Flax Bourton, North Somerset

There is a rule of Sculpture Seeking, viz. that if you come to a T junction in a village, you are more likely to take the direction away from the church you're looking for, regardless of how much logic and deliberation you apply. So it was when we finally rolled into Flax Bourton (that we had already been lost was entirely down to my overconfidence in navigating roads out of Bristol).

So when we arrived at the church on this hot day I was already a bit flustered and irritable. The church is right on the main road - probably the closest to a road that we've ever seen. It's got a wall built in front of the door so you can't walk out into the juggernauts (and previously the horses and carriages). Someone has paid for a rather nice glass door to seal the porch off from the noise and pollution. Seeing this, I foolishly thought that it might mean a warm welcome.

No, it didn't. The door was locked. I could lean on the glass and squint under my spread fingers to try and look in without reflections. I could even see the carving. But the door was locked.

I just want to ask, WHY? If you don't want people to steal all the presumed gold candlesticks in the church, why not lock them away like all the other churches we visit? But even if you lock the church itself, why can't people even get into the porch? Is Flax Bourton really the centre of an international crime ring focused on church porches? No-one can even get into the porch to read the noticeboard. I know I'm a heathen and you might only want to let in good members of the congregation that come to services on a Sunday - fair enough. But mightn't Christians want to pop in at other times?

I was disappointed.

We went to the stone circles at Stanton Drew instead. They were fully accessible.

You can see photos on Deborah Harvey's blog. She gets a bit carried away and calls them Saxon - I think as they match so many things we've seen, they're almost certainly Norman. She shows there are more lovely carvings inside the church - not least a cat and a winged legless dragon (these are also misbilled as Saxon). The latter is the first we'd have seen in my recollection. I think it's called an Amphiptere. It would have been an exciting moment. Here's a picture of one to make up for all that disappointment.

From Fictitious and Symbolic Creatures in Art by J Vineycomb.

Bristol cathedral

CC unicorn by Anders Sandberg

After a delicious lunch at the Watershed, B and I hauled ourselves up the slope to the cathedral in Bristol. The square outside is home to two amazing gold unicorns. It's not every day that you get to see even one gold unicorn. But here are two, raising their front legs in a very lively pose.

There's a lot of unicorn imagery about at the moment. They seem very popular. And rightly so. But I'd like to point out something about them that I found out while trying to track down what a winged but legless dragon is called (see Flax Bourton) - it's from the same book, 'Fictitious and Symbolic Creatures in Art'. You can't quite see on the photo above, but look elsewhere (eg on Urbina Vinos) and you will distinctly see the cloven hooves! Oh no, unicorns don't have hooves like horses. They have feet like a stag. Don't ask me why though. It's just how they roll.

But we weren't there to see the unicorns. We were there to view the Romanesque architecture.

Monkton Farleigh, Wiltshire

copyright Rhiannon 2017

Finally, a finished piece of work emerges from a sketch made long ago. This is a lino cut, hand cut and printed on the kitchen table. I'm pleased with it.

Cold Aston, Gloucestershire

We don't often meet people at the churches on our travels, and when we do they're generally welcoming and either we exchange pleasantries or have a little chat about our shared interest in the building. As we stood drawing in the porch at Cold Aston, though, a long trail of tinies from the adjacent school trooped into the church and took their places in the pews. I shouldn't mind this, should I. It's an example of the church Actually Being Used. But I didn't like it. Now I can't say I know much about children, but I do know that I was once one of them. And when I was five I had a soft, receptive, gently forming brain. I seem to remember I liked filling it with dinosaurs and trips to the swings.

It's not that I don't think that children should get a education in Behaving Nicely to their Fellow Man. Of course a bit of moral guidance is the way to encourage a nice society where we all help each other and think about others. But I just thought it was very odd that they were shuffled into the church, as though talking about being helpful or kind or whatever it was, couldn't be done in an ordinary setting. As though by going in the church, God would be watching. The teacher (she was wearing a football strip, bizarrely) seemed to switch between that patronising slow sing-song voice some people use with small children, and then swooping on individuals to berate them for their fidgiting or previous misdemeanours. I thought the whole thing was rather creepy, it didn't sit well with me.

