St Mary, Whaplode, Lincolnshire

click photo to enlarge
It is customary for English churches to have a bell tower that rises above the top of the nave and chancel roofs. In England it is most commonly found at the west end of the building and connects with the nave, as in this example at Aswarby in Lincolnshire. If it isn't at the west then it is likely to be a crossing tower situated between the chancel and the nave, and often featuring transepts, giving the plan of the church the shape of a Christian cross. A few, often Victorian churches have a bell tower at the east of the building. Where there is no bell tower a low bellcote is usually found on the west end of the nave roof (as at Gosberton Clough, Lincolnshire). This is a short, open tower, only a little bigger than the one or two bells that it shelters under its pitched roof.

However, there is another position for English church towers - detached, or almost detached. Where a tower is completely detached, as at Fleet in Lincolnshire (see small photo) English usage is to refer to it as a campanile. This takes the Italian name for all bell towers and applies it in this particular circumstance. Sometimes the tower is attached by a short corridor, a porch, or some other extension that links it with the main body of the church. That is the case above, in the medieval church at Whaplode in Lincolnshire. Was it once completely detached but subsequently joined to the main building? We don't know, though that is likely to have happened with some "semi-detached" towers.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: St Mary, Whaplode, Lincolnshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9mm (18mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/2500 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Winter churchyard, Long Sutton

click photo to enlarge
Lincolnshire has many notable medieval churches, and those of the Fens are particularly remarkable. They were built with the money from wool, and as you travel from one to the other you have the feeling that the parishes of the time each sought to outdo the other in terms of size, ornament, or inventiveness. Many of the churches have a feature that distinguishes it from its neighbours, be it the tower, the window tracery, the woodwork of nave and chancel, the carving of capitals, etc

In the case of St Mary in the large village of Long Sutton the size of the church impresses, as does the thirteenth century tower that was originally completely detached from the nave, and the Norman columns and arcades are unexpected after seeing the later exterior. However, the stand out feature of this church today is the tall lead-covered timber spire (in herringbone pattern) with its four lead-covered pinnacles, all of which are said to be the oldest in the country, dating from the early 1200s.

I took my photograph on a damp January afternoon with the remains of autumn's leaves decaying by the gravesides and the skeletal trees allowing a better view from the west than is possible when they are in leaf.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: St Mary, Long Sutton, Lincolnshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm (34mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Autumn in London

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When I engaged in paid, daily work I always regretted that I didn't have the time to watch the seasons change in the way that I knew they did - slowly and incrementally. The transition from autumn to winter involves not only a peaks and troughs decline in the temperature, but a change in the light from blue-white to yellow tinged as the sun moves closer to the horizon. The autumnal tints of the trees and the drifts of leaves against walls and kerbs were easy to see. Less visible was the subtle colours of individual species - the red-orange of the cherries, the yellow of the limes and field maples, and the lingering green of the willow.

When I lived in a city such changes were masked by the prevalence of concrete, brick, tarmac and grass. Yes, there were trees, parks and gardens, but the daily grind meant that often you could pay little attention to seasonal metamorphosis. Before you knew it the end of August had turned to November and you had only a vague notion of how the transformation had been achieved. The pace of modern life means that we rarely have the time to stop, stand, stare and fully appreciate the beauty of the changing seasons.

The other day I took a couple of "autumn" shots in London. The first was of the tower and spire of St Mary's church at Rotherhithe. The current building, completed in 1716, replaced a church of the twelfth century. As I walked along the cobbles of the adjacent road I looked up through the yellows, browns and greens of the trees and took a photograph that, when I viewed it on the camera screen, looked like it could have been taken in a small town, a village or the open countryside almost anywhere in England. The presence of a churchyard with its old trees was enough to turn autumn in the city into a more universal view of the season. That couldn't be said of the second photograph of what looks like a red oak near the glass curtain wall of some offices near the centre of the city. Here a grid of man-made, regular, modernity contrasts strongly with the irregularity of the branches and leaves of the specimen trees tat are dotted among the gleaming towers. The contrast of of the two photographs taken only a couple of miles apart in the capital city couldn't be greater, and yet I think both say something about autumn in the city.

photographs and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 19.3mm (52mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/200 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Out with the LX3, in with the RX100

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Perhaps I was tempting fate posting a piece entitled "In praise of things compact" because shortly after I'd done so my LX3 compact camera began, first to play up and then to enter a process of serious decline. Whether the fault is mechanical or electrical I don't know, but the symptoms involve me pressing the shutter, the camera appearing to go through the appropriate motions, and nothing being recorded. Or the display doesn't work. Or an error message appears asking me to re-insert the memory card. I tried a different card and cleaned the battery terminals and card connectors but to no avail. At the point where the camera was sometimes working but usually failing to do so I decided enough was enough and bought a Sony RX100.

