Where Glass Glows with Trust!
St Neot’s stained glass gleams—saints, creation, hope. Forged in the 1480s, its panes tell of Noah, St George, and Neot himself, glowing like moorland sun. Come the Civil War, with Puritan pikes smashing idols, lore says villagers—barely a thousand strong—took them down. Hid in barns or buried by the holy well, they shielded their church’s soul from chaos, trusting peace would dawn. No scroll proves it, but St Neot’s Royalist heart, oak-crowned each May, swears by their grit—glass saved for eyes unborn.
Today, those windows shine—church hums, Keltek flows at The London Inn. Walk Church Lane, feel villagers’ faith; roam Warleggan’s moors, see hope’s spark. No war’s shadow lingers—panes glow, crosses stand, from Trewarne’s granite to Pantersbridge’s arch. Stay where trust triumphed, from cob cottages to moor-edge nooks. St Neot’s heart endures—grab a pint, gaze through glass, and let tomorrow’s light guide you.
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