I don't know what I'm trying to say really. But it didn't seem quite right to be moulding such small children's minds using the building in that way. It wasn't the same as going there of a Sunday with one's parents to listen to the vicar.

Anyway. There were some interesting bits of carving at Cold Aston. The tympanum was an all-over repetitive pattern (I admit photoshop has helped me with the above depiction) with some rather familiar style weaving foliage underneath. This was very well preserved and rather nice.

Also there seeemed to be a bit of knotwork in the porch - one assumes Anglo Saxon. You can see the collection of bits and pieces here on Britain Express. I always like to see a bit of Saxon knotwork, and because they're quite a challenge to draw, they're always especially satisfying to have a go at. Various descriptions on the internet mention "entwined serpents" but I fear this is overly optimistic. B and I have seen quite a few serpenty examples and this one wasn't doing it for us. But we both felt that there might be little clasped hands - as we independently came to this conclusion I set some store by it.

There was also a Maperton-esque little head, which B drew.

Windrush, Gloucestershire

Windrush is an excellently romantic name for a village (and the stream that runs through it). It seemed to be another well-heeled Cotswold spot. And maybe it's a good job that it's well-heeled, because some money has been recently poured into the renovation of the church - specifically, its amazing doorway. Because the door here is surrounded by not one, but two rounds of beakheads. It's a first for us. I can't think there can be many examples of the Double Beakhead in the country. So it's excellent to see it's being looked after.

The beakheads have just been cleaned. And they've been cleaned very thoroughly. In fact almost so thoroughly that they looked quite odd. But I guess they can now carry on for another thousand years. They're on the south side of the chuch, and have a small roof over them to protect them a little from the rain, but nothing major. Perhaps their south-facing aspect has been what's saved them for so long. It would be nice if they had a porch. But they're so interestingly animated that in a silly way I quite like that they can see out.

SSH Conservation carried out the work. You can see photos of the Before and After on their website. You can see how bright and stark the doorway is now - as it would have done when it was first carved, an interesting thought. The faces are a bit different from the beakheads we've seen before. B called them menacing, as I recall. They've certainly got quite intense expressions on their beaky faces. Their almond-shaped eyes remind me a bit of insects or aliens! The characters are quite varied. They don't all have beaks to cling onto the roll of the doorway. The drawing above shows two non-beaky ones.

A silly thing happened as I admired the doorway - I took a step backward and promptly fell up the steps that lead down to it. An unusual feature, in my defence. I just sat down on my arse and lay there, it wasn't dignified but it was quite funny. I hope it at least gave the beakheads something amusing and unusual to see.

Bibury, Gloucestershire

Bathampton, Bath and North-East Somerset

Upleadon, Gloucestershire

Landford, Hampshire

It's hopeless to be without an OS map: you can drive up and down the long road in Landford repeatedly and have no idea where you're supposed to be going. We stopped at a new-fangled pub which had a desperate atmosphere. But I needed the loo and a fizzy drink. My dear sister took the opportunity to ask about the church. She doesn't care about looking mad and religious when there's a carving at stake. The directions were curious but we figured it out in the end. Landford's church is nowhere near the obvious Landford. We should have known.

It didn't look promising as it looked rather new (well, Victorian new). But its position high up above Landford did seem promising. I've now read that the church was rebuilt in 1858. It does seem that there was a rather obsessive Thing for doing this to old churches. I'm sure a lot of it was unnecessary vandalism - it's not that they were restoring what was there, but totally trashing it a lot of the time. I raged a bit when we found the door was locked, because it stopped us seeing what we'd come all this way to see.

This was to be a stone "2ft 6in by 1ft 6in, and has sculptured upon it the figures of two priests in full canonicals, with maniples at the wrist, supporting between them a Cross.  The stone is perforated with holes, each an inch square, about 8 in number" (to quote from the link). In the old church the stone was at one time in the foundation at the SE corner of the chancel. Then it was moved above the north doorway. But when the new church was built, it was moved back inside.

You can see a big photo on the CRSBI website, but here's another version, taken by Trish Steel. I feel like we're treading in her footsteps this trip.

