A straightforward, modest book, stands proudly alongside jewelled, gold-crusted treasures made for bishops and kings.
Sewn with twine, and bound with leather over wooden boards, lovingly. Copied in a village church by a priest, for love of God,
in black, blocky letters by stylus in carbon ink on thick stiff yellow paper laid and polished by hand.
A note by a reader three centuries ago, records a memorial for his soul, and that of his dead mother.
A later owner says he ransomed it from bondage, from the hands of “the others”.
Cherished, it enfolds past lives and future hope.