Etchilhampton, Wiltshire

We'd come to visit the Norman font. There's a drawing on this page of the WANHM journal but it doesn't really do the scallopyness around the bottom justice - it's a bit more complicated than that. I can appreciate it was difficult to draw though because mine isn't right either. There's a kind of double thing that should be going on. You can see much better on the photo on B's blog.

 
It's definitely been given a new round base since that drawing in the journal. The 'top base' (if that makes any sense at all) is definitely wonky, which of course I appreciate. There was also a little cross scratched in, and I think the round mark I've drawn was an indication of where the lock used to be. I'm starting to realise that the hacked-aboutness of a missing lock does at least affirm the great age of the font.

On another note, if there's something that really winds up my O.H., it's place names that aren't pronounced the way you'd expect. According to another ancient volume of the WANHM, Etchilhampton is 'Ashelton'. That was 1867 though and perhaps things are different now, who knows. There was a man mowing his lawn and I was going to ask him about the clouds of mining bees that were inhabiting the verge next to where we parked. But he didn't look like he wanted to talk to Strangers. I don't even think we look that dodgy.

Amesbury, Wiltshire

CC image by Rod Allday

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

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

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

Bromyard, Herefordshire

En route elsewhere, B and I stopped in Bromyard to check out the Romanesque carving at St Peter's church. I'd been super-organised beforehand and looked at the church's website - it said encouragingly that it was usually open all day. But it's so rare that we actually bump into anybody that we were a bit taken aback to find the car park full and the sound of jolly Christian singing in the air.

I'd missed the page that said the churchgoers were becoming a Missional Community. Which is lovely for them of course. And (quite seriously) I am very glad that someone's looking after this amazing building. And even (despite my cynicism) probably, that they're using it for its original purpose. I guess. If I sound mean it's only because the mindset of a Missional Community could not be further from my own. It's not that I disagree with the idea of local community, or being charitable, moral, kind, decent and helpful to others, not killing people, refraining from coveting your neighbour's ass or any of those other sensible Christian tenets. It's the other bits about believing in Jesus as the Son of God and a virgin, who died for your sins in a horrible way on a cross, the bits about angels and devils and Noah's ark and the bible being the inspired and direct word of God, oh and the resurrection. No amount of missional communitying is going to get me to go for any of that.

Here's St Peter and his keys. You can see a photo by Matthew Wells on Flickr.

So we wandered around the outside of the building admiring the lovely carvings, which in some way seemed even nicer for their slightly softened eroded look. At the front door another wandering touristy pair walked past us and into the church. We could hear them being offered alcoholic drinks. It struck me as a bit odd. I suppose Jesus liked a drink, after all he did turn water into wine. But it smacked of a bribe. Or maybe 'what do heathens like drinking? I know, booze. That'll lure them in.' Or a way to relax the unwary so they could be talked to persuasively. I dunno, it was just a bit odd.


We sooo wanted to see the font, it looks smashing. You can see the lovely carvings on the CRSBI website (one side is swirly, the other side an alleged tree of life).

But I felt a bit like a vampire unable to cross the threshold. The Pimms-clutching pair emerged from the church almost immediately, looking vaguely bemused. We decided not to go in.

Images copyright Rhiannon 2014.

Biddestone, Wiltshire

 Images © Rhiannon 2014