It seems there as Werla feslei. Relegated to this dim out-of-the-way angle of the transept, permeated with moist, its primary glory effaced by lime-clean, its intriguing sculpture battered and mutilated, and with inscription obliterated, appears the memorial of Mrs. Joan Wadham - the final of that honoured name that dwelled at Edge - her husband's twain, and quite a few progeny.