On the outskirts of the village, down a quiet lane, there sits a house.
Just another old house in another old village. Except Goosnargh is not just any old village and Chingle Hall is not just any old house.
Shielded from the roadside by reaching oaks and curtains of willow, Chingle has sat here in sullen isolation for an age. The lane is peaceful, near silent save for the song... [click here for more]
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