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.

Wroughton, Wiltshire

Upleadon, Gloucestershire

Manningford Bruce, Wiltshire

Next followed one of those wild goose chases which the searcher of things in the landscape will be familiar with. There were a number of churches marked on the map strewn liberally around a muddle of Manningfords (Manningford Bruce, Manningford Abbots, Manningford Bohune). Naturally, and actually fairly inexplicably now I look at the map again, I chose the wrong one. But I suppose we got a walk out of it along a mossy path in the rain, which we wouldn't otherwise have had. So I suppose it's not so bad.

Mr Pevsner had said MB was going to be a very complete Norman church. Which it was from the outside, with its small frugal look and surprising semicircular apse. But inside it was far too neat and restored and kind of disappointing (to me at least, I'm sure lots of people would love it). It didn't even have a contemporary font. But it did have the most amazing door.

It'd be nice to think it was original, it looked ridiculously old. We saw a W cut into it. W for Weird Wiltshire I suspect. I've seen W-ish marks on stone before and I always thought that was about masons. But this was on wood. So a bit more mysterious to me at least.  I expect the wood's like stone now anyway.

I have now found out something about this mark. I bought a copy of Matthew Champion's 'Medieval Church Graffiti'  which I can confirm is excellent and interesting. Not that it can give me any definitive answers! But as you can see here on the Suffolk Medieval Graffiti Survey  
pages, it's been thought that the W isn't a W at all, but two Vs for 'Virgo Virginum'. Who knows. But its apotropaic-ness is suggested by our example's prominent position on the front door.

Pilton, Somerset

After much to-ing and fro-ing along muddy country lanes, and past empty fields signposted for the Glastonbury Festival, we dipped down into a steep valley and up again to park outside the church at Pilton. It's a big church. It's got a big Norman doorway. The chevrons arching over it weren't evenly sized - there were a couple of small ones squashed in. The whole thing was so neat and unweathered that it looked strange to see the squashed-in ones. It made me wonder about the idea of deliberately not doing things perfectly, that they were consciously doing that rather than not caring. There was something about the neatness that said they were deliberately making 'mistakes' against their better aesthetic judgement. I don't usually get that feeling. I usually feel the bits of disorder are a joyful thing maybe reflecting the disorder of the world. I could be misinterpreting this. Who knows.

I didn't take a photo. I couldn't take a photo, my camera said it had too low a battery and refused to cooperate. We put this down to the pervasive Somerset weirdness but it was probably my lack of organisation and inability to use the camera. There's a photo here, it's the only one I can see on the internet and it's not very clear.

I suppose I'd mainly come here to take photos of the lovely glass in St John's. There were some obviously really ancient bits saved in the windows at the sides of the chancel. A hilarious one can be seen here. The only one I managed to take was this, showing two of the evangelists:

The glass was nice at Pilton, there were some camels in the main window over the altar. But not that much Normanness.

On the Weirdometer, I now discover that Pilton holds its own. It was (supposedly) the place where Joseph of Arimathea sailed to when the Somerset Levels were all watery - with Jesus of course. I actually thought Joseph of Arimathea was supposed to have got off at Wearyall Hill and planted his staff (which broke into leaf)... but doubtless he paddled about a bit, why not.

Bathford, North-East Somerset

I didn't write down anything for Bathford when I originally went through the Pevsner for this area, but I recently found a Lead. The Bathford Society says when the church was rebuilt in the 1870s, the 'effigy of a bishop' was found. In my fevered mind I managed to spin this into the rediscovery by two Romanesque fanatics of a Norman carving similar to the Mary and Jesus one in Langridge. It didn't turn out quite like that. But we did find Bathford church packed with interesting things. So much for my Pevsnering.

The main doorway was evidently, typically, Romanesque. It's got a nice thick band of projecting chevrons, and these surrounded by some bobbles ('pellets') and a bit of saw-tooth ornament round the outside. Also our favourite feature, the non-matching column capitals. I always feel reassured we're onto the real deal when there's non-matching capitals.

,

And the capitals are quite different to each other.

The left hand one is crisp and geometric. It's so unworn by time. It's rather sharp and exuberant. The right hand one is chaotic and wandering, it's organic like a load of liverwort lobes growing over the surface. Such a contrast.