CC image on Geograph

The stone doesn't look riddled with eight holes any more? Maybe it got trimmed. It's evidently two people clutching a cross. It's very like the sort of cross a Lamb of God might clutch (or rather, balance delicately on its foot). But beyond that? The CRSBI site suggests one figure is Jesus 'because he has a nimbus', but I reckon both of them have got that, it's not a Jesus-exclusive. Also suggested is St Helena and Friend. She is said to have dug up the True Cross, a bit like a female Indiana Jones, and because there were two other crosses there as well she tested them out on some dead/sick people and only the True one perked them up. A bit like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when there were all those different grails to pick from. But I think those figures have beards perhaps. So probably not St Helena if so.

Anyway. We didn't see it. But there were a couple of pretty nice Norman capitals at the door outside. So I drew one of them.

Fifield Bavant, Wiltshire

Fifield Bavant is a little place with a little church. You read in various places how it's one of the smallest churches, but it's not absurdly small. In fact it looks smaller on the outside as you approach it (or at least that's how it is in my mind). It's just one room: more of a chapel I suppose if you're being argumentative. It's got this superb south Wiltshire checkered knapped flint thing going on with the outside walls. And it's raised up on bit of a bump. You have to walk through a farmyard to get to it, which makes it feel a decidedly ancient trek. The farm looks very old too, with huge old barns.

My 1968 Shell Guide to Wiltshire says indignantly, "Recent electric lighting has caused an unpleasant outbreak of meters and switches at the back of the nave, and four white lampshades are nearly as big as the church itself." But the meters and switches didn't register with me, and I can only remember the rickety dresser holding religious pamphlets and locally found bits of ancient pottery. Thankfully the lampshades seem to be long gone. Our attention was firmly grabbed by the lovely scallopy Norman font.

The scallops are beautifully wavy and were a joy to draw. And they're not evenly carved (of course), which was really noticeable once you started looking properly. And under the waviness were trumpets, though these were largely hidden unless you crouched down to look - they weren't an obvious part of the design. I rather liked that.

The lid of the font wasn't too foul though it was very chunky and dark. At least it sort of fitted the font's proportions. I could always do without the lids, but so many places seem to have them, there must have been a general feeling that they were necessary.

We had to negotiate horses, horse blankets and dogs to get across the yard. But the local human inhabitants were obviously happy for us to be there and you should not feel put off.

Broad Chalke, Wiltshire

I won't pretend I know what's going on with these carvings as only the first was particularly decipherable. That's some classic over-and-under knotwork which seems to fit the size of the stone. Then another side is vaguely planty with circles. And the other side is literally loopy. These don't seem to be so symmetrical or give the impression of fitting neatly in their space though, as though the first might be a thin edge, and one of the other two linking to a pattern that was wider. But who can say. It's always special to find such a thing though, from before 1066. That's quite a thought.

Steeple Langford (return), Wiltshire

Swainswick, North-East Somerset

The church at Charlcombe was St Mary's, that at Langridge is St Mary Magdalene, and finally we were at Swainswick - also St Mary's for some reason. A clutch of Mary dedicated churches. Swainswick church is much bigger than the other two and feels divided into sections - the chancel, the nave, a bit under the tower, the Kitchen, the chapel... it had an unusual feel but a friendly feel. Visitors were urged to make themselves a cup of tea, and that was a very kind proposition I thought.

The Thing at Swainswick seems to be carved faces. There were two Norman ones as headstops on the bechevroned / saltire crossed doorway arch. There were also some inside around the foot of the tower, but they looked more recent (something to do with their beardy style made me think this).

The left headstop has an enigmatic expression, but the right hand one isn't sitting on the fence - he's blatantly sticking his tongue out between his teeth (not an easy expression to achieve, if you try and pull it yourself). They've both got wide flat noses, which were rather reminiscent of a carved head now in the chapel. This was apparently found in the churchyard at some point. It looks rather enigmatic as well. It's very simple, staring straight out. I can't help thinking of Celtic Heads and Anne Ross. But who knows what age it is.

