Priston, North-East Somerset

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.

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.

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.

Chesterblade, Somerset

Chesterblade is very little and the roads are narrow. But as I tried to abandon the car in an inappropriate spot, a very nice woman offered me the use of her driveway. This was very kind. I might have given her a funny impression with my pleading 'oh I just want to see the church'. But it was the truth, albeit not inspired by religious sentiment.

Here's the font. It was plain but pleasing, like a giant beaker, or a clay pot that had been made on a wheel. And of course, slightly wonky. It was sitting skewhiff on its unevenly shaped base. And it had a nice simple cover, none of that fancy tasteless business.

I read the blurb in the church leaflet about it and it was very strange. The back cover featured an alleged drawing of the font, and it had a band of twisted rope design around it about two-thirds of the way down. The leaflet explained how an Artist in the 1840s had drawn it so, but later the design had been removed. Youwhat? There was not a trace on the font to suggest any such vandalism had taken place, it was smooth and lovely. It seemed to make no sense at all. That someone would go to such trouble to remove a totally inoffensive design, and then go to extreme lengths to make it look perfectly smooth - yet (and here's my clincher) - do a completely botched job on the place where the lock used to be at the top. Not to mention to then sit it wonkily on a funny shaped base? So. Frankly, I don't believe a word of it. It certainly gives the impression of being in its original form.

It's true to say that B and I not infrequently get confused about names and what was where and when. We try to label our drawings as soon as we've done them, whilst still in the church. Even then, we're sometimes asking ourselves 'hang on, where are we again?'. And that's with maps and Pevsner and the internet and everything. It doesn't seem unbelievable to me that the 1840s artist had a big sheaf of drawings and got confused about which came from where, and mislabelled one of them.

That's my opinion anyway.

Outside in the porch were two super capitals, the chubby face above (with ears and beaded eyebrows) and the lovely to draw twiddly design below.

There were also two creatures at the headstops of the arch. But I thought they were very cramped as they were very small, unusually small in our experience of such things. You can see pictures on the CRSBI website. I wasn't taken with them. They don't look Romanesque to me, but I shouldn't argue with the CRSBI should I.

Also on that page you can see photos of some carvings we totally missed. We're usually quite thorough and have a stroll round the outside of the buildings. But we must be getting slack to miss not one but two carvings with faces and animals. B will be saddened to hear that one of them was a Lamb of God (you can tell by the characteristically bent front leg, which usually supports a cross). They haven't quite got that bold touch that I like. But I'd still like to have noticed them! Maybe another time (pending parking opportunities). There's a photo of the other carved stone here.

Doulting, Somerset

There's not much at the church in Doulting that speaks of great age, other than the two capitals on the north door. And they were very nice albeit simple. Unmatching, of course (and just how I like it). The left one now reminds me of something I saw Mary Berry and her sidekick make on the tv the other day (a passionfruit and lime charlotte russe). The right hand side design has an organic foliate feel. Perhaps it echoes something of the amazing liverworts we were to see imminently.

Because coming out of the hillside below the church is St Aldhelm's Well, a holy spring. It's only a short walk, along a be-treed path and between stone walls down a steep lane.

CC image by Kerryn

I wanted to visit it especially to check out the mosses and liverworts there. Which were lush and rife, and much squealing was heard. The water was so clear and cold, and the noise of it splashing down out of the big stone trough was so continuous and soothing. It was just a superb spot. I felt invigorated by being there.

People were filling big water containers and carting them away in their cars, presumably to Benefit from its springyness and sanctity. So I figured the water couldn't be that full of nasties. B and I both took a mouthful. It certainly had its own taste, but it was hard to say of what.

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.

Sutton Veny, Wiltshire

It seems interesting (to me at least) that this ruined church is pretty much in the same line as a number of prehistoric barrows parallel to the lovely River Wylye. Why did the prehistoric barrow builders think this a good spot, I wonder. Did the builders of the church follow in their footsteps deliberately? It wasn't such a great spot for a building though, as it was too damp for the foundations - apparently why the church was eventually abandoned and rebuilt elsewhere. Although that was in the 19th century and you'd think it'd have fallen down long before if things were so bad. I fear the all-too-familiar smell of the over enthusiastic victorian meddler.

There's an ancient yew tree as well, but I didn't notice it at the time, despite its 15 foot circumference. The graph on this page suggests that would make it a paltry :) 650 years old, not old enough for the connoisseur of Romanesque sculpture of course.

