Country Diary: A lonely chapel that whispers and roars | Sara Hudston

Abbotsbury, Dorset: Long ago this was the place to come and wish for a husband. It is empty today, but still so full of presenceTwo ascending buzzards dazzle against the sun as I climb to St Catherine’s Chapel alone on its hill above the sea. It is the saint’s own feast day (25 November), when women once came to recite a charm for getting married. The traditional wording was blunt: “A husband, St Catherine, a handsome one, St Catherine, a rich one, St Catherine, a nice one, St Catherine, and soon, St Catherine.” Impatient supplicants added in dialect: “arn‑a‑one’s better than narn-a-one” (anyone’s better than no one).Today, I am the only person there. The lichened walls of golden sandstone are pitted and worn by gales and salt, the east window so eroded that it has been boarded over for renovation. Inside it is quite bare, long ago stripped of its medieval stained glass and fittings, nothing but pale stone and sunlight printing shadows on the walls. Contin