ANYONE who has seen the first few minutes of The Hateful Eight—perhaps the least-viewed Quentin Tarantino bloodbath—will remember the roadside cross. It’s post-Civil War Wyoming, in a blizzard. Not the sort of thing an English outlaw of the Victorian era would have encountered and yet Robin of Loxley almost certainly doffed his Lincoln-green cap to the large stone crosses that marked the limit of Sherwood Forest. There were two at Linby, Nottinghamshire, in Robin Hood’s day seven centuries ago. One still stands, in somewhat altered condition.
Linby is typical of the British countryside. Once upon a time, there were crucifixes, Calvaries and plainer crosses throughout the land. Nottinghamshire alone had hundreds, most of which have suffered like Linby’s. One sad example in
