In Stetchworth I park by the church.

Wandering through the village, sounds of home lives filter out through open doors. Someone is listening to a cricket match on a television or radio, and in another house someone is playing their piano. A child is learning to ride a bike, riding wobbling along the pavement, pursued by a mother. Sounds of laughter and chatter hang in the air as people are out enjoying their gardens. Butterflies throng around the thick purple spikes of buddleia.

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