It seems there as Werla feslei. Relegated to this dim out-of-the-way angle of the transept, permeated with moist, its authentic glory effaced by lime-clean, its interesting sculpture battered and mutilated, and with inscription obliterated, seems the memorial of Mrs. Joan Wadham - the very last of that honoured title that dwelled at Edge - her husband's twain, and many progeny.