A Decorated arcade

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Existing words are often appropriated by special interest groups to describe something new. Today's photograph is a good example of that. When Thomas Rickman devised his stylistic classification of the periods of English Gothic architecture he came up with the terms Early English, Decorated and Perpendicular to describe the three main styles (as he saw them) between the end of the round-arched Norman (Romanesque) period and the beginnings of the English Renaissance; roughly c.1190 to the early to mid-sixteenth century. Decorated, with or without the capital D, was an existing word with a widely understood, non-specific meaning. But Rickman chose it to describe the ogival forms and naturalistic carving that followed the geometrical, stern precision of the  Early English style.

Today's photograph shows blank arcading in the porch of the medieval church at Osbournby, Lincolnshire. The cusped, "S"-shaped pointed arches (usually called ogee or ogival) are characteristic of the Decorated period and date the work to the fourteenth century. It's quite unusual to have the expense of this kind of decorative carving in the porch of a village church: it is more often reserved for the sedilia in the chancel. The word "arcade", as it happens, is also one that has been appropriated for a variety of uses. It originally meant an arch or a succession of arches, so to describe what we see in the photograph in that way is correct. But, later centuries applied it to covered shopping areas with arched, glazed roofs and later still indoor seaside "amusements" with slot and video games used the term.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO:4000
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Lichfield Cathedral is number 2...

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... in terms of popularity on this blog. On a few occasions I have reviewed my hit counter and noted, in particular, the most popular posts and photographs, and the countries that produce the most hits. Ever since I first did this my blog post showing the nave of Lichfield Cathedral in Staffordshire has been second in popularity. By a large margin, I must say, from the third most popular, and considerably behind the number one post. I don't propose to list all these again, but I do still wonder what makes Lichfield's cathedral a relative magnet for visitors.

This particular English cathedral is a bit of an oddity in that its two west towers have tall spires, as does its crossing tower: cathedrals with three big spires are very unusual in England. It's also true to say that Lichfield isn't one of the "big" cathedrals in terms of size, popularity, architectural beauty and significance, or visitor numbers. It lags well behind the likes of Canterbury, Westminster, Lincoln, York, Durham etc. And maybe that accounts for it. Perhaps, on the world wide web, Lichfield has fewer photographs and articles than many other cathedrals and therefore the ones that do exist attract relatively more hits.

This photograph of the nave taken on my recent visit is from a slightly different position compared with my earlier effort. And this time I looked very carefully before I pressed the shutter and checked that there wasn't a box in the foreground! I took my shot with a 16:9 aspect ratio in mind to remove some of the nearest seats and give greater emphasis to the repeated verticals of the columns, piers and arches.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.2
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO:3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Worcester Cathedral, tripods and good enough

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I've photographed in churches for forty years or so. I began with an SLR, a rangefinder camera, a variety of films and a tripod. Today I'm shooting with a couple of DSLRs, a compact camera and I rarely use a tripod. What liberation the higher ISOs and image stabilisation of today's cameras have conferred on the photographer! Not only are you less burdened by the weight of a tripod, you get in people's way much less. Moreover, in locations such as the cathedral shown in today's photograph, you don't get someone asking if your photographs are for commercial purposes.

In the minds of many the equation "tripod = professional photography" still exists. And, while it's true that many people who actively and purposely seek to produce saleable pictures do use a tripod to get the sharpest image and the required depth of field, there are many instances where that goal can be achieved with a hand-held shot. However, the interior of a cathedral during the late afternoon of a dark day at the end of November isn't one of them. To get a sharp shot with a decent depth of field a tripod is a great help. But, if, as here, you are looking for a "good enough" image, then a wide aperture, a higher ISO and image stabilisation can produce the goods. What appealed to me about this shot was the contrast between the areas of dark and light, and the different colours that the incandescent, fluorescent, LED and natural lighting added to the scene.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f1.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 640
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tewkesbury Abbey stylistic juxtapositions

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I've heard it argued that Gothic architecture i.e. the medieval style that features pointed arches, was the first stone-built style of Northern Europe. During the so-called "Battle of the Styles" in the nineteenth century, when the design of large public buildings in Britain was often decided in competition, Gothic was frequently chosen because it was seen as a native style in contrast to the Classical style which was deemed, rightly, to be Mediterranean in origin.