I like to use a compact camera, and despite having an initial aversion to those cameras that didn't have viewfinders I've grown to like composing on a large screen. The Sony's is supposed to be fairly acceptable in bright summer sunshine. We shall see! The RX100 will become my "carry everywhere when I'm not carrying the DSLR" camera. It is eminently suited to that role being slightly smaller and lighter than the LX3. It will also be the camera of choice when I'm photographing in the street because it is much less intrusive and intimidating than a big DSLR.

So far I'm very pleased with the RX100. I'm especially enjoying the two axis electronic level - great for architecture and it reduces post processing time. I also like the facility to take a single shot that combines three versions to reduce noise and improve quality: that's very useful inside poorly lit churches. Most of all, I've been impressed by the quality of jpeg and RAW images: that one inch sensor does better than I imagined it would. Not for nothing is it only one of two fixed lens compact cameras that Alamy has on its recommended camera list (the other being the Leica X1). I gave the camera a workout recently, testing its iAuto modes, and as part of it I visited the medieval church of St Mary at Pinchbeck. Here are two of the shots I took that I've converted to black and white.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Heraldry and grave diggers

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Heraldic coats of arms as we know them today became common in Europe around the middle of the twelfth century. They identified a family, especially the men when they were in armour, but were also used in sculpture, interior decoration and stained glass. Coats of arms were passed down through families by inheritance, often with modifications following marriage.

A typical coat of arms has a shield (escutcheon). Its surface (field) employs various colours (tinctures) in shapes (ordinaries) with motifs such as animals, leaves, shells etc (charges). A written phrase (motto) on a scroll or banner is often found below the shield. To left and right are figures, usually people or animals (supporters). The shield is topped by a helmet, its style dependent on rank, which may have a crest and is usually flanked by ragged cloth (mantling).

Recently I stood in the south aisle of the medieval church of St Mary at Long Sutton, Lincolnshire, and looked up at a memorial that included a coat of arms (of sorts). It wasn't the kind that you often see, carefully sculpted and carved in marble or fine stone, a tribute to a man (or woman) of wealth and importance. Rather, it was crudely fashioned and made fast and loose with the heraldic vocabulary. In fact, I was in two minds as to whether it was a naive attempt to emulate the style of the deceased's "betters", or a mischievous parody that poked fun at the style. The convex disc at the bottom of the memorial, in the place where a motto might be on a coat of arms, was difficult to read, the carving being barely better than scratch marks. However, from what I could read it appeared to be words in memory of someone who died in the early 1700s, perhaps 1725. One look at the carving above the disc make it very obvious that the person must have been a grave digger.

The shield is divided into four (quartered) by two large bones. In the top left corner is the bell that would toll for the deceased. The top right corner has keys on a chain, perhaps symbolising St Peter and the hope of entry into heaven. At the bottom left is a coffin and what appear to be two rib bones, whilst at the bottom right are tools of the trade of a gravedigger - a pick axe and spade. The supporters are a man, full of life, and a skeleton. Quite what is in place of the helmet above the centre of the shield I'm not sure. However, it may be a clumsy depiction of the simple helm found on the coat of arms of an untitled person. If so, the crest that surmounts it looks for all the world like an hour glass in a wooden frame, the sands of time marking the passage of life. The mantling resembles the sort of palm-like leaves that the eighteenth century often used to represent the Tree of Life. Further leaves provide the "ground" on which the supporters stand.

So, is it crude emulation or knowing parody? It's hard to say, and it may be a bit of both. What is certain is that the coat of arms documents its time in an interesting and entertaining way, and seemed like a good subject for a photograph.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Kempley's unique wall paintings

click photo to enlarge

The village of Kempley in Gloucestershire is fortunate to have two wonderful churches. One dates from 1902-3 and is in a fine "modern Gothic" style, the work of the Arts and Crafts architect, Albert Randall-Wells (1877-1942), perhaps the subject of a future blog post. The other, redundant since 1976, is a Norman building of around 1130 that has some of the best early wall paintings to be found in Britain.

Schemes like the one in the chancel, shown above, are not unusual in the churches of Mediterranean countries. However, in Britain, for such work  to remain, it had to withstand not only the ravages of a damp climate but also the condemnatory hand of the religious iconoclast. The Reformation denounced such painting as "popish", idolatrous and unfitting for the newly independent, national and puritanical church. Consequently they were either plastered over, scrubbed or scraped from the walls, or painted over with whitewash. Of these three methods of removal the one most likely to result in some kind of later salvage of the paintings was the latter. And, in fact, during restoration work in 1871-2, whitewash was removed from the old walls to reveal the work of Romanesque artists.