Also in the chapel was a floor slab in memory of John Wood the Elder, no less than the creator of The Circus and the mineral water hospital in Bath (the Crescent was the work of his son). I thought it was rather illustrative of the nature of life and death that this famous architect should wind up with a rolled-up carpet on top of his grave. I toyed with moving the carpet but B was more stoical and hurried me on. He's not even there, she said.

Langridge, North-East Somerset

Langridge church is home to something rather special: a carving of Mary and the Baby(ish) Jesus which sadly has been literally de-faced. We could immediately see similarities with the carving in Inglesham's amazing time-warp church. But it was raining hard outside and even with the lights on, it was dingy. With the panel high up over the chevrony chancel arch, neither of us felt up to the eye-squinting and neck-aching that would be required to draw it. I kind of regret that now, though a revisit could be made in future.

Because of the low light levels I couldn't take a very good photo. You can see one from the 19th century on the Bath in Time website. They claim the copyright's theirs but I'm inclined to say that's piffle.. if it's still anyone's it's the photographer's family. But there we are, to avoid aggravation I'm not going to pinch it. The carving looks in the same spot as it is now, just that now the surrounding wall has been plastered.

I regret the soft warm light in the church is not reflected by this hideously harsh flash-lit shot.

Carving guru Rosemary Cramp writes that it was found originally in 1827 'in a rough niche in the north wall' and that local tradition in 1995 had it that it'd originally come from 'a chapel or chantry, the remains of which are now part of a farmhouse, which is on Lansdown just above the road leading through Langridge.' It sounds like the same place as frequented by the St Alphege well pilgrims!

But that may be just local lore... what does Ms Cramp have to say about the carvings as they are? That Jesus sits on the Virgin's left knee, and that he's got a book in his left hand: I'm agreeable with those ideas. She also says his right hand is raised in blessing with two fingers up. That's would be like the Inglesham one. To me though, it's not obvious if that's what he's doing. In fact B immediately called the carving 'Graduation Jesus' because he looks like he's wearing a mortar board and waving a rolled-up certificate. I can't really see this two-fingered business (especially sat here at home with a dingy photo to look at).

Mary's a bit different to Inglesham too. You can see her feet, which is not something you can see on the Inglesham carving where she's twisted sideways. She's got one hand round Jesus (that's very clear) and the other hand... again I can't tell what's going on. Ms Cramp says she's holding an object up, perhaps an orb (this feature is seen in similar panels). I'm not so sure, I even wonder if her other hand isn't going behind Jesus. It needs a closer look really.

Either Mary has lots of hair or a scarf over her head, and Jesus (rather than a mortar board) probably had a great big halo. But the faces of both of them have gone, presumably hacked off by idiots. Hacking off the faces of saints is one thing, assuming you don't like people praying to them and suchlike. But it seems like going too far to want to desecrate an image of your saviour and his mother. I don't know, religious fanatics. No sense of aesthetics or that anything might be important beyond their narrow view of the world...

A lot of effort went into carving the garments they're wearing - there are lots of folds and traces of paint remain even now  - you can see the latter on my photo (despite its faults).

Mr P thought it was 13th century, but Ms Cramp feels there's a lot to make it pre-Conquest, which would be pretty exciting. "Devotion to the virgin increased in late Anglo-Saxon England" and then "there is increasing emphasis on her power as a mediator, not just her tender acceptance of the motherhood of Christ." So Ms Cramp says 'this impressive piece' could be from the first half of the eleventh century, and may once have been housed in a (possibly female) monastic house. However old it is, it is rather good.

In the porch the door is flanked by two spiral columns with scallopy capitals. This one on the right had a bit of extra carving in the centre. I liked the way even the left and right had side of that single capital differed! There's a photo of the entire zigzaggy doorway on British Listed Buildings.

Here's another interesting thing we noticed at Langridge. I was looking at the superb chancel arch, it's got 3D chevronage in all directions (again, you can see a picture on British Listed Buildings). At the ends of such chancel arches, you often get a head stop. We've seen dragons used quite frequently - indeed we saw the ones at Dinder the other day which were probably head stops.

