the laundry, which in those days meant starting long before dawn. Nobody in a cottage owned a clock. One moonlit night she judged it was time to set off, and reached the churchyard gate at midnight.
The graveyard was full. There were funerals going on, and weddings, all of them at once, all of them silent. She had to get through the churchyard to reach the rectory, so she ran through the middle of them, across the field beyond, and hammered on the door until the servants woke.
In the morning she told the rector, Mr Pratt, what she had seen. He only smiled at her. Yes, yes, he said. Of course. It was St Mark’s Eve.
Where: Paston churchyard, on the northern edge of the city.


