Inside, the font is quite near the door (traditional spot for fonts, so they say). It's octagonal, which made us think it must be quite late. But I can believe it's still Romanesque, because of the solidness of the 'stalk' and the interestingness of the scallopy/trumpety arrangement. I think the pattern just changes alternately round the sides, but the combining of the low scallopybits and the high scallopybits gives an impression of randomness and instability. But really I think it's quite logical and mathematical. I rather like it.

Meanwhile, a carved head slumbered peacefully over by the windows.

In retrospect this is our favourite discovery at the church. It had such an excellent expression. I can't tell if a lot of that is coming from my brain's propensity to interpret detail out of the little dints and scrapes that weren't really part of the carver's intentions. I couldn't even tell you if the eyes are staring straight out or (as my brain sees it) closed and snoozing, with eyebrows above. But I liked it. It had that something about it.


Some anciently typed guff accompanied the carving. It said it "was found at some depth in the forecourt of the Crown Inn in 1933, probably having belonged to the collection of the late Mr Lavington, and having accidentally fallen into an excavation when works were in progress there." You what?! How B and I laughed at the thought of Mr Lavington wandering past with one of the pieces from his collection, and not noticing it drop out of his hand into a hole, and it going unnoticed by the hole diggers and being covered over. It seems ludicrously unlikely. It is ludicrously unlikely.

Furthermore, the head is referred to as a 'skull', which it clearly isn't (skulls don't have noses and lips). It's got some curious lines around it - is that a close-fitting hat? And there are some lumpy bits at the front. It seems to be carved so as to rest on a horizontal surface, not as though it was part of the decoration of something high up or vertical. But yet it's not at the angle it would be if lying down as part of a body.

Who knows. I can't help but think of ancientness and Anne Ross's heads in 'Pagan Celtic Britain', especially if we believe it was found 'at some depth'. But who knows. I just know I liked it.

Outside (in the graveyard where Nelson's young sister is buried) we sought more sculpture. Several things had been gathered in the shelter of the building near the chancel door. I'm glad they're relatively protected from the weather. But it seemed a bit unfair to tuck them away like this. There was a columnless capital with lovely perforated circles:

Also these three faces:

The left hand one is separate and seems to have a good thatch of hair. The other two are on the same piece of stone, which is interesting - could they be a double corbel? They seem more stylised and so they feel older to me. The left of the pair has a distinct ear (recalling Maperton's Minute Face) and a pursed expression, twisting his mouth to one side. The one on the right is also pulling a strange expression. He's got a stripe across the middle of his face. It can't be a bandage because the nose is uncovered. But it's not very convincing as a moustache either. So I wonder what it signifies.

Also next to the faces is this slab - if you visited somewhere and found only this you'd normally be very happy!This would have been great to draw but it was so very cold and my fingers wouldn't work.

We walked up to the top of the graveyard to find the promised effigy of St Swithun. It was a long way up. Again, it seemed sort of strange that the Victorian restorers would care enough to keep the carvings, but not care enough to actually keep them safe in the church. The good people of Bathford have recently renewed a little roof over the ones installed at the top of the graveyard to keep off the worst of the weather, but as we discovered, there sadly wasn't much left to protect.

The lovely beaded chevron column pieces next to 'St Swithun' are definitely Norman. They look like one at Langridge not so far away.

And there are two capitals, very worn, and they both seem to have heads carved on them.

        

 That could be a chin on the left hand remnant. But the right one looks clearer - is that a row of even little teeth along the bottom? There are definitely eyes. Is it a skull in fact? On both are the deep V shapes that are still on the main church doorway capital. They're interesting and it's such a shame they're so weathered! I wonder how decayed they were when they were first discovered and taken to the top of the churchyard.

 And what of the main attraction, the alleged St Swithun? He's looking a bit sorry for himself. But I think you can see a number of features that suggest the sculpture has Norman origins.

It's so weathered it's hard to see the details. It seems to be missing the middle section altogether. The figure is definitely clutching a book, which is a motif we've seen lots of times.

The chest has arcs that look rather like ribs. But I wonder if they're folds of clothing. When you look at the foot area, you can see fine lines which also suggest clothing folds. A bit too fine for my liking, I feel Norman sculpture is usually bolder. But I do like the daintiness of the feet, they're very thin and pointy, and remind me very much of the figure on the Cherhill font I recently drew from, or indeed from the sculpture at Stanton St. Quintin.