The Romanesque style with its rounded arches, that preceded Gothic, can be viewed as a debased version of classical architecture, though that is not the whole story by any means; the timber building traditions of the Anglo-Saxons and the decorative sculpture of the Norse peoples are two stylistic threads that are also very evident. Something that I always found interesting was that the Romanesque style merged into Gothic rather than becoming a purer version of the styles of Ancient Greece and Rome. That had to to wait until the Renaissance.

Today's photograph shows part of the nave and more distant crossing and chancel at Tewkesbury Abbey in Gloucestershire. What always strikes me when I enter this building is the contrast between the plain, solid columns and rounded arches of Romanesque period, surmounted by the lighter, ornate vaulting of the later Gothic period. It is not uncommon in many English cathedrals, but at Tewkesbury the dissonance the pairing produces seems more pronounced than elsewhere.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (27mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/30 sec
ISO:2000
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Boston's Stump

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The recent collision in London between a helicopter and a construction crane at the top of a new tower block raised questions in the press about the wisdom and reasons for erecting such tall buildings. It seems to me that you can argue the wisdom of it long into the night, but the reasons are three-fold and what they have always been: facilitating a technology (such as telecoms), maximising the value of land, and prestige.

Today's photographs show the 272 feet tall tower of the medieval church of St Botolph in Boston, Lincolnshire, a late example of the Gothic builders' art, made of Barnack stone. Its absolute height, its relative height (the length of the church is only ten feet more) and its appearance when seen from afar quickly earned it the name of "The Stump" (though the name may be an example of the English love of irony).

The tower was begun in 1425-30 and completed in 1510-20. It is likely that a spire was to have begun at the level of the parapet above the pair of tall windows (which were probably intended to be the belfry stage). This would have been the conventional finish to a large Lincolnshire church. However, the church authorities had different ideas and they simply kept building upwards, adding a single, transomed window for the belfry, then topping it all off with pinnacles and a large, open lantern supported by flying buttresses. Why was it built so high? I can only think that prestige and the desire to make a big, bold statement lay behind the decision. It could, I suppose, be argued that having the belfry higher gave the sound of the bells greater reach. Such height was certainly a risk because the deep soils of the Fens yield no bedrock to the builder and smaller, nearby towers such as Pinchbeck and Surfleet testify to how they can quickly acquire a disconcerting tilt. The tower is undoubtedly impressive, and parts of it, particularly the lantern are beautiful. In total, however, it doesn't work: the height is too great, the stages don't complement each other and it is not visually integrated with the nave and chancel. But, as a beacon for sailors on the storm-tossed sea of The Wash, searching for the mouth of the River Witham and safe haven, it must have been a godsend!

The smaller photograph, taken from the town bridge, is the classic view of the tower. My shots were taken when hoar frost cloaked the trees, ice was just beginning to form on the River Witham, and shopping was the main thing on our minds. A bright, clear January day is not to be spurned, however, and my compact camera proved its worth once more.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9.3mm (44mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Repetition and photography

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"My greatest fear: repetition"
Max Frisch (1911-1991), Swiss author and critic

I find it hard to understand the point that Max Frisch was making when he wrote the remark quoted above. If it's the simple fear of repeating oneself inadvertently, or even knowingly because the creative juices have stopped flowing, then fair enough. But that makes it such an obvious point that it's hardly worth the utterance. The fact is that much art, whether writing, visual or musical, depends on varying a theme, and themes inevitably involve an element of repetition. This is a subject that I touched on in my 2011 post, "Mining the seam", so I won't elaborate here. However, what I will say is that this desire to avoid "repetition" is something that seems to afflict photographers rather more than some other visual artists. Painters have no hesitation in returning to a subject repeatedly - see Monet and Rouen Cathedral, Cezanne and Mont Saint Victoire or Diego Rivera and the calla lily flower. Most, though certainly not all, musicians tend to work within a tightly defined genre and instrumentation. But photographers, well, they too often forgo the learning and refining that repetition can offer, and search instead for ever new subjects and approaches.

I repeatedly take photographs of the water lily leaves in our pond because they offer interest and difference across the year. The church in the village of Bicker is another subject that I photograph regularly. Why, you might wonder? Well, not only is it conveniently located for me, but it is a particularly fine building in a setting that, like those water lily leaves, changes with the time of day, the weather and the seasons. I've photographed it in fog, summer, and snow more than a few times (see here, here, here and here).That being the case, you might wonder what mileage there is in another photograph of the church on a snowy morning: in self-imposed repetition.

