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.

Wroughton, Wiltshire

Bathampton, Bath and North-East Somerset

Upleadon, Gloucestershire

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.

Great Wishford, Wiltshire

The Church Person who was busying themselves in the building while we were there was my kind of welcoming, in that he showed polite and non-bemused interest, and then let us get on with our drawings as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Considering the decided magnificence of the font at Great Wishford, it's no wonder people might like to come and draw it. It's got miniature column motifs (every one slightly different, how marvellous) and much zigzaggy lozengey loveliness in between. I did get the proportions slightly wrong (a repeated problem) but maybe that's not so important as the experience. We sat on chairs in the open doorway and proper drawing concentration commenced. I'm starting to realise that I'm at an age where taking some sort of folding chair is going to be necessary for relaxed concentration. The crouching in the cold at Stockton just wasn't condusive to Art. Oh well.

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).

Patney, Wiltshire

Mr Pevsner must have been in a tremendous rush at least a lot of the time - or how would he ever have written all those books. Sometimes he's very laconic in his font descriptions, and sometimes he doesn't mention them at all. So I'm always on the lookout for alternative sources of Leads.

I was reading 'Some Wiltshire Fonts' by A G Randle Buck (surely a man after B and my hearts) and he mentioned the one at Patney, just near Devizes. "Similar to the one at Stockton, and over the junction of the scallops is a curl ornament." - he also mentions similarities to the one I've seen at Yatesbury. So it sounds lovely, how could one refuse.

We parked nearby and set off up armed with the usual materials and clutching Pevsner (I like to think it makes us look more legit).

CC image by Nigel Cox.

I noticed nothing at the gate, but as we walked through the graveyard I started vaguely thinking 'well how nice, someone's gone to the trouble of looking after lots of little plants in plant pots'. Like B it was only when the shape of a lampstand in one of the transparent windows made its way slowly into my brain, that I computed the evidence - someone had bought the church and turned it into a house. We hot-footed it away.

In retrospect I suppose we could have experimentally banged on the door - I doubt they get a lot of visitors wanting to draw the font. I do hope they've still got it and are looking after it. I can't find a photo of it.

I kept thinking afterwards was that it would be a right pain to mow round all the gravestones. To be fair the churchyard was extremely well-kept :)

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.

Queen Charlton, North-East Somerset

I'm not sure when I drew this, it would be a couple of years ago perhaps? I had to stand in the road and balance my pot of ink on the wall opposite. The archway isn't part of the church, it's a little way down the road and the wonky gate opens onto a little field. It's rather peculiar to find such a thing. There's a photo by Rick Crowley here but I think someone has cemented back the bit that had fallen off, I don't remember such a wound.

In "Famous Houses of Bath and District" by J F Meehan (1901), it says:
This handsome archway, with its decorated indented mouldings, formed the entrance to the court-house, and was built for the Abbot of Keynsham, with his retinue, to pass under when he visited Queen Charlton on religious business, and is still in fairly good preservation."

I'm not sure if that's really very believable as it's quite small. I imagined the Abbot having to get off his horse to go through it, in an undignified manner. According to its Listed Building record the arch may have come from the church and been set as a 'garden feature' in the 19th century (but see below). The church certainly has other Norman features - I would like to visit soon.

It's in no way as big as the book's accompanying drawing suggests, unless this figure is a pixie:

Perhaps the engraver had a simple sketch to work from and added a person for interest. I don't know what's going on with that dog either (although it does look a more convincing size) - what's the white thing next to it?

Incidentally, the Queen of Queen Chalton is "apparently" Catherine Parr: Henry the Eighth's last wife. Presumably this was to do with Keynsham Abbey's wealth being snatched at the Dissolution. But nobody calls Keynsham, 'Queen Keynsham', do they? This factoid is repeated many times on the web. But I think I've found its source: the diligent John Collinson and his 1791 'History and Antiquities of the County of Somerset' (volume 2).