It's all a bit too worn and decayed which is sad. But it was nice to find.

I thought this church was going to be big and cold and Victorianly over-restored. But it had a very nice atmosphere indeed. I don't think that was just down to the extensive carpeting.

Ooh look

Oh sometimes I can't help laughing at my own amusingness. Although maybe this is how the sculpture was supposed to be. (I think I prefer my original interpretation though). This is photoshopped, honestly. You knew that.

Southrop, Gloucestershire

The main attraction at Southrop surely has to be its amazing Norman carved font, with its symbolic human figures, lettering, buildings and detailed patterns. Perhaps I was overwhelmed by it, but I gave it a go. You'll notice that for once I was sensible and focused in on the detail. Even so, it didn't take long to find out the detail was pretty detailed. It's got that characteristic that we both like to seek out... that is, patterns that are repetitive, but slightly dissimilar in each repetition. Even in the tiny extract above you can see differences on the right and left (it's not just my careless drawing).

But I wasn't a huge fan of the carvings of figures. Maybe I'm just not used to them, as they're unusual and B and I both like the Romanesque classic flora and fauna and geometric forms. But the thing I didn't really appreciate was the violence. The carvings are supposed to be the Virtues overcoming the Vices. But I'm not sure it's very virtuous to go stabbing or thrashing or trampling people. And I always say everyone needs a vice, I'm not against vices per se. So I found the carvings a bit unpleasant and so didn't feel that inspired to draw them.

So there I am in a church with one of the fanciest Romanesque fonts in the area, and I don't really like it. In fact I'm more drawn to the capitals in the porch. Of which this is one. And it's got zigzags, swirls (volutes), round bits going into square bits, and those boudoir trifle biscuits at the bottom. That's more like it.

There was a nice bit of beading on the chancel pillars as well, with saltire crosses and a wheaty band - really rather simple and kind of Anglo-Saxonesque.

The font at Southrop is quite uncharacteristic of the sculpture we've seen before. Maybe Norman times were indeed full of knights slashing at each other but that's not the image one gets from toothy dragons and swirling foliage. I wonder whether the creator of the Southrop font was working to a brief or whether it was a topic they felt strongly about and got Really Into. Nearby Stanton Fitzwarren (scene of a visit last year foiled by a locked door) has a very similar font, doubtless by the same hand.

I think B may have taken photos of each 'window' of the font. I feel as though I should go through each one and try to analyse what they show. But it seems a little too unpleasant for now.

We'd had an excellent bright autumnal day in the Cotswolds in the Van, and it seemed a fitting final odyssey for the year.

Quenington, Gloucestershire

It's been getting noticeably difficult to draw on our last few excursions, what with dingy weather and shortening days. So B and I thought we'd make a final trip for the year to a few further-afield, but bound-to-be-good sites. I'd scribbled some notes on a bit of paper and we leapt into the Van. It always feels like more of an expedition if you take the Van.

Having arrived at Quenington, anticipation was high but we consumed some snacks to raise blood sugar for the drawing ahead. Nevertheless I was still confused when we stood outside the amazing doorway - weren't there supposed to be beakheads? Our favourites the beakheads?  The door was amazing though - absolutely huge and with so much decoration it was as if someone had gone a bit mad and couldn't stop adding to it.

 

There was too much to draw and I felt overwhelmed. I was rather taken by this foliage-spewing animal (a green animal as opposed to a green man, you might say). There were also some borders of big flowery designs:

As we read the information booklet from inside the church, I realised that there were beakheads after all. But they were around the doorway on the other side of the church. OMG there are TWO DOORWAYS?! We walked round to be met by an equally elaborate and quite crazy sight. How can one church have so much Romanesque marvellousness? It was entirely overwhelming. I could only draw a little more. You could come back here every day for a year. 

The tympanums (tympani?) both had human figures on them. But when faced with so many creatures and excellent patterns, who needs Romanesque people? I think I know where my current interests lie (and this was confirmed later at Southrop).

Durrington, Wiltshire

I wasn't sure how much I believed in the ancientness of Durrington. Mostly, not a lot, because it was evidently one of those messed-with churches sporting Neo-Norman carvings inside (for example, the bases of the chancel arch). It did have some of the stripey white and green greenstone chunky nave columns though (right hand side only) and I liked those.