The Victorians sought to preserved them by applying various clear coatings, all of which made the original colours darker. More sensitive conservation work was done in the 1950s and the figures and patterns in reds, ochres, blues and whites were better revealed. The centre of the ceiling has Christ in a triple mandorla giving benediction, the night sky, candles and the Evangelists surround him. Also represented are the Virgin and St Peter with the Apostles sitting under arcades on the north and south walls. The scheme continues in the nave, with interruptions due to damage, where it is joined by fourteenth century work and seventeenth century texts. Evidence of medieval wall paintings can be seen in many churches. In some, for example Pickering in North Yorkshire, it is reasonably extensive. Elsewhere it is often in the form of a "Doom" above a chancel arch. However, for the most part we are left with the odd figure, part figure, pattern or text, and splendours of the kind to be seen at Kempley are to be treasured.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shadows, light and a font

click photo to enlarge

As fonts go the example at Swineshead church in Lincolnshire is very plain. So plain that it is impossible to date it from any stylistic details. It has an octagonal bowl on an octagonal stem with a base the same shape, like the great majority of fonts. It is mounted on an octagonal plinth with a raised step for the vicar, again, like many others. Where it differs from most other fonts with steps is in having two rather than three. The church has always seen great significance in the number three and the three steps of a font are thought to be in recognition of the Trinity. Given that the font offers little of interest or beauty, you must be wondering why I've bothered photographing it, and if you have visited this blog for a while, why I've photographed for a second time (the first attempt is here).

The answer is - the placing of the font and the light, especially the light. Many church fonts are found by the south porch door: next to the main entry door into the church was deemed suitable for the instrument that delivered a person into the Church through baptism. Often that means the font is squeezed up against pews, or is in a corner surrounded by tables, stacks of hymn books or even fire extinguishers. At Swineshead, however, the south porch door is no longer used, entry is by a small door embedded in the west door, and consequently the font has lots of space around it. The Victorian restoration provided a wonderful tiled floor with a pattern centred on the font. Combine all that with the position of the windows, and it makes a good photographic opportunity.

In my first attempt, referenced above, I went in quite close, excluded the windows, but used the strong light and shadows from the window and its tracery as part of the composition and interest. With this shot I thought I'd include the reticulated window, give greater emphasis to the space and darkness, and make the softly illuminated font and striking tile floor the visual focus.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old church doors

click photo to enlarge

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

Crude but effective

click photo to enlarge

In my very first paid job I worked with a man who often described makeshift engineering work as "crude but effective". It's his phrase that always comes to mind when I gaze upon the nave roof timbers of the church of St Mary at Swineshead, Lincolnshire. The roofs of English medieval churches are well known for their structural timbers. Often these are ingenious, functional, elaborate, inventive and ornate. The angel roofs of St Wendreda at March, Cambridgeshire, and All Hallows, Dean in Bedfordshire, both exemplify the latter quality in particular. Victorian timber roofs are often well made too, and the work that the restorers of the nineteenth century did on older roofs is frequently very sensitive, retaining the essentials of the medieval carpenter's craft whilst replacing wood that has succumbed to death watch beetle and rot, and adding metal bracing as required.

However, sometimes I gaze upon a medieval timber roof that is severely functional and think that it has many of the qualities that might be seen in a great barn of the same age. Ornate has been eschewed in favour of utility giving a rustic feel to the whole enterprise. The roof of Swineshead church has some of those qualities. It perhaps comes from the use of timbers that retain something of the shape of the original tree trunk or limb. These irregularly shaped pieces catch the eye and suggest that either thrift or a "good enough" spirit underpinned the making of the roof. The roof was restored by Wilfred Bond in 1925.

At Swineshead the roof retains its original, steeply pitched, form (see photograph in yesterday's post). So many English church roofs were lowered to a very shallow pitch in the fifteenth century, to be hidden behind parapets, often invisible from ground level. This was done to stop the downward creep of the lead covering that became the favoured roof finish; unsurprising really in the country that was Europe's premier producer of lead. All of which makes me wonder just what is the age of the main timbers in the nave roof? Pevsner notes that the north aisle has a fifteenth century roof: are parts of the main roof earlier still?

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Misery, mercy and misericords

click photos to enlarge

I spent enough of my career standing addressing people to know that there are times when, no matter how enthused you are, no matter how attentive your audience is, after a while all you want to do is park your posterior on a chair. Your back and legs start to complain, you walk up and down a little, gesticulate to emphasise a point, but the compulsion to take the weight off your legs persists. However, it's just not done to speak to an audience from a sitting position. It's all well and good for a comedian to do so, or for a night club singer to give a bit of patter from a bar stool between songs, but it's out of order for the rest of us. What is needed, of course, is a modern misericord.