After the suppression of the monastery, the manor of Charleton, among other possessions, was settled in jointure on Catherine Parr, the last Queen of King Henry VIII. from which circumstance the parish obtained its name [...]

 also
 The great road to Bath lay formerly through the village; and on account of the salubrity of its air, it has been a place of much resort; particularly in the year 1574, when the plague raged so violently in Bristol, as to carry off two thousand persons, houses were fitted up here for the reception of families from that city. Queen Elizabeth had gone through this place the year before, and granted it a charter for a fair to be held yearly on the twentieth day of July, which fair is still continued.

So you can even imagine the village being named after Queen Elizabeth - at least she turned up.

 He mentions the arch - apparently disproving the idea in the listed buildings statement that the arch is a 19th century displacement:
The abbot's court-house stood on the north side of the street: nothing of it now remains except an old gateway, the arch of which is circular, and decorated with zigzag mouldings.

Now all we have to do is get Time Team in to check whether the abbot's court house existed.

Drawing copyright Rhiannon 2015.

Kelston, North-East Somerset

There's a lot to be said for visiting places with a like-minded companion, because without one, my addled brain misses things. I've just had an excellent time drawing the Saxon carvings in St Michael's church, Kelston. But I nearly didn't get in there at all. I spent quite a long time rattling the door and reading the friendly church-related notices in vain and writing an impotent and entirely unsarcastic message on how they could at least leave a notice about where to get a key. Luckily, as I trudged away in acceptance of fate, I saw instructions, large as life, by the gate: key at Vine Cottage. And doubley lucky, I'm botanically minded enough to know a vine when I see one: and so the key was mine.

But I'm sure B would have spotted it straight away. She might also have recommended taking a photograph of the stone. And also looking at its other sides (one worn side seems to look like a stone at Ramsbury). How did I miss these things? How can a seasoned font-botherer omit this basic stuff. I have no idea. I was too engrossed in drawing and came away ridiculously chilled out though.

(The top panel)

The stone has two panels of carving, one above the other. One's very organic, and seems remarkably reminiscent to me of the one at Chew Stoke. I suppose some might call it a 'tree of life' as it's apparently all sprouting from the bottom. You'll also notice a bit of the'classic Saxon motif', the twisted rope design. The other is more standardly knotty, but not in a strict regular fashion. Due to inattention I didn't mark any of the central lines in situ and just drew them in when I got home. So they're probably not entirely 'true'. But one imagines they'd all have been there when the stone was initially carved.

(The bottom panel)

As I didn't take a photo I offer this as a more realistic impresion of how the two panels look together. It's from 'Memorials of old Somerset' by F.J. Snell (1906). But he's not got it quite right either, he's been a bit elaborate in places and omitted the very bottom. But you get the impression.

Now I did notice this below - or rather I noticed a replica of it, built into the doorjamb. Because, like the stones at Nunney and Somerford Keynes (see the bottom of this page), some hell-bound piece of dog excrement STOLE it in 2004. What on Earth?? They must have brought a chisel and levered it out of the stonework it was cemented into. It was a very pocket-sized 3" square. It's obvious, and I've said it before, but if they did it for themselves, could they not see the irony, bearing in mind the subject matter? And if they did it to sell to someone else, could that person not see the irony? It's such a niche interest, it really makes you wonder who's responsible - can there really be very many people who'd want this? And if it's only about the money, it has no provenance they can admit to publicly. What Was The Fucking Point?? You despicable idiot.

 

So anyway the photo is, I admit it, taken from the Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture of South West England, by Rosemary Cramp. But I hope that (hypocrit alert) the person I've stolen it off wouldn't mind too much, since if the actual object ever surfaces, it'd be very good to have a picture of it on the internet in the hope that somebody decent might spot and recognise it.

If we're to go by the sculptures at Langford, then with this Jesus apparently being without his shirt, we're probably looking at Norman not Saxon times. The Corpus also explains that the position of the feet is also important in dating, with side-by-side being earlier than crossed. It's hard to know from this photo though. Perhaps the current holder can elucidate (spit).

Drawings copyright Rhiannon 2015.