Welland, Nene and Rolls Royce

click photo to enlarge
Long before I moved to Lincolnshire I was familiar with the names Welland and Nene. A teenage interest in aircraft taught me that the Rolls Royce aero engine company usually named its turboprop and jet engines after Britain's rivers. Consequently I came to know the Spey, Dart, Avon, Tyne, and many others, including the Welland and the Nene. I read that rivers were chosen for these engines' names because they emphasised the steady flow of power that is a requirement when powering an aircraft. If that's true it makes more sense than the naming conventions of house-builders when they come to name the streets that they create. Poets, castles, trees, birds, flowers, warships, aircraft, bishops, generals, towns, villages, and yes, rivers, are just some of the inspirations I've come across. I'm waiting for sponsored brand names to make an appearance - it can only be a matter of time.

I think I've mentioned before in this blog that river names are some of the oldest words to be found in our language. Because of the importance of rivers as sources of water, food, soil enrichment (through flooding), defence and as territorial boundaries, the original name, given who knows when, has often continued in use, unchanged, to the present day. Which is more than can be said for the River Welland itself. Today, for much of its course, it is embanked and flows in a channel that is above the level of the surrounding land. Sections of it have been straightened to speed its flow. It has always been one of the rivers that drained the hinterland of The Wash, and today it is carefully managed to do that as efficiently as possible.

None of this is evident in my photograph of the Welland that was taken near Crowland at the end of November towards the close of an afternoon. I deliberately under-exposed the shot to increase the contrast and make more of the sky's details, the shiny ribbon of water and the delicate branches of the leafless willows.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 2000
Exposure Compensation: -2.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Crowland thatch

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There was a time, long ago, when thatch was the most common roofing material to be found in the British Isles. Not only houses but churches, pubs and barns could (and still can) be found with this kind of covering. As well as the reed and straw, roofs were thatched with flax, heather, gorse and broom. But slowly, down the centuries, this vegetable material was replaced by mineral in the form of stone, slate, clay tiles and finally concrete tiles. Yet thatching never entirely disappeared. Thatching is no longer local and cheap but it can still be reasonably commonly found in the areas where it was once popular, and it is still a very good insulator.

Today long straw thatch and combed wheat - both using by-products of grain production - are still found. So too is reed thatch, occasionally using native reeds from places such as the Norfolk Broads, but more often imported from Eastern Europe, particularly the area of the Danube Delta. Many traditional buildings, often from the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, that were always thatched, continue to be so roofed. One or two builders offer newly constructed houses with  a thatched roof. I've seen them in Lancashire and Norfolk, both areas where thatch was popular. And, because of the demand for the re-roofing of old buildings and the occasional new-build, the craft of the thatcher continues.

Thatchers have always shown idiosyncrasies in the way they fix together the straw, reed, hazel or briar, and in the manner in which they finish ridges, gable ends and the edges of dormer windows. Many have also been keen to add individual thatch sculptures to their roofs, sometimes as a mark of who made it but often as a piece of whimsy or in response to a request from the owner. I've seen owls, pheasants, witches and cockerels decorating thatched roofs. Today's photograph of cottages in Crowland, Lincolnshire, features a thatched roof with a cat in a characteristically feline pose.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Crowland willows and cyclists

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"He that plants trees loves others besides himself."
Thomas Fuller (1654 1734), English physician and writer

When I took today's photograph I was concentrating on achieving a composition that included the line of pollarded willows and the fast approaching pair of cyclists. The sunny afternoon was reason enough to stop off at Crowland on the Lincolnshire Fens, and I gravitated towards this particular place just outside the village because I'd photographed here before without any great success. A distant walker proved to be too far away to be useful to the composition I wanted, so I asked my wife to walk ahead to provide the human interest that I felt the shot needed. However, as she did so the cyclists came into view and I had just enough time to change lenses, raise the camera to my eye and fire off a few shots before they whizzed past me with a few cheery words. I'm reasonably pleased with the outcome, despite the road being dotted with freshly fallen soil from a tractor and plough that passed a couple of minutes earlier, and a little of the water-tower showing against the sky.

