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THE THIN MIDWINTER sun makes
little impression on what is usually the
loneliest part of Salisbury Plain. Here, the
only road is long-barred, with seven miles
of muddy track and just the crows for company.
Then, dipping into a valley, excited chatter
fills the air. Folk wrapped warmly in bright
bobble hats and cosy scarves file uphill towards
a 13th century parish church which glows with
candlelight in every window. Its porch is a
welcome sparkle of tea lights, greenery and good
cheer, and the delicious aroma of mulled wine
hangs in the air like a fragrant mist. Inside,
a brass band is warming up, and members of a
choir are taking their places between jewel-bright
floral displays, lights flickering in wall sconces
and bedecking a twinkling Christmas tree.
Every pew, chair and seat has been pressed
into service, which may be considered odd, given
that this particular parish has no congregation.
The ghost village of Imber, once a thriving rural
community, has not seen a single resident for 75
years. On 17 December 1943, Imber’s entire
population left, never to return.
Within only a few weeks of this departure,
the village was shelled beyond habitation, used
for pre-D-Day target practice by the British
Army and newly-arrived Allied troops. ›
Under the pale
golden limestone
arches of St Giles’
Church, worshippers
congregate in
remembrance of a
time when Imber
was just a normal
community.
POIGNANT PILGRIMAGE
98