The church was obviously quite big. The only Norman bit of the building is the arch in the picture above. It looks quite strange because the arch and lintel are intact, but the tympanum has fallen out. The capitals remain hanging there without their pillars, rather like at Coulston. The carving on the capitals is very eroded.

This wasn't the most atmospheric of spots, mostly because the churchyard had been mowed to within an inch of its life. So it felt more sterile than spooky, not really what you'd expect from a ruin. It did have some curious gravestones made of metal though, which have got to be quite unusual you'd think. The substrate was not deterring the lichens, who had still made their home on it, so it wasn't immediately obvious what the marker was made of. I rapped with my knuckles cautiously, feeling like I was knocking on a door. To be fair I think we were both quite tired by then and the sun had been beating down on my head for a while.

Compton Greenfield, South Gloucestershire

Compton Greenfield church is no distance from the M5 and the huge queues of traffic for the Catbrain Temple of Consumerism (Cribbs Causeway). But it feels a world away. It's my favourite sort of church spot really, up a long dead-end road, in amongst fields. The churchyard had a big rose garden and smelt lovely. The church wasn't open but the superb door is in the open porch so all was ok.

This is the slightly mind-boggling pattern around the door:

This was much more complicated than I'd expected. It seems pretty impressive for an out-of-the-way small church. I like the irregularity of the chevrons even though the repetitiveness is so fundamental.

I'd picked this place for my visit because I'd heard it had 'reptilian creatures' - in fact, it's got four, one each side of the door and two guarding the outside of the porch. It seems rather grand to have four of them.

This one's outside and seems a bit toothier than the pair in the porch. I wondered if they could be later copies but the outside columns have a scalloped Norman look to them so maybe the headstops are completely real. All four have these cute little curly horns - I don't think I've seen that touch anywhere else before. They're reminiscent of some beakheads we've seen, I can just imagine them biting the arch at somewhere like Chirton.

Above is the design on the capital on the right of the door. It's got the decorative holes that I'm sure we've seen elsewhere. And even a bit of intertwining which is reminiscent of Saxon knotwork. And of course the nice fingery fans (which must have an official name if only I knew it). The design on the other capital almost has a face derived from these. But I think that might be my imagination.

And this is my rendering of the inside right-hand creature with his big ears and starey eyes.

I found an old photo of the doorway in Memorials of Old Gloucestershire (1911) - the article is by Mr Keyser, writer of a book about carved Norman tympana (I'm sure B will be pleased, and I personally feel like his devotee. How strange this Norman carving obsession is, but how nice it is to find someone else who felt the same, albeit 100 years ago). I think the article will give me plenty of further Leads.

Looking at the map, I guess this church is on the route between Bristol and where people might have crossed the Severn to get to and from Wales. Though I'm not sure why that would have made it more likely to have fancy carvings. Maybe that's irrelevent. Who knows.

Images © Rhiannon 2015

Monkton Farleigh, Wiltshire

The capitals either side of the door at Monkton Farleigh are Norman. The left one has quite flat trumpet scallops (or that's how they look to me), with some overlapping upside-down arches along the top. The right has a creature's face on top of the column. It might be my current obsession with the curious phenomenon of Anomalous Big Cats, but I wonder if it has a feline look. Maybe it's only the little diamond in the centre that reminds me of a cat's tongue. It may well be a tongue - we've seen lots of faces sticking their tongues out. But it certainly doesn't have cat's teeth, they're square and not half as toothy as the ones at Twerton. No, it's probably not a cat at all. It's got lovely repetitive arches over the eyes. And it's quite strange but I do like it. It has an ancient air, an ancient expression. There's an old photo of the whole doorway at Bath In Time.

Images © Rhiannon 2014

Coulston, Wiltshire

We couldn't get into the church at Coulston, which was a shame, and there was no information about where to get a key. But perhaps it didn't matter because most of Mr P's promised interestingness was outside.

In the south side of the building is a Norman doorway with a lovely golden round arch. On each side is a capital with little volutes (a bit eroded). But curiously, although there are these capitals, there aren't any columns underneath them. And it doesn't even look as though there were any - that is, there's no mark on the stone to suggest they've been whipped away. But I suppose there must have been once.

The poor arch looks rather neglected since someone's seen fit to pile up a load of plastic chairs underneath it. It looked strangely surreal, so I didn't feel as outraged as I might. But to most people it would surely look a bit rubbish. I don't really understand, because I don't find anything very interesting about all these brash Victorian rebuildings of churches. And so if you've got something left of the interesting past, of the beginnings of your church, why wouldn't you look after it? Maybe the congregation would say that there's more to their church than the building, in fact that the building's probably the least important bit. I dunno. It was a bit disappointing to see, anyway.