So I was interested to observe this:

Look at that, it's been shaped and carved into a pointy end with long lines. I'm going to invent my own term here, I'm going to call it a ProtoDragon. Because it looks the world to me like the lines of the mouths of dragons we've seen elsewhere. I was very interested to spot this. There was one on either side of the arch.

And at the foot of the pillars of the chancel arch were fancy feet, reminiscent of the design we saw on our last trip to Old Holcombe, with 'toes'.

There's much more to be interested in at Langridge, but this is already long enough for one post I think.

Charlcombe, North-East Somerset

Charlcombe font was such a treat. I've not really captured the niceness of its shape very well, which you can see better in this photograph from a hundred years ago. It's very goblet-y, and the decoration nestles irregularly around the base of the bowl in a very pleasing way.

In my defence it was immensely dark in this lovely little church. We have discovered one of the difficulties with wintery drawing tours - there isn't enough light. The churches today did have lights, but they seemed to be keeping some of them to themselves, the switches were nowhere in sight. I suppose they don't want random visitors switching on all the lights and then pissing off. At our first stop here in Charlcombe there were a couple on a timer which periodically plunged us into darkness. And I mean darkness, if we hadn't had the door open we'd have been scrabbling about in a ridiculous fashion.

I'm not really complaining though as this place was superb. B was extremely taken with the way the font bowl and base had been carved from the same lump of stone, so the pleasing overall shape was how it was always intended (we don't see that as often as you'd think).

The carved decoration ran all the way round the bowl, but it was particularly embellished facing the doorway. The petal-like design featured in some places what I can only interpret as mushrooms. That might not be what was in the mind of the carver but that's what they look like to me.

The location of this church is superb as well. I'd remembered it being closer to the road but it's actually raised up on the side of the valley, and below it is something very peaceful and special, a spring. The field below the church, in which it arises, has been kept as a garden, and as well as all the delicious mossiness and liverwortiness of the spring, there was a superb twisted ancient tree simply covered in lichens. I was delighted to see a tiny sprig of Usnea which surely only likes properly fresh air - amazing considering the proximity to Bath and its interminable traffic jams.

There seems no point in including my photo of the holy well - although our eyes were adjusted to the gloom, the camera was having none of it and I didn't have a tripod to hold it still. The result is virtual blackness.

Here's an extract about it from the Proceedings of the Bath and District Branch of the Somersetshire Archaeological and Natural History Society for 1909-1913.
"Mr. Grey ... tells me he has known of this one, under the name of St. Mary's Well, for a great number of years. It is close to the old Norman Church at Charlcombe, in the Rectory garden, amid a clump of ferns. The inhabitants have a tradition that the water is good for the eyes, and some twenty years ago persons were known to come and take it away in bottles. It is also stated to be a "wishing well," and I believe the water is still taken from this source for baptisms. Mr. Grey gives an extract from a letter in which the writer states that a lady derived considerable benefit from this well, through applying the water to her eyes."

I suppose it's natural that our interest in fonts should be given an extra boost when there's a holy well in the vicinity that would have been used to fill that font. That's a pretty cool thought.


And as an erstwhile student of literature, I'm sure it gave B an extra smile to think that Henry Fielding was married here, and Jane Austen visited here.

The south doorway had some extreme trumpetyness going on, but I wasn't sure how truly old it was (it was very neat), and the north doorway is also alleged to be Norman. However, we couldn't see that one because a little room had been tacked onto the church to the north.

John Collinson wrote in his History of Somerset that "the common tradition is that it was the mother church to Bath, and that the abbey used to pay it annually a pound of pepper by way of acknowledgment." That may or may not be true but it's a fun thought. It's certainly a very ancient church (and has a more ancient look than the rebuilt Abbey).

Holcombe Old Church, Somerset

Holcombe Old Church is in the sort of place we like, i.e. it's at the end of a long and winding narrow lane following a sudden handbrake turn off the main road. It's signposted too, making a useful and pleasant change.

Mr P. mentions the Norman carvings of the doorway, but I'd also read of the church in Rosemary Cramp's book on Anglo Saxon carving in South West England ( you can read the relevant section here at the moment). That's because a part of the stone that makes up the right hand capital (which you see below) is inscribed with letters. You can be pretty sure it's reused rather than contemporary with the capital, because the writing is upside down for one thing.

