Several years ago I was invited to attend a gipsy king’s funeral. He was born just outside this town and wanted to be buried where he was born. Every year some Gypsies use to pass through the town on their to Herefordshire for fruit and hop picking. They came here for potato licking. The women would call st houses to sell their lace, lavender bags etc and their lucky charms. I became very friendly with one lady, Daisy, she called several times a year, I kept a tin of larger in the fridge for her, she would only come into the hall and sit on the stairs , would not come into the living room, anyway she and her husband asked me to attend the funeral, it was an experience, I was so blessed to be present, the Church was packed with people not from the town, after the service and burial we went to the field where his caravan was stationed, it was the same farm where he was born , they set fire to his caravan , waited silently for the flames to die then they left.