In fact, I've set myself the task of documenting this church. I'm looking for variations determined by the weather, the time of day, the season, the viewpoint, the lens, the processing, and any other variable that I can introduce into my photography. On this occasion the warm note of the early morning sunlight contrasting with the cold blue/white of the light covering of snow and the hoar frost on the trees offered something different. So too did the slightly more distant viewpoint that introduced the veil of branches across the top of the image. There's more mining of this seam yet to be done!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reflecting on Holy Trinity, Hull

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The advent of the world wide web opened up so many avenues and repositories of information on such a wide variety of subjects that, for many, it has become completely overwhelming. Some older people find the idea of searching this massive morass daunting and having dipped their toes in once, vow never to return. Younger people have different strrategies for dealing with it, one of which is to limit what they look at. On the face of it this seems fair enough: you simply can't engage with everything when "everything" means just that! However, what looks like rational and reasoned selectivity is frequently just another coping strategy not entirely unlike the rejection adopted by quite a few senior citizens. How so? Well, often it involves looking only at what you like or agree with. Take politics. If you are left-leaning the tendency is to visit only those websites that reflect your views; to avoid the online newspapers of a right-wing persuasion, and to simply reinforce your existing beliefs. And, the internet specialising in nuance as it does, provides a menu of sites to satisfy particular viewpoints. What it does less well is offer intelligent sites that are more broadly based, where opposing or differing viewpoints sit side-by-side. Now you might think that it's quite easy to select and view multiple sites that offer these contrasts and thereby expose yourself to conficting opinions. But, as we all know, few do that. In fact, by its very nature and organisation the internet seems to positively encourage people to limit the range of experiences to which they subject themselves. Quite the opposite of what some of its cheerleaders proclaim.

I drifted into this line of thought when I gazed once again on the reflected image of the medieval church of Holy Trinity in Hull. The 1970s tinted glass curtain wall that was erected at a time when I lived in the city, is losing a little of its sheen. It always reflected back that which was in front of it (rather like some internet users' screens). On a bright day with deep colours and sharp shadows it can look quite a sight. On a dull day with muted tones, featureless stratus above and fading light below it makes much less of an impact. The green paper stuck on the inside of some windows isn't helping either. I searched for an alternative to the obvious main shot, but the complexity of my second attempt, though not without interest, is somewhat intricate; real church, reflected church and trees appear to compete rather too much.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fleet church and the via mirabilis

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A recent unusual and unwelcome bout of illness saw me more house-bound than usual, taking no photographs, and consequently using up my reserve of shots of postable quality. So, I've done what I usually do when my well of current images runs dry; I've looked through those that I previously classified as "possibles" and have selected a few of those for posting.

Today's offering shows the fourteenth century church of St Mary Magdalen at Fleet, a church in the Decorated style, a building of great grandeur, with a detached tower and spire. The A17 road from Sleaford to King's Lynn has  been described as "the via mirabilis...the finest procession of churches in England." A list of all the medieval buildings worthy of a visit on or near this highway is very long but highlights would include Ewerby, Asgarby, Heckington, Helpringham, Swineshead, Sutterton, Algarkirk, Holbeach, Fleet, Gedney, Long Sutton, Terrington St Clements and Tilney All Saints. Indeed, the start of that route is so rich in churches that the old Murray's "Handbook" for Lincolnshire records that, "from almost any church tower near Sleaford fifteen or twenty spires can be counted."

I took this photograph of Fleet church at the end of a winter's day, after the sun had slid below the horizon, before any stars could be discerned, and as the chill of oncoming night signalled an end to photography. I liked the way the man-made, disciplined silhouette of the church contrasted with the waywardness of the skeletal trees. From the position that I took the photograph it looks as if Fleet church has a traditional west tower. However, the smaller shot, taken a few years ago, shows that this is not the case and reveals the campanile to be one of the few medieval examples in Lincolnshire that is completely detached from the rest of the building.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 75mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The interior of Ely Cathedral

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Can there be anyone who, having walked below the crossing tower of Ely cathedral, hasn't stopped and gazed up in wide-eyed wonder at the work of the medieval builders? I do just that each time I visit, and even though I've got lots of photographs of the vaulting and arches (and have posted a couple), I take a few more. I did it again when we were last there.