The lettering has a definite Style to it. Cramp says "The letters are boldly but unevenly incised, and some letters are finished with serifs or the expansion and deepening of terminals." By which you may infer that it shows an individual's hand, but they've gone to a bit of trouble to make it look fancy.

I was going to draw it but I was getting tired and the light wasn't very good for picking out the details. I took a crayon rubbing of a bit instead. Yes yes I thought about the frowns I might get for this (you'd certainly get frowns if it were prehistoric rock art). But I've done it now and here is the little bit I did:

There's much conjecture about what the whole thing says (or said) - it's probably in Latin but a lot of letters are missing. And it's suggested 'PROT' could be at the beginning of the inscription because it's apparently preceded by a little cross. Or at least, it's the first line that survived (now the lowest since it's upside down). Cramp has the lettering transcribed as follows:

[+P]ROT[R] ---
--- AT [...]
EIE [L.]A[V]--
C:PET[R]A[.]--

It's sad that I'm not organised enough to be able to vouch for any more than the PROT. But I'd like to defend myself by saying that I like the element of surprise and also that I don't want my mind to be influenced by prior knowledge. With lettering, you might decipher it in a certain way because you are expecting it to say something particular. And with carvings more generally, you might be inclined to See what you're told to see, and even miss things that you haven't been told about.

More concise information can also be found Lapidge's 'Anglo Saxon England v21'.

But lettering is never really as exciting to draw as a lovely spiral column with fancy Romanesque capital. And those spirals are a treat in their unevenness. I like the way the blocks aren't evenly sized and the stripes don't match up properly, and they even change direction. Is that because someone moved them and put them back together weirdly? Wouldn't that have been somewhat lazy? I like to think they how they were intended. But who knows.

Another strange thing to note about the columns is the curious beaky toe on each one. I think we've seen similar things before (maybe Marden?) - but maybe not just single ones like that.

Netheravon, Wiltshire

The last couple of trips, B and I have arrived at the location most dripping with Romanesque goodness as the last of our stops. And this is not conducive to drawing owing to mental and physical exhaustion. So this time we decided we would go to the most promising place first(ish). This was a good idea, except it started to rain. I could have stayed here a lot lot longer.

It's immediately obvious that you're somewhere different - the tower of the church is very unusual looking (well, certainly for this neck of the woods). I must credit Duncan and Mandy's website again for the photo below.

Anglo-Saxonness abounds. I really loved the fantastic little doorways that opened into the north and south of the tower. I'm hoping B will provide me with photos of these. The stone was beautifully coloured, peachy and orange and sand. If it hadn't started raining I'd have cheerfully painted these doorways. Originally the tower had been central in the church, and you could see where other walls had adjoined it.

On the west end of the tower were large doors, and these were framed by deliciously carved capitals on tall plain columns. They were superb. I drew only one but there were four.

The Quadruped (with classic tail between legs pose) has unfortunately lost its face to weathering. But much of the rest of the carving was fresh and tactile. The colours were warm and very appealing. They weren't necessarily part of the stone though - B's suspicions were confirmed when I geekily got out my hand lens and we squinted at the wall - red lichen.

I suppose the columns may have been moved or carved when the tower was rejigged? How old are the carvings? The tail-through-leg may have started early I guess. There's lots of speculation (and considered deep thought I'm sure) about the church's structure on the Anglo-Saxon-Churches website.

Inside, walking through the tiny south doorway, the tower soared up, with a superb round arch and tall tall columns into the nave. This was really something special. I liked it here a lot.

from Duncan and Mandy's website

Amesbury, Wiltshire

CC image by Rod Allday

 I was looking forward to Amesbury Abbey. But although we visited on a Saturday, it was shut up tight, looking as though it was never open, and without a notice in sight. This was very disappointing, as there's supposed to be part of a Saxon cross inside, and the building itself looks very ancient interesting from the outside. The church's website says 'Visitors Always Welcome' but perhaps they didn't mean visitors inside. We felt a bit miffed. As B pointed out, what if we'd been after a bit of Sanctuary? And we'd have bunged them a quid or two. The road from Amesbury to Stonehenge and beyond was absolutely stationary and solid with cars, and the town itself was bustling. It seems strange not to funnel a few stray tourists into the church.