The choristers and clergy of the medieval church had sturdy benches, stalls and seats, but they were required to stand for much of the service. These were often long, so they too experienced the discomfort of prolonged standing. Fortunately an insightful and compassionate person, perhaps a carpenter or a monk, invented the misericord. This small jutting shelf on the underside of a flipped up, hinged seat provides enough support to get the relief that comes from sitting, while appearing to be in a standing position. The photograph of the choir stalls shows the seats in the flipped up position for use when standing. The word misericord comes from the Old French and means compassion, pity or mercy. It's a clever invention.

Today's photographs show some of the twenty eight misericords in the church of St Mary at Beverley, East Yorkshire. They date from around 1425-1450, and each one displays characteristic carving that acts as a bracket to support the shallow seat that is the misericord. The main subjects for these pieces of folk art were sometimes from the Bible, but were more often folk tales, myths, historical or everyday subjects, animals, plants, heraldry or creatures from the medieval bestiaries. They also have scrolls of carving coming out of the left and right of the misericord, a very common feature. This is decorative and and shows subjects such as birds, flowers, leaves, a green man's head, shields etc. The carving often exhibits a charming naivety, and these pieces of wood sculpture, more so than other sculpture in churches, often escaped the Puritans' and iconoclasts' destructive hammers.

The misericods at St Mary's are in two sets in choir stalls on the north and south sides of the chancel facing each other. The subjects I've photographed are as follows:
The Ape Doctor
To the medieval mind the ape and the monkey were animals with human desires but lacking human restraint. Consequently they became symbols of greed, self-indulgence, cunning and lust. Here the doctor of the day is portrayed as a greedy ape, offering up what may be a urine flask to the rich man brandishing a valuable coin, and ignoring the poor Christian (with a cross) who can only offer a pittance for his services.
Knight and Wyverns
This could be mistaken for a depiction of England's patron saint, St George. However, the knight is attacking one of two wyverns (a dragon with only two legs), rather than the usual four-legged dragon.
The Preaching Fox
It was a widely held view that the clergy were self-serving and rapacious, and they are often depicted in medieval sculptures as wily foxes preaching to geese. Here the fox is in a pulpit with clergy to left and right and apes below, all reading from scrolls.
The Clever Daughter
The Clever Daughter was a popular tale in the medieval period. A king set the daughter of a courtier a problem to test her wisdom. She had to go to the king not on foot or riding, not clothed or unclothed, and she had to bring a gift that was not a gift. She came on a goat but with one foot on the ground, she was covered in a fishing net, and she placed a rabbit at the king's feet which immediately fled. Her actions met all the king's demands and he promptly married the Clever Daughter. On the misericord the king is inthe centre, the Clever Daughter is on the right, and the figure on the left slaying a lion is probably Richard I (the Lionheart).
Knight and Boar
A hunting scene. A man stabs a boar with his lance and reaches for his dagger to administer the coup de grâce.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/13 sec
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Something for nothing

click photo to enlarge

I get regular requests from companies asking if they can use one or more of my photographs. In the main they are looking for a no-cost alternative to commissioning a professional photographer or buying from a photographic archive such as Alamy. My reply to anyone in business wanting a photograph but not prepared to pay to for it is to refuse.

Such people seem to think that I will be flattered by their approach and their willingness to credit me in their literature. But I'm not. The fact is I don't need to use my photography to generate an income or to supplement one. Were I starting out in photography as a business I might feel differently, but I enjoy the luxury of being an enthusiastic amateur. However, I do feel an obligation to my fellow photographers who are in business, and I know that every photograph I give away makes it a little bit harder for someone, somewhere to earn a living with their camera.

Consequently, to prevent me having to waste my time replying to people who want something for nothing, I've prepared a new "Contact Me & Enquiries" page (top right) setting out the terms on which I will sanction the use of my photographs. I continue to make them freely available to private individuals and charities. However, companies looking for a no-cost image will, I hope, look elsewhere.

