Here's the church, see the sheeple....

Church and its sheeple (LHM, 2013)

Apparently, I have developed a "thing" about goofy sheep doing goofy things. That's not why we went to the little village of St. Ewe on Sunday, but it tied in nicely with a goofy sheep thing I had drawn a couple of days earlier.

Naturally, St. Ewe has nothing whatever to do with sheep. The name of the place in Cornish is Lannewa, rather close to ewe at the end, I think. And there is, supposedly, an actual St. Ewe about whom, says Wikipedia, little is known. There are, as it happens, lots of Cornish churches named after saints about whom little is known. And those named after saints whose fate is known...sheesh. For example, there's the Roman Catholic Church of St. Cuthbert Mayne in Launceston. Poor fellow was hanged, drawn and quartered after the Reformation because he would not disavow the Roman Catholic Church. There is some indication that he was at least unconscious for the really vile parts, the drawing and quartering, although hangees were usually taken down while still alive and conscious to suffer greatly and repent them of all their sins.

That church is just up the road from St. Stephens, C of E. St. Stephen didn't have a very lovely end either; he was stoned to death in front of Saul of Tarsus, later known as St. Paul...who also probably suffered martyrdom, although there is no proof of that. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe his fame from writing all those epistles saved him, much as fame saves criminals from harsh punishment in the modern world. I mean, look at all the philandering politicians who don't even suffer a slap on the wrist in the UK or the US because their fame buys them a pass.

But back to the elusive St. Ewe. Even the online Catholic Encyclopedia has nothing about him. Or her. But nonetheless, there is a Norman cruciform church in the village dedicated to St. Ewe, with additions in the 14th and 15th centuries. It is surrounded by a cemetery (of course), but it also offers a walking path through a lovely, damp wood, complete with causeway over the deepest parts until the public footpath opens onto a farmer's field.

We wandered a bit in the church grounds after lunch at The Crown, where the landlord kindly allowed Brownie inside even though the pub was full and there were only tables available in the carpeted dining room. He said if we'd keep her right next to us where she could sit on a bit of stone floor, that would be fine. And it was. She was surprisingly good. Not having been raised from a pup as a pub-going dog, she has had to learn the etiquette in her old age.

Brownie under a table at The Jamaica Inn the first winter we lived here, 2009.