When we had our first boat trip to Shackerstone many moons ago we went to have a look around the very pretty little village with its just as pretty church. In the churchyard near the front entrance to the church we spotted a gravestone which filled us both with sadness. The gravestone tells a very sad story of the demise of a boy who was born the same year as me, and his younger sister. When we were moored at Hinckley we travelled up and down The Ashby Canal on a regular basis and we often used to call at Shackerstone and pay our respects to these young children and very often I would pick wild flowers on the way to put on the grave. We took the train to Shackerstone and visited again today and we were both touched by the same sadness.

A tragic tale