All of which has absolutely nothing to do with today's photograph of the carving of a face on the porch of St Mary's church, Beverley, East Yorkshire. This character has a doppelganger on the other side of the doorway, the pair seeming to act as weird medieval welcomers to those who visit this stunning building. It took me a little while to work out that the face is not that of a fanciful creature but a person wearing an animal hat with ears, of much the same kind that parents today buy for their babies and children. Which reminds me that the only firm request I made of my son and daughter-in-law regarding the upbringing of their first child (my first grandchild) is that she wasn't made to wear such a hat because the ridiculousness that they endow on the defenceless infant constitutes child cruelty. Needless to say my wishes were ignored.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 90mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/200 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Views with spires

click photo to enlarge

If churches had never required tall bell towers that could ring the call to service across a wide area then the builders of our cities, towns and villages would have had to come up with a tall structure to give settlements the vertical accent that we find so visually satisfying. Later centuries did, of course, have such structures. In the UK the nineteenth century brought slender mill chimneys, gas holders, the clock towers of town halls, etc. But, to my mind, none of these match the aesthetic satisfaction that a well-proportioned spire or tower offers when seen projecting above a ragged roof-line.

The stone-built Lincolnshire town of Stamford has several churches that break its skyline, some of them medieval. Despite the fact that many of the secular buildings are Georgian and Victorian, from several points around the town, especially the fields by the river and St Martin's hill, it is still possible to see the kind of view that A.W.N. Pugin praised and extolled in Contrasts (1836), and which must at one time have characterised many English towns.

Today's photograph was taken looking down St Martin's hill from a point quite near the old church of the same name. The honey-coloured stone of the buildings that date mainly from the C17 to C19 frame a view of the C13 church of St Mary, its broach spire piercing a blue sky flecked with clouds. This image is another plucked from my "rejects and overlooked" collection. It was taken a year ago this month.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographing stained glass windows

click photo to enlarge

The very best photographs of church stained glass come about when the exposure is carefully planned. What is it most important to get right? Well, you have to ensure that the camera is steady using a tripod if necessary, that colour balance is accurate and that your exposure (or stacked multiple exposures) capture the full range of tones from the lightest to the darkest. But in general it's not camera settings that are the most critical factor - any reasonably competent photographer can bracket a few shots and get a decent exposure. No, what usually separates the satisfactory shot from the first class one is the quality of light and the background of the window outside the church. I always find that a shot taken on an overcast but bright day produces the greatest fidelity. Sun and gloom are both difficult to work with, the former being slightly harder than the latter. And, the presence of trees, nearby houses or a part of the church itself as the backdrop to the window is usually intrusive because of the way these elements selectively change the colour and brightness of the glass.

However, if your aim is to take an interesting photograph (as opposed to an accurate one), or if outside conditions cannot be changed, it's perfectly possible to work with the restrictions I note above and achieve an acceptable image. Today's pair of photographs do, I hope, illustrate this. The first shows the triple east windows of Essendine church in Rutand and were taken early on a day in February when the morning sun was streaming through the brightly coloured glass.The reversed image that each window has projected onto the nearby wall is not the sort of effect that you'd want to have in a good stained glass window photograph, but it does make for an interesting shot, the indistinct quality making a nice contrast with the sharpness of the actual glass and lead. The second image was marred by the projecting building behind the leftmost figure - you can see some above and to the left of the head, and this had to be compensated for in post processing. It resulted in the colour of the white draperies of this figure being a different colour from the others; something that I didn't quite manage to correct. Moreover, a single exposure could not capture all the tones and colours because the left side of the window was so much darker than the right. Notice, for example, that some of the small red, blue and green pieces of glass in the border that frames each figure are recorded as black. Despite these shortcomings I think the shot has enough to offer in the form that I present it - though its more subtle colours do look dull by my juxtaposing them with the brighter hues of the more modern glass above!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation: -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Harrington church and S.S. Teulon

click photo to enlarge

My interest in church architecture leads me to read a lot about the architects of the Victorian period: the major names of the nineteenth century such as Scott, Pearson, Street, Butterfield etc, but also the second rank of practitioners and the lesser lights too. The other day, following a visit to the church of St Mary at Harrington, Lincolnshire, I was delving into my books to find out more about Samuel Sanders Teulon (1812-1873). I'd always known of him because he was one of Harry Goodhart-Rendel's "rogues" i.e.one of the architects who departed drastically from the mainstream Gothic of the time, and injected their own whim, fancy and personal vision into their country houses and churches. I recall too seeing his estate cottages at Sunk Island, East Yorkshire, and his individualistic churches dotted about in Lincolnshire at places such as New Bolingbroke, Riseholme and Burringham. However, when I read about the extent of his practice and the number of commissions he worked on, I felt as I often do when reviewing the work of these men - exhausted.