In my recent post about this Fenland cathedral I said that, to my way of thinking, the unusual exterior made Ely something of an ugly duckling. However, as everyone knows, the ugly duckling grew into a beautiful swan, and the transformation of Ely comes about when you step through the doors into the wonderful interior space. The crossing with its glazed lantern is the star of the show, of course, but the sturdy Early Norman nave has an austere beauty too, one that is lit up by the painted ceiling above.

To the east of the crossing is the choir, and here the relative simplicity of the nave gives way to rich materials, colours and textures, and the soaring forms of Gothic replace the sturdiness of Norman. There are many fine details to pore over inside Ely, but for me its success comes not from individual pieces but rather the all-embracing spatial experience.

Unusually for an English cathedral Ely makes no charge for personal photography. I've got used to paying anything between £2 and £4 to take photographs. Here a charge is made if a tripod is used. All my shots were taken with a hand-held camera!

photographs and text © T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
 Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The exterior of Ely Cathedral

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The exterior form of Ely is something of an oddity among English cathedrals. As you approach it across the flat Fenland landscape its appearance above the town, on a rise only 68 feet high, is long and low with towers at the crossing and  the west end. That is a quintessentially English profile. However, the crossing tower is lower and wider than usual, and there is but one west tower, not the usual two. It is principally this arrangement and the attendant details that make the cathedral something, to my mind, of an ugly duckling.

The low, wide crossing tower was built after the more typical tower of Norman date collapsed on 22 February 1322. The replacement is octagonal, the lower part stone and the upper corona or lantern, timber. It quickly acquired the name of The Octagon. This curious structure that looks wide rather than tall, is surrounded by pinnacles and topped by slender castellated turrets that echo those of the west tower. The west tower itself was built in the early thirteenth century, and in 1230 a spire was erected on the top. However, in the later fourteenth century the spire was taken down and replaced by the current octagon and the slender corner turrets. A small lead spire was added to this at an unknown date, but this too was removed in 1801 to leave the building looking as it does today. Germany is the home of cathedrals with a single west tower, so to see one in England, and with such an unusual design - more castle-like than ecclesiastical - is unusual. Moreover, to have the big tower echoed in a smaller tower to the south (see main photograph) makes for a strongly asymmetrical west facade, something that is equally odd in an English context. But, whilst the overall form of Ely is strange and awkward, the details of the exterior are interesting and often beautiful, particularly the blank arcading of the walls. The large, rectangular Lady Chapel that is a separate building but for the linking corridor is a further Ely quirk. However, the location and style make it look like a chapter house so it does not stand out in the way that the towers do.

Photographing the exterior of Ely is quite a challenge. It is closely surrounded by buildings, and where there is a big sloping pasture on the south side, there are plenty of large trees that get in the way. The cathedral green in front of the west facade offers just enough space for a reasonably satisfactory shot, and I took advantage of this on a recent visit. Incidentally, the incongruous looking cannon in the left foreground has these words on a nearby plaque: "Russian canon captured during the Crimean War. Presented to the people of Ely by Queen Victoria in 1860 to mark the creation of the Ely Rifle Volunteers." Around the edge of the plaque are the words, "Give peace in our time O Lord."

photographs and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 27mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old church doors

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Today's photograph is another of my recently scanned slides from 1986. It shows the remarkable south door of the church of St Helen at Stillingfleet, East Yorkshire. The semi-circular headed doorway in which it sits dates from c.1160. It has the characteristic ornament of chevron, beakhead, scallop etc. that is frequently found in Late Norman architecture. The door itself is thought to be contemporary with this period. Even though it has suffered the ravages of time - see the inserted pieces at the bottom replacing rotted wood - and, despite some of the ironwork missing, what is left surely cannot be from a later period.

The first thing that catches the eye is the very Nordic looking boat with its great steering oar/rudder. At the top left are two figures, and a further one can be seen at top right. The big hinges have large "C" shaped embellishments with dragon-like heads that bring to mind the sort of head one sees in stone on Norman doorways and in illustrations on illuminated manuscripts. The single foliate boss was probably one of two, three or more. Then there is the band of interlaced metal that helps to tie the boards of the door together. It looks like the hinges may have had a lattice-work of metal inside the "C" shapes. Who knows what else there was? When I took my photograph in 1986 the old door was still hanging in its original position and fulfilling its purpose as the main door connecting the outside and inside of the church. The last time I visited Stillingfleet, several years ago a new door was in its place and the ancient door had been moved inside to preserve it. It is a remarkable survivor.