I can't even find a picture of the cross anywhere, which has miffed me further.

But to make up for it we walked down to the nearby River Avon and watched the water go under the bridge, and quacked at the ducks. The River Avon's been there a lot longer than the church, and as I tried to explain to B, as archaeologists would have it, is important in the whole Stonehenge - Durrington ritual summer winter life death thing that they've made up   surmised from the evidence.

Cricklade, Wiltshire

Another beautiful May day, so I stuck a stick in the eye of mild agoraphobic sensations and drove out to Cricklade (springtime home of the famous fritillary meadow). I felt about 150 walking down the highly picturesque high street (it didn't help that I walked in the wrong direction for some distance) but eventually found the church with its enormous tower.

High up inside the porch are two Saxon carvings. They seem quite unusual. The first really is as wonky as I've made it look - the ribbons are quite sausagey, varying in width, and they don't always match up very convincingly. But I'm not complaining.

The second one is insanely complicated. At first I thought 'God what am I going to do with this one'. But I took it slowly and worked from shape to shape and angle to angle and eventually the space filled up... it was very satisfying as to begin with it looked impossible. It's way above head height which did not make seeing what was really happening very easy.

It's sort of easy to see the Y shape as a tree, and it was sort of lumpy on the sides in a barkish way. But I've read in the Antiquary for 1892 that some people see it as a 'coped sepulchral stone' - I suppose the lid of a coffin, a bit like some of the ones we saw at Ramsbury. But I don't remember it being 'coped' (slopey) - I thought it was flat. But whatever.

From the Antiquary:
[There] are two stones till the other day built into the wall of the north porch of St Sanson's [sic] Church on the ground-level, in such a position that the congregation might conveniently use them to kick the dirt off their shoes upon before going into church. The vicar (Rev. H.J. Morton) has just had these stones taken out with a view to refixing them higher up in the wall out of harm's way. It was found that about one-third of their length was buried in the ground.

One measuring 21 inches in length by 15 1/2 inches in breadth is about half of a coped sepulchral stone, with cable moulding running round the edges and up the centre, and dividing into two branches, which run out to the corners. The side-panels are filled with much shallow and carelessly executed interlacing work without any admixture of animal forms. The triangular panel at the head is filled with lines which do not interlace, but take much of the form of a rough fleur-de-lys.

The other stone looks as if it might have formed part of a cross, though it has only one face, the other sides being rough and shapeless; it measures 20 1/2 inches by 9 inches. The whole face forms a panel enclosed within a plain border...

'Carelessly executed' is a bit mean but it is quite peculiarly wormy and irregular.

When I'd finished splashing on a bit of colour (they were indeed quite colourful, though through what I don't know), I had a perfunctory wander inside. It seems that I missed more exciting things - as hinted in the WANHS journal - an Anglo Saxon pilaster, a reused Roman altar with a burning ram's head (carving of, not actual - how exciting do you want) and some carved 'beasts heads'. I shall have to go back.

But as I walked back towards the car I felt completely and utterly relaxed, I felt like a Human Being. This is the benefit of visiting and drawing the stones.

Images copyright Rhiannon 2015.

Biddestone (II), Wiltshire

Going back through my sketchbooks I keep finding extra drawings - this is the font from Biddestone. Our main quarry was this amazing doorway and its delicious wonky Norman cross, which is something quite special. But this font is also so nice in retrospect - it's extremely straightforward (if you ignore the reasonably sympathetic chunky lid). The tub is super simple, decorated with just one massive zigzag.

And the base is also interesting - I'd imagine it's contemporary, which (now B and I have seen a few) isn't always the case. It has four interesting knobbles - and I wish I'd taken more care to examine them, but I do know they'd been hacked about, and I suppose could have been faces (and hence upset the types that went icon-smashing).

Otherwise, my main memory of Biddestone church is the half-eaten biscuits we found lying about. I can't really hazard a guess about them.

Images copyright Rhiannon 2015.