Tales from the Past for Slow Living in 2026: A Sunday Morning Story from the English Countryside

Let me tell you about a Sunday morning that felt different from all the rest. I woke up in the early hours to a grey dawn. Andrei was asleep next to me on his side, his hand across my belly, his leg over my thighs. I know many people couldn’t sleep like that, but for me it’s the safest place I can imagine - in my own bed, with my husband’s heavy body wrapped around mine.

I was woken by birdsong - not the usual chaotic morning chorus, but a lone, melodic voice. Since moving to the Somerset Levels, I’ve begun learning the birds that call this place home, yet I still cannot name the one that sang so beautifully that dawn.

The grey light of the early morning hours filtering through the curtains stirred some memories. My mind drifted to the time when I worked as a carer for a man in a village here on the Somerset Moors, not far from where we live now. It was over a decade ago, but I remember it so well. Being a health care assistant is a hard but rewarding job, and my favourite part was always getting off the night shift in those early morning hours.

My shift with A. ended at 7am and in Winter it meant the day had barely risen. I would get into my car and drive through the quiet countryside, passing the village of Shapwick on my way to the main road. The cottages still asleep, the streets empty - I remembered it all in the same kind of grey, hazy light that was coming through the curtains. It’s a lovely, peaceful village, and I thought it would be nice to see it again. In my half-asleep state, I decided I would ask Andrei to stop in Shapwick next time we’re driving close by, so we can have a little walk around the settlement and the St Mary’s churchyard.

Find our "Cosy Christmas" Gingerbread candle here

A couple of hours later that morning, I was downstairs. Jacob was still asleep, Andrei  already tapping on his laptop at the table - Sunday is always a work day for him, as he likes to dispatch weekend orders on Monday. Rosa was at the table too, eating the breakfast I had made for her, with much more eagerness than usual, because afterwards she can enjoy her advent calendar chocolate.

The rain was pattering on the window, the Christmas tree illuminated this still grey morning, casting a warm glow over the living and dinning room. I sat with a hot water bottle pressed to my belly and began reading a new book - The Mistletoe Bride and Other Haunting Tales by Kate Mosse. A completely random find that sparked my interest instantly. I bought it a couple of months ago but saved it for my Christmas read and this morning I finally began.

Without giving you any spoilers, the book is a collection of haunting tales (as the title suggests), and The Mistletoe Bride happens to be the very first one. Based on a poem from 1823, it was later popularised by the nineteenth-century songwriter Thomas Haynes Bayly 

At length an old chest that had long lain hid
Was found in the castle, they raised the lid
And the skeleton form lay mouldering there
In the bridal wreath of the lady fair.
Oh sad was her fate, and the sportive jest//
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring and the bridal bloom
Lay withering there in a living tomb.
Oh! the mistletoe bough!
Oh! the mistletoe bough!

“The song was an instant hit and became one of the most popular Victorian and Edwardian Christmas music hall songs.” Mosse writes in her notes.

Apparently, several places in Britain claim to be the setting of this eerie story - among them historical houses in Norfolk, Oxfordshire, Yorkshire and … Shapwick in Somerset! I stared at the words in disbelief.... How odd, how peculiar! A place I haven’t spared a single thought for in years sprang to my mind this morning - and then, soon after, I found its name in the book! 

As per my resolution from the early hours of Sunday morning to revisit the village, a few days later Andrei and I found ourselves standing in the graveyard of St Mary’s Church in Shapwick, looking around at the Wintry grounds and the houses surrounding it. A. passed away back in 2015, maybe 2016 - I can’t remember exactly, I was never good with dates - but I haven’t been here ever since. The village hasn’t changed at all - but why would it? It hasn’t changed in centuries. But it was a lot more lively than I remembered. People walking dogs, a hi-vised biker, a food-delivery truck in front of a cottage - village life as normal.

Shapwick is charmingly simple in the best possible way. Overlooking the Somerset Levels, surrounded by nature and narrow lanes leading to other villages, it is a truly quintessential Somerset village. It has an interesting history (read more about it here) and it’s beautiful enough to host a few holiday rentals, but not enough to draw in crowds of tourists and weekenders - just perfect. 

It was a short, but gorgeous walk around the village, although for the willing, the surrounding countryside offers miles of walks - some of them extremely important not just in regional but in national history, like the Sweet Track with its roots reaching all the way back to the spring of 3806 BC, when people first walked these wetlands long before Somerset was Somerset. The surrounding moors are also a well-known place for birdwatchers, especially for the starling murmurations in Winter.

In Shapwick I didn’t find the Mistletoe Bride or even the old oak chest, but the visit prompted reflection. As the year is turning and we are standing at the edge of a new chapter, many people will be declaring change. You know the slightly cheesy “new year, new me” or “watch me transform” type of declarations. Usually, the louder they are made, the shorter they last.

Why do so many of us feel that, in order to build a new, better life, we need to scrap everything before? Why do we try to reinvent ourselves over and over, instead of using our past experiences as building blocks?

Would I be the same Adriana if I hadn’t worked in care? If anything, caring for older people is incredibly humbling. Watching a proud war veteran struggle to reach for a glass of water, or listening to love stories from a woman whose husband passed away many years prior, yet her love for him remains just as alive that it hurts. It humbles you and teaches you how precious all of this is - the little inside jokes, sharing meals together, frosty walks and coming home with red faces. It’s all so fleeting and therefore even more precious.

And even the hurt and sorrow you felt - they made you who you are today. Maybe they taught you to feel more, to empathise more, to simply be more… Would you have the awareness of yourself and others that you have today, if your heart hadn’t been broken open?

And would you choose the Mistletoe Bride’s fate instead - a young woman who, through an unlucky accident or perhaps a malicious force, was spared all the bitterness and heartbreak of life, but in return… didn’t get to live at all?

It’s just my thoughts as we’re stepping into 2026. Perhaps I feel a little more reflective about the past since I’ve recently finally hung my grandmother’s painting - the one that portrays the village in Poland where she grew up. It was commissioned as a gift for my mum, who at that stage of her life was living in the heart of industrial Poland - Silesia (Śląsk). For some reason my grandmother thought it was important to preserve this view and I wish she knew how much it means to her granddaughter now.

Speaking of family heritage - I also have to share with you that recently Andrei’s mum gifted us a cross-stitched scene in a heavy wooden frame, handmade by Andrei’s grandmother. It’s a midwinter scene with two cottages nestled in the snow.

Both artworks are now in our dining room - two calming, rural scenes from Summer and Winter in the Polish and Romanian countrysides. A beautiful reminder of our heritage and roots.

Maybe that’s the truth of life - that nothing is ever wasted. Just like in nature, where a fallen, rotting apple becomes nourishment for the roots, everything that’s happened to us becomes part of the foundation of who we are. The good things become our strengths, and the bad become our lessons. When we look at life this way, we stop feeling ashamed or held back by our past. Instead, we begin to feel proud of who we’ve become because of it.

I intended this to be my usual Adriana’s Diary entry, but somehow the beginning of it reads more like a story that later sinks into my usual “how life has been lately” style. I hope it speaks to you and I hope it reminds you to honour your past - every part of it - for the way it shaped the beautiful person you’ve become.

Thank you for reading,
Adriana x

P.S. A gentle reminder that we’re beginning a new series, “A Slow Start to 2026” on 27/12/25. It will run for six weeks (until Imbolc Eve) here on the blog, every Saturday morning. If you’d like to receive each new instalment straight to your inbox, I recommend signing up to our mailing list here