The smaller photograph shows the north door of the church at Swineshead, Lincolnshire, taken on my recent visit. This is also the only door ever to have hung in its doorway. The reticulated tracery at the top of the door shows that it is contemporary with the architecture around it. Like many larger church doors it has a smaller door embedded within it. The large door would have been opened on ceremonial occasions with the smaller door serving everyday use and helping to minimise the effects of the cold north wind.

Somewhere in my collection of slides I have photographs of other old church doors including the fine example at Skipwith, also in East Yorkshire. Other Lincolnshire examples I've posted in this blog include the door at St Andrew, Sempringham (here and here) and the door at Pickworth.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Olympus OM1n
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm
F No: N/A
Shutter Speed: N/A
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  N/A
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Churches past and present

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There's an old saying that "what we learn from history is that we don't learn from history." It's not hard to find examples in politics, public affairs, private lives, the design of man-made objects and much else that give weight to that somewhat cynical observation. But it's equally easy to point to examples that refute it.

I was thinking about this as I photographed the fine church of St Swithin at Bicker on a morning after snow had fallen during the night. I reflected that the few churches that are built today are much more modest than the buildings of a thousand, five hundred or even one hundred years ago. The Anglican church's desire to impress the populace and glorify God through a large, ornate structure made of expensive materials has moderated considerably in the light of the expense that parishes must expend to maintain old churches. Moreover, the buildings today need to be more flexible, and the traditional elements of nave, chancel, porch and tower don't meet the needs of a church that wishes to host a much wider range of events than just worship. So, yes, today's church buildings reflect the needs of our time and do not blindly follow the precedents of ages past. Of course, there are fewer modern churches - I can only think of half a dozen or so - that make such good photographic subjects as the one in today's image or indeed any of its ancient counterparts, so the church's gain is often the photographer's loss!

I've posted a few photographs of Bicker church before. It's one of the easier churchesto get a good shot of in my part of Lincolnshire. It's not too hemmed in by buildings or large or evergreen trees, at least on the south side which is the best for this kind of photography. However, it's an unusual church where there isn't something that intrudes that you wish wouldn't. From the south east it's the evergreen on the right of the image: from the south west it's the flagpole. The latter forces you to move your position slightly more west of south than you would choose because otherwise the slender upright gets mixed up with the tower and looks odd. However, on the day of this snow everything fell into place in terms of composition and so I got my shot.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ely Cathedral

click photo to enlarge

The exterior of Ely Cathedral looks its best, in my opinion, from a distance of several miles as it rises above the small city on a low eminence in the flat Fenland landscape. To someone who is familiar with English cathedrals the exterior of Ely is a decided oddity, and the closer you get to it the odder it looks. A prominent west tower is common in a parish church but rare in a great church such as a cathedral, minster or abbey where the crossing tower usually dominates. The emphasis on embattled turrets rather than pinnacles is even rarer, suggesting a secular castle rather than a religious building. Ely didn't always look like it does today however. It too, like cathedrals across the land, once had a central crossing tower. But, in February 1322, the great Norman structure collapsed, probably due to the inadequacy of its foundations. In its place an octagonal lantern was erected, supported on stone, but constructed of oak, the whole structure making a bristling tower lower than the west tower and very different from the soaring culminations found elsewhere.

You may gather from this that I find the exterior of Ely lacking compared with say,York, Lincoln, Durham, Salisbury or, in fact, most other cathedrals. I do. That's not to say that it lacks interest, but for me the overall form of the building doesn't match the beauty of other major cathedrals. However, the collapse that led to the construction of the octagon produced on the interior one of the finest sights that any English cathedral can offer, one that brings distinction to the building and makes it a place worth going out of your way to see.

Today's main photograph and one of the secondary images show what your eyes behold when you pause below Ely's crossing and look up. At the top left is the painted roof of the very long Norman nave. Opposite, at the bottom right is the elaborate Gothic vaulting of the nave. The other two roofs cover the transepts. Windows fill the spaces between the eight stone piers and from the top of each of the latter spreads a fan of ribs that reach to each of the bottom edges of the octagon itself. This is painted with a ring of angels, has stellar vaulting with Christ on the centre, and the whole is ringed with stained glass that lights the space.

