So after a foray along the beach, we rolled out of Point Lance, stopping along the way to photograph an interesting house that was adorned with stars and sat adjacent to a lovely little shed.
Every dog in Point Lance barked at me while I took these. I could feel the stares of the residents from all side, too.
But it had to be done. Who can resist a door with stars?
So we wended our way out of Point Lance and back up to the Cape Shore highway and headed up toward Placentia. After supper at some place called Howard (They make a very decent clubhouse sandwich. It’s hard to mess up a clubhouse sandwich, so that’s often our road trip default. Their coffee was Folger’s, though, which was a real let-down.) we cruised around Placentia in the evening sun.
One of the places I like to stop is St. Luke’s Anglican Church. It is highly probable that the church built in the sixteen hundreds by the French was on this same spot. The cemetery was certainly reused by the English. I enjoy looking at the current layout and mentally superimposing the maps that I dug through during my thesis (Religious Life in French Placentia to 1714, in case you were curious). The land hasn’t actually changed all that much and I’ve always been curious as to what lies beneath the three hundred year’s worth of dirt that has sifted around the area since.
I was just taking the photograph below, when I heard a voice behind me saying, “Miss, do you want to come inside?”
I turned around and there was a charming octogenarian beckoning my fervently to come into the church and have a look.
So I went. When a door opens, walk through it, I say.
Inside, St. Luke’s Anglican Church is a lovely little chapel.
The window is new, but the building itself feels quite old. It’s not at all large, but has that country churchyard sort of feel that makes it cosy. The dapper gentleman showed me around and he somewhat abruptly turfed out the priest who was preparing her sermon so that I could take this shot. I took it quickly and got out of her way, but the fellow was a force to be reckoned with. He showed me all around and was evidently incredibly proud of his church. I never learned his name (unfortunately), but he absolutely made my day with our next interaction.
I had spotted a ladder, you see, which lead to the bell tower. He assured me that there was indeed a bell up there and said I was welcomed to look. Then he assiduously followed me up the ladder, concerned that I might fall and gallantly offered to catch me. If I had fallen on him, I believe I would have crushed him. When I mentioned this to him, he simply beamed and told me that he would be happy to break my fall.
Luckily there were no such incidents. The bell tower was too dark for any good photography and while up there, I heard my doughty escort arguing with another fellow who had just arrive. The newcomer was scolding my patron as if an elder addressing a child.
New fellow: “What are you doing up there?? You get down from there RIGHT NOW.”
My knight: “But sure, there’s a woman up in the bell tower.”
New fellow: “I don’t care what’s up there. You got no cause to be climbin’ around in bell towers.”
My knight: “But, a *young* WOMAN. She’s up there….. in the tower.”
New fellow: “Sure what would a woman go up into the bell tower with you for?”
I figured it was time to make my descent and came down the ladder carefully (he was still waiting to catch me).
We said our goodbyes and headed on, but I’m pretty sure that my knight in shining armor caught hell for that, although he *did* get a woman up into the bell tower, so maybe his reputation wasn’t too severely abraded.
Back outside we took a few more photos of the church and the cemetery.