But another truly interesting thing outside was the spring coming out of the hillside facing the archway. As we stepped gingerly across the marshy ground towards it, we were watched closely by many eyes. The spring is inside a deer park and a couple of stags and many female deer lined up on the ridge above us. We seemed very interesting to them for some reason.

The water runs into a pool where there was a lot of watercress. Then we could hear it heading under the path past the church. The area had a special and rather strange air. It was hard not to think of elfish pagan things and whether or not the site for the church had been chosen in relation to this water.

(An interesting though morbid little snippet, is that the murdered child in the Victorian 'Rode House' case (recently retold in 'The Suspicions of Mr Whicher'), is buried in this churchyard. The family previously lived at Baynton House nearby, and the father's first wife is also buried here).

Images copyright Rhiannon 2014.

Chirton, Wiltshire (the return)

The church of John the Baptist in Chirton is home to beakheads and a carved font, both from the Norman era. Beakheads can't be beaten, and there aren't too many in Wiltshire.

The beakheads are quite small, but they're very varied - not just animal heads but hands and little figures. The columns featured a slightly less grand version of the 'hinges' we saw at South Cerney.

The font has twelve arches containing what you'd imagine is the twelve apostles. They were all reasonably individual in how they looked. In fact the more you looked, the more you realised that the designs that framed the figures weren't mechanically repetitive either. Most if not all the figures were carrying books but the one I drew also had a key - and that, it seems, would be Peter.

The design around the top was the very sort of thing that I like to draw. It's got some logic but it's also unpredictable. And it's organic and planty. The sketch below has two layers because I just ran the drawing on. What's drawn is probably about half the circumference of the top of the font.

There were also some very nice designs on the capitals within the church. They also looked pretty Romanesque in style, though they were so beautifully crisp that it was easy to wonder if they were really so old. I think they probably were though, they had a certain unsymmetrical bold look about them

Images © Rhiannon 2014

Avening, Gloucestershire

One of the Romanesque capitals inside Holy Cross church, Avening. It rather reminded me of one of the ones at Knook.

This wraps round one of the capitals on extremely tall pillars at the entrance. The feather-like leaves reminded me of the ones on the Norman so-called 'Tree of Life' at Rodbourne. But the line down the middle of the branches is reminiscent of Anglo-Saxon carvings we've seen, and the funny little blobs also reminded me of the A-S carvings at that freaky place, Britford. So maybe that indicates it's quite an early example?

And this is the capital on the left side of the door. I don't know what's going on above or beneath the animal's head, it's very strange. Maybe I misinterpreted it and it's a tree behind? There's a photo on Churchcrawler's Flickr page which perhaps suggests so. The two-bodies-one-head is something I've seen at Lullington in Somerset, as you can see on this Flickr page. But my sister pointed out a very interesting thought - what if these are more Picasso style, and there aren't really two bodies, but two views of the same animal, which is why they're joined at the head at the corner of the pillar? It's not a thought I've had before and it's a good one.

You'll notice the old favourite of tail-tucked-under-the-leg :) The bodies are definitely animals but the head is really quite strange, more human.

There was much more of Romanesque excitement at Avening. And inside, even a very worn bit of presumably Anglo-Saxon interlace. But it was so worn that with such a wealth of other things to draw it got overlooked (for now).

These are the patterns on the other Norman capitals inside the church.

Images © Rhiannon 2014

Twerton, Bath, North-East Somerset

These large-fanged creatures are in the porch of St Michael and All Angels, Twerton. 

 

There's a photo of the real thing on the Proud of Twerton website. The presumably Victorian inscription (the door was moved in the 19th century) is from Genesis 28:17.

 Images © Rhiannon 2014

Pen Selwood, Somerset

These carvings are in the porch of St Michael's church.

The Norman lintel has a lamb of god in the centre. A canine-like creature stands on its right, and a long-clawed lion-like(?) creature sticks its tongue out on the left.

A king's(?) head forms the left hand capital of the door.

A wide-eyed king(?) with curly beard and hair forms the right hand capital.

The Penselwood community website notes the tradition that the heads portray King Alfred and King Guthrum. They had a series of bust-ups in this region in the 9th century, because Guthrum wanted Alfred's Wessex, but  after various aggravations they finally agreed on some boundaries. The Viking Guthrum turned Christian and changed his name to Æthelstan. Perhaps this was a ploy to gain the trust of the people he ruled. And maybe the stories really did later inspire the carvers at this church. I do know that the pair look very similar to the ones at Ditteridge.

 Images © Rhiannon 2014