We made the journey to Ely on the back of a weather forecast that promised sun and cloud. The drab photograph of the west tower shows how accurate that was!

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation:N/A

Wide angle distortion and innovation

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The flood of innovation in cameras and photography in general that occurred following the introduction of digital into the mass market continues, albeit at a slower pace than five or ten years ago. Most recently we've seen developments such as the Lytro camera that allows you to select a point of focus after you've taken your shot, or produce versions of the same shot with different points of focus. Interesting though that is, it's not the first new development that I would wish to see. In fact, way ahead of such things I'd place a means of controlling wide angle distortion.

I was thinking about this the other day as I photographed the church of St Botolph in Boston, Lincolnshire. I've posted shots of the exterior of this building before (for example here, here, and here). These distant views show the tower or details, but not the whole of the church. That is because St Botolph is one of the largest parish churches in the country, its tower is the tallest (that doesn't include a spire), and it is quite closely surrounded by buildings. The only "open" shot you can get of the church is from a space near the edge of the market place. However, from this location a wide angle lens is necessary, and with that comes distortion that changes the emphasis of the component parts of the structure. More specifically, the tremendous tower with its "lantern" top is diminished in size and the nearness of the chancel causes it to assume a bulk approximately equal to that of the nave. Such equality of size is rare in an English church and it certainly doesn't exist at Boston even though its chancel is bigger than that of some cathedrals. If the photographer was able to somehow adjust the distortion that the wide angle lens produces and could bring a building closer to its proper proportions I'd be very happy. You may well think that to do so would break the laws of optics. But wouldn't we once have said that about selecting a point of focus after the shutter has been pressed?

The sharp shadows produced by the clear sky of an early November day prompted this shot. I usually wish for a few clouds when the sky is clear, but the searing blue of this autumn day also had its attractions, and without it those sharp shadows wouldn't have been there. Incidentally, in the photograph Herbert Ingram standing atop his column once again has the indignity of a bird perched on his head. Whenever I pass there's usually a pigeon in residence. On this occasion it was a black-headed gull that had claimed the prized spot from which to survey the world and scavenge for crumbs.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Osbournby church

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There's no easier way to announce yourself as an outsider to this area of Lincolnshire than by pronouncing the name of the village of Osbournby phonetically, just as it's written i.e. "Ozbornbi". For reasons that I'm sure few, if any know, the local pronunciation is "Ozzenbi". In an attempt to get to the bottom of why this is so I delved into the derivation of the placename.

The Domesday Book of 1086 gives two spellings - Esbernbi and Osbernedebi. Also used in the eleventh century was Osbernebi. It is thought that these come from the combining of an anglicisation of an Old Danish personal name - Aesbiorn (changed to Osbeorn) - with the Old Danish "by" meaning farmstead or village. So, the settlement was named after this person who founded it or was of importance within it. All very interesting, but as far as the current local pronunciation goes, not a great deal of help. The elision, contraction or slurring of the "bourn" part and its replacement by a "zz" sound is the interesting change that needs explaining. In fact, Osbournby is not alone in being subjected to this particular corruption. Just over five miles south, down the A15, is the village of Aslackby where the "zz" sound replaces "lack" to give the local pronunciation, "Azelbi" (as in Hazel where the "h" isn't sounded). I'll have to do a bit more digging if I'm to come up with an explanation for all this.

We passed Osbournby's church the other day as a light wind was blowing the chestnut and beech leaves of the churchyard trees on to the closely cut grass. This particular building, that dates mainly from the fourteenth century, is quite hard to photograph in summer from the south east with sunlight on it because of those tall trees. Their shadows fall across much of the aisle, nave and chancel. However, on this autumn afternoon the trees had shed enough leaves for light to filter through and give the scene both illumination and interest, so I took my shot.

For a photograph of the fine medieval bench ends that the church is famous for see here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.00 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Romanesque and Gothic at Tewkesbury

click photo to enlarge

Today's photograph shows the interior of the nave of Tewkesbury Abbey, Gloucestershire. A Saxon abbey founded c.715AD was the first building on this site, but nothing of it remains today. The present church is a Norman foundation of the eleventh century with most of the structure dating from the 1100s, a little from the 1200s, the ambulatory chapels and vaulting the 1300s, and small areas elsewhere of more recent dates.

