Pet Cemetery, Preston Park

In Memory of Dear Soot. Fred, Town Hall cat.
Here lies Tatters, Not that it much matters.
We reached the pet cemetery via Preston Park. There's an old elm tree just outside, one once of two but now one alone. The other has been cast and made into a sculpture. The tree book calls it the "Preston Twin". There were rats all over the cemetery, which made us jump and then laugh at jumping. It seems the pets were mostly dogs, memorialised by the owners of the manor house just beyond, and just beside that St Peter's church, now unused but kept in good condition by the Churches Conservation Trust, and in which we looked at the wall paintings and the tomb for the altar and the piscina and the small organ with grubby, wobbly keys like panels of a rope bridge. And it was cold inside but very dry and outside was warmer than inside, so we took off coats despite the winter weather and tramped through the graveyard. We looked for the grave of James Douglas but couldn't find it, but found George Harrison instead and then we left and were soon back amongst the strange, flat little park of Preston, now Brighton, and then back on the train.