I love it when something unexpectedly connects me with history. Of course it is even better when what I am connected with is something I admire. When I am here in Savannah I often think about George Whitefield when I drive up the road near my house, named for him. Today I stopped at the local community library and asked (again) if they had Thomas Kidd’s book about Whitefield. It’s been out two years now, you’d think it would be there. “No, haven’t heard of it,” was the answer that came. I really do need to buy it. Maybe one of my grandchildren will pull it off a shelf someday.
Later I saw the above post on a website about Whitefield. It said: “Thanks to Paul James and the many fine people of Gloucester England, a plaque has been affixed to the wall of the beautiful and ancient building of St. Mary’s de Crypt about the history of George Whitefield and the times he spent while living only a few doors down, at the Bell Inn.”
I spend half the year in Savannah, live less than 5 miles from Bethesda Orphanage. Today I discovered Whitefield was buried in Newburyport, Massachusetts, about 15 miles from where I also lived at one time. Maybe this summer I can go find his grave, only a couple of hours away from the lake.