Looking at the photograph we can see that the drum piers (columns), the rounded arches and the triforium (dark passage with light shining from it) are of the Norman (or Romanesque) period. They were complete by the time of the abbey's consecration in the 1120s and are characteristically heavy compared with the lighter appearance of the later Gothic style. For the student of architectural history there are two particular points of interest in this photograph. Firstly, the piers are relatively tall and plain, a regional characteristic of the Norman style whilst the triforium is quite small, almost insignificant compared with most similar buildings of the period (compare with this example at Peterborough Cathedral). The second thing to note is that the vaulting of both the aisles and the nave dates from 1330-1350, what is stylistically called the Decorated period of Gothic architecture.

The rounded arches of the Norman period were poor at spanning spaces as wide as a nave and consequently most Norman naves had flat timber ceilings, rather than stone vaulting. However, the narrower aisles were often covered with tunnel or groin vaulting. Here at Tewkesbury the Norman nave had no clerestory so the present one was inserted in the fourteenth century when the lierne vaulting of the nave and the quadripartite with ridge ribs vaulting of the aisles was built. To anyone who visits large churches regularly the Gothic vaulting on Romanesque piers looks odd. It also accounts for the half-hidden and relatively ineffectiveness of the clerestory which was squeezed in and then partly obscured by the springing of the vaulting. However, in the middle ages, as today, architects were keen to build in a contemporary way, and the idea of building vaulting or a clerestory in 1340 in a style from over one hundred years earlier was thought ridiculous, just as building today in the manner of the late Victorians would be. It would, wouldn't it?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The poor man's fish-eye lens

click photo to enlarge

Skimming through this year's PhotoReflect images it occurred to me that I haven't posted any reflected self-portraits recently. So, in a bid to catch up with my self-imposed task, I took one recently in St James, the church at Castle Acre, Norfolk.

It shows yours truly reflected in the base of a large candle holder that was placed on the octagonal steps on which the font can also be found at the west end of the building. Behind me can be seen the Victorian tiled floor, the wooden pews, the nave arcades of the C14 and C15 and the distant chancel arch and east window. In recent years candle holders of this sort have become quite a common sight. They usually involve a tall, turned, wooden column (this one has a brass base) with a big, brass cup at the top in which is placed a very large white or cream candle. Often these have symbols or writing on them, usually in red.

Over the years I've seen a number of fashions and ideas circulate around churches. Many have set up play areas for young children at the back. I've seen small lending libraries too, as well as kitchens, small "cafe" areas and exhibitions about the history of the building and parish. At the east end of the church many congregations have brought the altar forward from under the eastmost chancel window to a point slightly west of the chancel arch: a development that meets the needs of the smaller congregations of today as well as the desire to make the people feel more a part of the service. The large candles have become an item of church furnishing that has grown in popularity. They are often near the font, perhaps having a symbolic connection with the entry into membership of the church that baptism confers.

I've shot reflected self-portraits in the ball at the base of ancient church chandeliers and achieved a similar "fish-eye" effect to that which the candle holder has given. In fact, I quite like this spherical distortion. However, I've never been able to justify buying a fish-eye lens. They are fairly expensive, and I have the feeling that it is a lens whose single effect would soon pall and it would quickly be put in a cupboard or sold. On the whole I'm happy enough using the "poor man's fisheye lens" when the right curved surface presents itself.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33
Image Stabilisation: On

St Augustine, Skirlaugh, East Yorkshire

click photo to enlarge

Is it possible to become a billionaire by ethical means? When I look at many who have achieved this dubious distinction I think the answer is that it's somewhat unusual. Many Russian oligarchs achieved their vast wealth by exploiting political and social chaos to transfer money and resources from the public sector to themselves. More than a few manufacturers, newspaper magnates, etc. in other parts of the world secured their fortunes through striving to become monopolies and through other predatory practices. Such people tend to shelter behind the amoral, non-ethical shield of "the market" to explain and justify their success. The donation of some of their fabulous wealth to charities or to deserving causes too often looks like an attempt to clean up their images or to salve their consciences.

What then of Skirlaugh church? It is, in John Betjeman's words, "a lavish Perpendicular church replete with parapets, pinnacles and buttresses...". Pevsner calls it, "...perfect because built not only lavishly but also quickly and to one plan." It is relatively small, certainly is lavish - I particularly like the pierced battlements of the tower - and incorporates the fifteenth century development of a nave and chancel in one with no structural divisions. When I lived in Kingston upon Hull I often stopped by this perfect little church and admired its college chapel-like appearance.