It wasn't until I brought the photograph up on my computer that I looked really carefully at the line of trees. And, when I did so, the quotation above by Thomas Fuller immediately came to mind. Whoever planted the large willows in this row by the side of the water (just visible on the extreme left) must have had a vision of what it would achieve and the public spirit to offer it to future generations, because, as Fuller's quote implies, trees take a long time to come to maturity and full beauty, and this is frequently after the planter has shuffled off this mortal coil. But, my photograph revealed more. In between the old trees are newly planted youngsters that must be the next-generation-in-waiting. Clearly someone else has an eye to the future of this location too, knows that the existing trees have limited lives, and have generously planted knowing that it won't be them who sees the trees when they reach their full beauty.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Trinity Bridge, Crowland

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The passing traveller, coming upon the Trinity Bridge in Crowland, Lincolnshire, might wonder at the purpose of this three-arched structure with its silent, eroded, king-like figure. This elaborate and massive pile of masonry bridges nothing but a footpath that passes below. Fortunately, a metal plaque fixed to the side of it reveals something of its history.

This medieval footbridge, built entirely of Barnack limestone and rubble, vaulted using semi-circular arches beneath and with steep, stepped and cobbled paths above, dates from about 1375. It was originally constructed as a way of crossing the junction of the rivers Nene and Welland, and is likely to have replaced a wooden triangular bridge that is recorded as having been there in 943. Presumably the name "Trinity" comes from the three routes that meet at its summit, and the three arches that allowed the passage of water below. The rivers that formerly flowed under the bridge were long ago re-routed away from the central streets of the small market town, leaving the the old structure looking somewhat forlorn and purposeless. Its unique design and historic importance has been recognised by its Grade 1 Listing.

What then of the sculpted figure fixed to the wall of the south side of the structure? The conjecture is that it dates from c.1260 (on stylistic grounds), and therefore predates the bridge. It probably represents Christ in kingly pose, with a crown and holding an orb, and is likely to have been brought from the abbey. There is speculation that it was placed on the bridge around 1720 when the abbey's west-front gable was taken down (it had been in disrepair from the time of the Dissoution of the Monasteries in the mid-sixteenth century), and perhaps it was one of the niche or apex figures of that great building. The fact is, nobody knows. However, this figure does give additional interest to Trinity Bridge, and acts like a watcher of all who walk to the top of it to take in the view down the town's broad market place, North Street.

It's very difficult to photograph the Trinity Bridge in a way that visually explains its structure. However, with the magic that is Google Street View it is now possible to almost circumnavigate it and see at a glance that which is difficult to capture in a single shot or put into words. My photograph of the elevation of the bridge is posted simply to give an idea of what I've been talking about. However, the shot of the figure is, to my mind, a better piece of photography. I was particularly pleased with its simplicity and with the way the lines, shadows and scupture work together.

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 - Figure
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 15mm (30mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photo 2 - Bridge
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Green Man

click photo to enlarge
In my church-crawling I frequently come across the Green Man, a mystical face with foliage sprouting from its orifices. Often they peep out from the stone leaves of the fourteenth century capitals on nave columns. Carved wooden misericords often feature his disturbing visage. And occasionally I see him forming the decorative design of a stone or wooden boss that hides the joins of the roof vaulting, as with this example at Croyland Abbey, in the village of Crowland, Lincolnshire.

The origin of the Green Man is obscure. Many feel that he is of pagan origin, representing a fertility figure or a spirit of the trees, that was adopted and adapted by Christians along with symbols such as the yule log, the fir tree and mistletoe. Such figures are known in England from the eleventh century onwards, and they don't look out of place next to the grotesques and gargoyles that are carved on the inside and outside of old churches. This example, probably dating from the 1400s is high above the chancel of the abbey at Crowland. He is of the variety known as disgorging because he spews the foliage from his mouth. Other variants are the foliate head where the head itself is in the shape of a flower or leaves, often with additional vegetation, and the bloodsucker that has foliage coming out of every hole. The Croyland example seems to be sprouting oak leaves, a not unusual tree to find associated with a Green Man. What is unusual, however, is the gold colour: green is more usual where any colour remains or has been restored. However, gold is certainly very common on bosses, so perhaps that accounts for it.

I took my photograph lying on my back, directly below the Green Man, with my camera clamped to my face. On a dull day, in a dark interior, and without my tripod, I took several shots to be sure of getting one that was reasonably sharp.

photograph & text(c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 102mm (204mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.1
Shutter Speed: 1/5
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On