It's hard to imagine how the successful Victorian architects juggled their commissions. Yes, they had assistants and trainees, but the sheer weight and range of commissions that came to someone like Teulon is staggering. And that doesn't take into account the amount of church restorations, rebuildings and extensions that many undertook. Harrington church was a rebuild by Teulon of a medieval structure, but such an extensive rebuild that little of the old work remains. So, given his reputation for dazzling polychrome brickwork, weird gables, tall towers, complex silhouettes, a style that some admired and others called "illiterate", what characterises Teulon's work here. The word that comes to my mind is "boring." It is a greenstone church with little to distinguish it from others. Inside the building its painted plasterwork, pulpit, windows and roof are all too typical of a Victorian church. The building disappoints because it displays neither novelty or a respect for the original building. The fact that I'd visited Harrington twice before and could remember nothing of it says it all.

But, from a photographic standpoint, the light on the day of my most recent visit was strong and Teulon's painted walls reflected it around the interior giving it quite a nice glowing quality. So I composed this asymmetrical shot looking down the nave, past the "wine glass" pulpit to the "Geometrical" east window.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation: -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The original white rabbit?

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I can't imagine that Charles Dodgson (1832-1898), a mathematics lecturer at Christ Church, Oxford, had an inkling of the fame and notoriety that he would achieve through his books,  Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. These works, released under his pseudonym, Lewis Carroll, completely eclipsed any public acknowledgement that he received for his accomplishments in his professional and private life.

The larger than life characters that populate these two books have, through the printed word as well as through film and musical adaptations and references, become widely known. Where did Dodgson/Carroll get his inspiration for the Queen of Hearts, the March Hare, the Cheshire Cat and the rest of his cast? Well, in the case of the White Rabbit, there is the suggestion that it may have been in the medieval church of St Mary, in the market town of Beverley in East Yorkshire.

Last week I stood in the church and looked up at the carved stone label stop that terminates a raised hoodmoulding that edges the arch of a door. At the base is a head, facing downwards, which may be a pig, and standing upright on it is a fine rabbit. Around him is a satchel, an item that has caused some to call it the "Pilgrim Rabbit". We don't know the original reason for the medieval mason's decision to depict a man-like rabbit. But what we do know is that for much of the past hundred or so years the tradition has been that this rabbit inspired Lewis Carroll's "White Rabbit", the one that lured Alice down the rabbit-hole into her fantasy world. I don't know if there is any truth in this tale, nor I suppose, does anyone else. However, I think this is a very noteworthy rabbit, and one deserving of a photograph.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 90mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Building restoration

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It would be quite easy to fill several shelves of a library with books about the repair and restoration of historic buildings. Within the architectural profession this kind of work has become something of a specialism with some individuals and firms doing it to the exclusion, pretty much, of anything else. One of the aims of architectural restoration is to conserve the original structure as far as is possible. This is sometimes not possible because the ravages of time can make stone, timber, tiles, in fact whole sections of buildings, unsafe and beyond repair. In such cases sensitive replacement becomes the aim, either following the design of what was originally there, or with modern work that sits harmoniously alongside the original. In the U.K. work on historic buildings is subject to a number of pieces of legislation that have the effect of protecting our built heritage, and allowing us to see old buildings very much as our forefathers saw them.

Last year I was talking to a Yorkshire Dales farmer about a stone-built barn that I have known all my life. It originally dates from the seventeenth century though it received some modification in the nineteenth century. Fifty years and more ago I saw this barn standing alone in its field by the river. Today it has a small cluster of corrugated metal and timber barns next to it. Yet, because the building is "listed" and subject to laws about what can and cannot be done with the structure, it still looks pretty much as it always has done. In fact, when the stonework was recently pointed it had to be done with a traditional lime mortar to maintain its original form and appearance.

Given all that, what are we to make of this section of the west wall of the tower of the church of St Mary at Horncastle in Lincolnshire? This structure, like most of the church, is made mainly of green Spilsby sandstone. As a building material this "greenstone" leaves a lot to be desired because it weathers, rots and flakes relatively rapidly. However, when this section of wall was built in the 1200s it was the best locally available stone, certainly striking to look at, and its longevity (or lack of it) was probably not known. The light green and dark green stone in the photograph are new and older pieces. However, as this photograph shows, the original builders also included pieces of brown sandstone and occasional lumps that verge on the ruddy and tan. Consequently the restoration of the crumbling tower wall has followed the same pattern. The reason it looks so multicoloured is because the weather has yet to subdue the brightness of the newer stone. I liked the patchwork effect and the decidedly odd appearance, one that I have never seen on any other church, and so took this shot of it.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 60mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

The sound of England

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If there is a single sound that characterises England it has to be that of church bells sounding out across the roofs, trees and gardens of our villages and towns. The methods of ringing church bells that developed in these islands is different from elsewhere. Rather than try to express the intricacies of the two variations in my own imprecise prose, here are much better descriptions from Wikipedia. The first of today's photographs, taken this morning when I ascended the tower of St Mary at Swineshead, shows the bells in their cradles in the bell chamber, and will illustrate some of the points made below.