Outside, a Norman doorway was promised. But I didn't feel wholly certain about that either. Mr Pevsner and B were happy with it. But I feel a bit funny about the symmetricalness of the columns. They're awfully even and they were the same on either side of the door. Which seems unusual.

To be fair, they were worn. But are they the right stone? Aren't they very yellow? And shouldn't they match the capital above? Perhaps so, perhaps not. I think I approved of the capitals though. Suitably non-matching. But I don't think I have a photo of the left hand one (much more eroded). And there's a decided lack of any photos at all on the internet curiously.

And here, the scales over the doorway. But as the doorway probably wasn't there in the first place, it doesn't seem likely that the scales would miraculously fit in the space above. So I don't think I believe in their oldness either. But here they are anyway. So very, very even. Hmmm.

And it was raining quite hard by the time we got here. So that didn't help either.

Great Durnford, Wiltshire

In terms of Whoops Per Minute, Great Durnford turned out to be approaching the top of the league table. It has not one, but two Norman doorways with patterned tympanums. And inside, a stupendous font. And then - look at those weird carvings near the door jamb! And then! a big chancel arch with two crazy winged creatures. And on top of that, some swirly painting. And some absurdly ancient pews. It was all a bit much. There was much squealing. I also squealed a bit at the end when I saw a huge spider in the porch. But B assured me it was dead (as she quickly hurried me away).

This is the amazing font. The amount of work that must have been put into it is huge. But Mr Pevsner lets us down. This is his description: "Circular, Norman; short, primitive interlaced arches; band of volutes over." Mr Pevsner, really?? Is that the best you could have done? You didn't want to mention the little faces created by the design of the mini columns? The sheer number of arches? The fantastic swirliness of the Danish pastryesque designs around the top (which even put me in mind of the swirliest font in the world, the one at Deerhurst.. yet to be visited). Oh Mr Pevsner how tired you must have been not to have been more enthusiastic.

Here's the font in its natural habitat. We removed the cover. It was the most inappropriate and foul thing imaginable. If you've got a strong stomach you can see it in this photo by Rex Harris.  It's absurd, it looks like a silly hat. Yeah it's probably Jacobean. But that doesn't make it tasteful.


By the south door were these slightly crazy sea-anemone-like carvings. They reminded me of something similar at Lullington in Somerset. Those are over the doorway (and at its foot), which you can probably see better in this photo by Phajus. But they're not quite the same. I like the way these are different sizes from each other and a bit randomly spaced. The unevenness is just so appealing, so human.

The design looks properly folded over / pinched in (think Danish pastry again). To create something so organic out of a solid bit of stone is surely quite a feat. I don't know why they're down only one side of the door. I like them a lot. All this talk of food made me wonder if, since there are seven, if they were the seven loaves in the 'feeding of the 5000' (correction - there were 5 for the 5000 and 7 for the 4000. Who knew). But then where are the fishes? There are no fishes. So it's not that. Who'd pass over the chance to carve some fish. But maybe it doesn't need to be anything. Maybe trying to find Explanations For Everything is highly overrated (more of this in my Leominster ramblings).

Meanwhile either side of the chancel arch, perching on the roll at the bottom of each capital, are two creatures. One is very dovelike, but the one on the left isn't so easy to classify. It's got big (feathery?) wings just like its partner, and likewise three little toes on each foot cling to the capital, but it's not a bird. It sports a big cheesey grin, a fat tummy, and sticking-out ears. It might be tempting to see something naughty and impish in it, to contrast with the good dove opposite. But it doesn't look very naughty. Its eyes are outlined in a very nice Norman way: John Vigar has a photo here. He calls it an owl. I'm not sure about that though, they're not renowned for their smiles.

There's plenty more to be drawn from the photos B kindly took at Durnford. So I will do that soon.

Winterbourne Stoke, Wiltshire

A late summer Saturday in Winterbourne Stoke seems to be dominated by the relentless traffic on the A303 (queues partly caused by a pair of font botherers trying to cross from one side to the other). But immediately off the main road, the village has cute Wiltshire cottages and the traffic soon seems worlds away.

