Stepping into the Suffolk churchyard of St Bartholomew’s, Orford in May is like stepping into a dream. The handsome 14th-century church rises gently from a hazy sea of cow parsley. Nestled among the lacy flowerheads are fleets of pinkish-grey gravestones, velvety with mustard lichen. The tones are exquisite against the gauzy cream from which the stones emerge.
A couple