Change Ringing
In England the bells in church towers are generally hung for full circle ringing: every bell swings through a complete circle (actually a little more than 360 degrees) each time it sounds. Between strokes, it sits poised 'upside-down', with the mouth pointed upwards; pulling on a rope connected to the bell swings it down and its own momentum swings it back up again on the other side.

These rings of bells have relatively few bells, compared with a carillon; six or eight-bell towers are common, with the largest rings in numbering up to sixteen bells. The bells are usually tuned to fall in a diatonic scale without chromatic notes; they are traditionally numbered from the top downwards so that the highest bell (called the treble) is numbered 1 and the lowest bell (the tenor) has the highest number; it is usually the tonic note of the bells' scale.

To swing the heavy bells requires a ringer for each bell. Furthermore, the great inertias involved mean that the ringers have only a limited ability to retard or accelerate their bells' cycle. Along with the relatively limited palette of notes available, the upshot is that such rings of bells do not easily lend themselves to ringing melodies.

Instead, a system of change ringing evolved, probably early in the seventeenth century, which centres on mathematical permutations. The ringers begin with rounds, which is simply ringing down the scale in order. (On six bells this would be 123456.) The ringing then proceeds in a series of rows or changes, each of which is some permutation of rounds (for example 214356) where no bell changes by more than one position from the preceding row.

In call change ringing, one of the ringers (known as the conductor) calls out to tell the other ringers how to vary their order from row to row. Some ringers practice call changes exclusively; but for others, the essence of change ringing is method ringing.

Method Ringing
In method or scientific ringing each ringer has memorized a pattern describing his or her bell's course from row to row; taken together, these patterns (along with only occasional calls made by a conductor) form an algorithm which cycles through the various available permutations.

Serious ringing always starts and ends with rounds; and it must always be true — each row must be unique, never repeated. A performance of a few hundred rows or so is called a touch; approximately five thousand rows make a peal (which takes about three hours to ring). A performance of all the possible permutations possible on a set of bells is called an extent; with nn! possible permutations. Since 7!=5040, an extent on seven bells is a peal; 8!=40,320 and an extent on eight bells has only been accomplished once, taking nearly nineteen hours.

Ringing in English belltowers become a popular hobby in the late 17th century, in the Restoration era; the scientific approach which led to modern method ringing can be traced to two books of that era, Tintinnalogia or the Art of Ringing (published in 1668 by Richard Duckworth and Fabian Stedman) and Campanalogia (also by Stedman; first released 1677). Today change ringing remains most popular in England but is practiced worldwide; over four thousand peals are rung each year.

St Mary's has eight bells in the key of F. They were cast by Thomas Osborn of Downham Market in 1794. I stopped off for this photograph as we accompanied our guide up to the corona that tops the tower and rings the base of the spire (where the second photograph was taken). For more views of Swineshead church see this collection of earlier blog posts (scroll down page when it appears).

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.) (ditto)
F No: f3.2 (4.5)
Shutter Speed: 1/20 (1/1600)
ISO: 400 (100)
Exposure Compensation: 0 (-0.3) EV
Image Stabilisation: On (ditto)

Defaced and refaced

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It is all too easy to imagine the zealots of the English Reformation rampaging through our churches, smashing the "idolatrous" medieval stained glass windows, flinging the statues of saints from their niches, scraping and scoring the wall paintings and knocking lumps off the effigies that decorated the tombs of the well-to-do. The fervour that gripped many following the split with Rome, and particularly during the Puritan period of the seventeenth century Civil War, led to many such crimes against art, history, culture, and yes, religion.

Visit a few English churches and you can't help but notice tomb effigies with missing noses, with hands broken off at the wrists, snapped swords and headless mourning angels. The parts that projected from the tombs were the easiest to destroy, and the evidence of the depredations of these early Protestants remains today. Interestingly it wasn't all tombs, or all areas that suffered in this way: many medieval masterpieces remain largely untouched by either religious fanaticism, casual vandalism or the accidents of time. In some churches subsequent generations took it upon themselves to restore damaged tombs, with varying degrees of success. In the church at Ashbourne, Derbyshire, I recall seeing alabaster effigies with noses replaced by stone that is a fair match in terms of colour, but which is much more translucent than the original material. Consequently the noses of the deceased glow when the sun shines upon them from a certain angle, and their pious countenances become comic.

