The parish church of central Finchley
26 Hendon Lane, Finchley, London N3 1TR

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Posted April 3rd, 2024

Memoirs from Lynn R.

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“All in the April Evening, April airs were abroad.
The sheep with their little lambs passed me by on the road
I saw the sheep with their lambs and thought on the Lamb of God.”
–Katharine Tynan (23 January 1859 – 2 April 1931).

Ever since I was a little girl growing up in the Black Country, so named for its association with coal, pits and mining, I have been enchanted by the hymn: “All in the April

In Tipton, my home town, there were no lambs grazing in vast green fields. Sadly, they could only be found in the butcher’s shop window.

My childhood longing for “green and pleasant “ bliss was realised when I secured a job in Shropshire as woman’s page editor of the local newspaper.

Most days I would be transported around the enchanting Shropshire countryside by a jolly photographer. I never lost my fixation for the lambs gamboling in the lush green fields.

Our job was to visit as many ladies meeting groups as we could, sampling all they had to offer in home bakes/ treats and award-winning floral arrangements. What a way to earn a living (!).

Luckily I have a cousin who now lives in Shropshire so am able to re-engage with the delights of this beautiful county.

My favourite season has always been the spring – when nature waves her magic wand and bathes our stunning landscape in a tapestry of daffodils, apple blossom and fresh green pastures.

When Keir and I settled in North London after our wedding in 1976, we were lucky enough to find a home in leafy Finchley.

Our Midlands friends had teased us about moving to live in ‘The Smoke’. We would then gently remind them why the Black Country was so named.

— Lynn Radnedge