St Peter's has a simple tub-shaped Norman font, at some point raised up on a plinth so it looks very gobletesque. It was topped by a hideous cover (photo here by Trish Steel) which to us looked pretty ridiculous and out of place. But now the cover is a Piece of History and there'll be no chance of chopping it up for firewood, which is a shame :)

Outside over the north doorway were some excellent carvings, some much eroded by the weather before the little porch was built. Some had been replaced. I'm not sure even how to describe them, perhaps shuttlecock shaped with double saltire crosses.

The drawing on the right is the capital of the right-hand column. It was rather organic and sinuous. I'm glad these are now protected by the porch. The south doorway was also Norman but much plainer.

Berwick St James, Wiltshire

There are always nice little surprises when we're out and about tracking our quarry. This morning's was the pack of alpacas opposite the church. They were very nonchalant though and refused to come over.

We couldn't get into the church, but luckily the Thing Of Interest was the north door, protected by an open porch. The arch is 3D chevrons, with a stripey green and white outer border. The tympanum is made of green and white blocks, and underneath there's a lintel with a carved diamond design (a bit asymmetrical, but that's what you expect and want from a Norman lintel).

The green stone is really very green. I've been wondering what it might be and where it might be from. Maybe it's greenstone, really green greenstone?! There's a quarry today that's not a million miles away at Hurdcott. We've not seen this stone used in doorways elsewhere as far as I can remember, so perhaps it's a rather local design. Mr Pevsner mentions its use at Stapleford (the adjacent village), but I can't find any photos on the internet, and I can't fully remember our visit (it was after our creepy experience at Britford). Perhaps we will have to return.

Marden, Wiltshire

Marden lies outside the enormous prehistoric Marden henge, but even though I knew it was there, I still had problems pointing it out to B as we drove into the village. It must have been a hugely important place in the Neolithic, surely no less than our more famous sites of Stonehenge, Avebury and Durrington Walls. It was built about 4500 years ago. So our church carvings at only 900 or thereabouts are positively spring chickeny in comparison. It's quite a thought.

Marden church (St Michael and All Angels) is a total gem though for the Norman carving enthusiast. The south doorway by which you enter is ridiculously ornate. There are zigzags, beading, steppy patterns and lots of flower motifs. It was rather overwhelming for the artist especially at the end of a day's drawing. You wouldn't credit how tiring driving around looking at carved stones and eating snacks can be. So I went inside to check out the surprises inside.

 

It seems that Marden has the most amazing chancel arch - so solid and wide, with chevrony zig-zags pointing in all directions. It's a little wonky (as you'd hope) and kind of flattened over the top. What made it really interesting was that the zigzagginess went under the arch and around the back. Which seemed very upmarket. It reminded me of a similar feature at the bemuralled church at Kempley St Mary.

  

Even the feet of the columns had a bit of decoration.

So thoroughly overwhelmed by all this I sat down to draw a little of the arch, the impost blocks from which it springs (if that's the right terminology).  There are little flowery motifs here as well.

 

It's so hard to know what to focus on when there's so much. It makes me feel very tired. I want to engage with it, and drawing the sketch above did make me feel like I had. And of course the arch will with luck be there for a jolly long time yet, if I want to go back and visit it. I know a lot of the enjoyment and benefit is about just finding these places and experiencing them. But I enjoy stopping and observing and interacting by drawing, and sometimes I feel I don't do justice to the location somehow, if that's not happened. It's hard to explain. Hmm.

Limpley Stoke, Wiltshire

This is not, I appreciate, the world's most accomplished photo. But it shows you something of the amazing narrow and tall Saxon doorway in Limpley Stoke's church. We visited it in August last year. It's got a presence, it's like a portal to another time. I admit it... I closed my eyes and walked through it. (Nothing out of the ordinary happened, I regret to say).

Apparently the church was first dedicated to the Saxon Saint Edith who lived at Wilton, just outside Salisbury, not so far away.

The inner shape of the doorway is reminiscent of the amazing glazed one at Somerford Keynes (but you can't step in and out of that one as you please). The jambs have strange holes and little triangular carvings with crosses:

Finally, another fairly poor photo to illustrate the pleasingly simple design that decorates the "impost blocks" (get me with my terminology) - that is, those distinctive sticky-out bits from which the arch springs.