St Augustine was built in 1401-5 by Walter Skirlaw. He was bishop of Lichfield, then Wells and finally, from 1388, Durham. As his name suggests Skirlaugh was his native village though he was actually born in nearby Swine. It was during his bishopric at Durham that he gave the money for the building of the church, and it was completed a year before his death in 1406. Walter Skirlaw built a number of bridges in the Durham diocese, the chapter house at Howden, and contributed funds for the construction of York Minster's central tower. He was also responsible for much work at Durham Cathedral including the building of its cloisters. Much of this is what we might expect of a bishop of Durham. But what about the church at Skirlaugh? Was the construction of a fine church in his home village a proper use of the finances that he controlled, or was it, perhaps, a nepotistic display by the local boy made good?

I visited Skirlaugh church at a time when a prince of the press, phone hacking, the "News of the World" newspaper, and all the associated shenanigans were headlines in the press. Perhaps it was the despicable display of money, influence and power in that ongoing saga that made me wonder if this church was a result of a medieval equivalent involving a prince of the church. That's one of the problems with societies that allow people to accumulate such great wealth and power - they often exercise it in ways that undermine democracy and support themselves, and in so doing make us suspicious of what can be perfectly ordinary transactions.

Incidentally, the photograph of the church interior clearly shows the lack of differentiation between the nave and the chancel, something that is not too common in English churches. The shot also shows a recent development that is becoming increasingly common: the pews at the back of the church have been removed to make a space for a weekly coffee morning and other small social events.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Terrington St Clements church

click photo to enlarge

I've visited the church of St Clement, "The Cathedral of the Marshes", at Terrington St Clements, Norfolk, quite a few times. It is one of many large, medieval churches that rise up from the flat landscape that borders The Wash. What draws me back to this one is the beauty of the exterior of the building, the way the Perpendicular period windows light up the interior, and the interesting furnishings that the building holds.

St Clements, like a few churches in the area, has a tower that is separate from the nave. Presumably the medieval builders feared that if it was attached to the main structure any movement of the soft soil below would bring it down and with it the rest of the building. It is a sturdy, wide tower, built in the early 1500s. In 1670 it became a refuge for villagers when a great flood inundated the area. Food had to be brought to them by boat from King's Lynn as they waited patiently for the waters to subside.

My main photograph shows the south side of the church with its very typical Perpendicular (fifteenth and early sixteenth century) windows, parapets, buttresses, pinnacles and panelling. Above the roof the top of the tower can be seen, the pinnacles a little too thin for my taste, and the clock squeezed awkwardly into the space between the bell openings and the panelled and decorated battlements. The smaller, black and white image shows the imposing west end with the tower set to the side, and the nave and its aisles embellished with spirelets on the angle turrets. There are small transepts. Where this feature occurs there is often a tower over the crossing. However, here the risks of such a venture, should a collapse happen, were too great.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1 Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Deceiving the eye

click photos to enlarge

The main photograph in today's entry shows the floor in the choir at Beverley Minster, East Yorkshire. In the smaller image you can see the floor in context*. The three-dimensional effect was achieved by the early eighteenth century restorers using four different colours of marble set in such a way that they suggest cubes. It is hard to imagine anything more different from the small, symmetrically patterned floor tiles that medieval builders favoured for such locations, and which came back into favour during the Victorian period. Yet, one of the marks of the styles in our great churches is that each generation tended to employ that which was fashionable at the time, and the eighteenth century loved this kind of thing.

The Arts and Crafts Movement of the second half of the nineteenth century abhorred such illusionism. They felt that flat surfaces should not be made to appear three-dimensional, that such trickery wasn't being true to either the surface or the materials. I was thinking about this as I photographed the floor, and also when I pointed my camera upwards at the underside of the crossing tower. It's something of a paradox, I thought, that from this point of view the vaulting looks very flat, linear, a touch Rococco even, and the perfectly flat floor looks like it is constructed of angular cubes. Of course, when you position yourself to one side of the crossing, as I did for my earlier photograph, the ceilings' curves, ribs and soaring arches reveal the architecture to be very sculptural. Similarly, a walk down the choir soon reveals the "blockiness" to be smooth, shiny and flawless, a tribute to the workmanship and chosen materials of three hundred years ago.

*Note: choir is used in the architectural sense to mean the place where the choir would sit and services were sung.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On