Today's photograph shows an early fourteenth century alabaster tomb effigy of a lady flanked by mourning angels. It is in the church of St Mary at Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire. The identity of the person is unknown. However, at some point in the past - probably the nineteenth century - the church took the decision to restore the tomb. They did quite a good job in terms of making it convincingly whole, though to what extent it draws upon the original I can't be sure. If you look carefully you can see the edges of the joins where the replacement pieces were inserted. I took my photograph in "challenging" lighting, but managed to hand-hold this shot, the best of the series that I captured. Some post-processing has been done to minimise the distracting background and also to emphasise the main areas of interest of the effigy.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/20 seconds
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Snettisham church

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When I visit a church that I haven't been to before I frequently read its description in "Pevsner". The county-based volumes of The Buildings of England are usually known by their main author's name, and his pen-portraits of a town or village's parish church, which is invariably the first entry for each place, prepares one for what is to come.

However, when I visited Snettisham in Norfolk a couple of days ago I hadn't done my usual research, and was surprised by what I found. Like a number of village churches, St Mary's is in splendid isolation a couple of hundred yards from the settlement. This gives the visitor a wonderful view of the building, unencumbered by surrounding houses - that was the first unexpected, and pleasant, surprise. The church is very big, with rich architectural details on the exterior, particularly the magnificent 6-light west window, the unusual, vaulted, tripartite porch below, and the soaring spire connected to its tower by pinnacles with flying buttresses. They were the second surprise. The interior, considering the special nature of what was outside, was something of a disappointment - relatively spare, with a few gems (pulpit, lectern, sanctus bell, a couple of memorials), and mediocre glass, especially the 1969 window by Paul Jefferies that has the "cartoon" character that I've discussed recently. The biggest surprise, however, was the absence of a chancel. An east window had been fitted into a wall that filled the tower arch that formerly led into the missing eastward extension, and the high altar was below it: this absence has truncated what was a cruciform church into one that has a "T" shaped plan. Most odd, and most unfortunate. Apparently, in the late C16 Sir Wymond Carye had the chancel demolished. To add to the indignity, in 1915 a Zeppelin dropped bombs which further damaged the walls erected in its place.

Put all that together and you'll gather that to the avid church-visitor Snettisham is something of an oddity. In fact, it looks more like one of South Lincolnshire's churches than a Norfolk building, and Pevsner's description of it being "perhaps the most exciting C14...parish church in Norfolk", loses some of its force when you remember that the county isn't rich in work of that period. St Mary's does, however, have a powerful presence, and coming upon it for the first time, on its slight rise, amongst its green fields and swaying trees, I was momentarily reminded of Constable's painting of Salisbury Cathedral. Consequently, in addition to a few "architectural" shots, I took a few "landscape" images that placed the building off-centre, balanced by trees, with a verdant foreground.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm (42mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Churchyard trees

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Churchyard trees are the bane of my photographic life - but I wouldn't be without them! Most English churches are surrounded by a few, or many, trees. Those that aren't are often in the uplands, on moorland fells, by the sea, far out in wind-swept marshes, or in the concrete jungles that are our great cities. But in villages and towns trees surround the church, often the biggest, oldest and most interesting specimens in the settlement.

In almost every churchyard that has trees the dark green, evergreen yew (Taxus baccata) will be found, often many specimens, sometimes in an avenue flanking the main path to the south porch or west door. This long-lived tree is a symbol of everlasting life, a deterrent to the farmers of long ago who let their cattle roam free (its berries are poisonous), and the source of the English archers' longbow. Holly (Ilex aquifolium) is nearly as ubiquitous, its red berries and prickly leaves, a reminder of Christ's crown of thorns. Quite a few churchyards have laurel bushes and trees. These were planted by the Victorians who valued it for its association with victory, particularly the victory over death that Christianity offered believers. The rest of the trees to be found will reflect the locality and its soil, the taste of the church council, and the fashions of the past few hundred years - in the second half of the twentieth century many flowering cherries were planted. To walk through an old churchyard full of trees, such as the one above at Swineshead in Lincolnshire, is a real pleasure, and offers variety and interest whatever the season. Today the snowdrops and aconites were in full flower, and the first crocuses were starting to appear.

So, since these are clearly places of great beauty, why do I describe the trees as "the bane of my photographic life?" Well, if you're interested in photographing church architecture, and want an image of the whole building, you find that they are invariably planted just where you wish they weren't - often obscuring the "best" viewpoint from the south-east. Winter is the only time that a reasonable view of the south elevation of the medieval church at Swineshead can be secured. And, even then (as you can see), I had to move farther to the west than I would have liked, and shoot through a tangle of branches. However, I was thankful for the appearance of a shaft of afternoon sun from behind quite thick cloud, that illuminated the building and separated it from its surroundings, thereby helping me in my task.

For more images of this church and its churchyard see here, here, here, and here, and for a bigger, black and white version of the image above click here.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On