Bonby church - a different view

click photo to enlarge
Today's photograph was taken on the same day as my other black and white shot of Bonby church that I posted recently. It shows the the north side of the building and illustrates something I've discussed elsewhere in this blog, namely how medieval churches were enlarged by adding aisles.

The outline of arcade arches on the nave wall above shows that there was once an aisle attached to the building. It was probably required to accommodate a growing congregation. It may have been added to the original, small aisleless church by knocking out arch-shaped openings in the nave wall and replacing the remaining supporting walling with columns. Of course, when the aisle was added the windows had to be re-positioned (or new ones made) for the new aisle wall that was now farther from the middle of the nave. Sometimes the wall that was turned into an arcade was increased in height and windows were cut through the new, higher section, to shine light into the centre of the church. This solution involved raising the height of the nave roof. I don't know precisely why and how Bonby's aisle was fitted to the original church but it's very clear that at a later date it either became an expensive luxury that a decline in the size of the congregation rendered superfluous; or it fell down; or it became unsafe and was pulled down. Whatever the reason, every expense was spared in restoring the original nave wall. The arches and columns were left in place and simply filled with masonry. I wouldn't be surprised if the aisle windows were re-used too. The architectural effect is inelegant but interesting.

In fact, that description suits the whole of this side of the building. Just look at the chimney and the white lean-to extension - it looks like part of a cottage has been stuck on the side of the church! But, as I said on my earlier post about the church, these rustic qualities are ones that I find quite attractive. On my previous visits to this church I'd never been able to get inside; it was always locked. On our recent visit the door was open and we had a look round. Truth be told it's not a very attractive interior; the remains of the arcade is the most interesting feature. The visitors' book dates back to the 1960s, and as my wife glanced through it she noted that entries in that decade and subsequently were not very numerous: presumably an indication that the building was rarely open. Perhaps we were fortunate to find it unlocked, or maybe it was because we visited on a Sunday.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.00 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

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 

Sharpening marks and old churches

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On 30th June this year English Heritage published a report on the state of Britain's 14,500 places of worship that are officially "listed" as being of architectural and historical importance. It suggests that "about 90% are in good or fair condition but 10% are potentially in need of urgent major repairs." Given the dwindling congregations, the ever rising cost of maintaining historic buildings, and the tightening of the public purse strings, a lot of effort and ingenuity will have to go into raising the money that must surely be found to keep these important structures standing and open to the public.

On a recent visit to the church of St Mary and St Hardulph at Breedon on the Hill, Leicestershire, I was prompted to reflect on how we treat our churches today compared with the past. This building is famed for its prominent location on top of a hill of oolitic limestone and for its important Anglo-Saxon sculptures. I also like the contrast between the stone of the church and the plentiful eighteenth and nineteenth century slate gravestones. Like many medieval churches it has been knocked about a bit over the centuries, with parts taken down, new bits added, and restorations undertaken. The building as it stands today is a credit to all who have cared for it over the years.

So what prompted my reflection on the care and attitude of different generations to the fabric of the building? Well, the vertical grooves and holes in the stonework of the south porch look very much like those inflicted by people sharpening their metal tools on the side of the building. These may have been men who cut the graveyard grass, though the shapes make me think that it may have been people sharpening arrows when they were practising their archery skills, a not uncommon thing in English graveyards down the centuries. There seems to have been quite a bit of weathering after the holes and grooves were made, so one could reasonably assume that they were made a long time ago. Anyone today seen doing such a thing would be chastised with some force. But in past centuries, when people's perspective was not as long as ours, the church would have seemed a permanent, immutable object, that always had been and always would be, and scraping metal on its stones a small matter.

In the past I've said that clear blue skies are not what I wish for when out and about with my camera, and I was willing clouds to swing round behind the church before I took my photographs here. But it wasn't to be!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13mmmm (22mm/44mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6 Shutter Speed: 1/800 (1/640)
ISO: 100 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV (-0.3EV)
Image Stabilisation: On

Anti-Scrape

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On March 2nd 1877, William Morris, Philip Webb and other members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood held the inaugural meeting of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings (SPAB) in Queen's Square, Bloomsbury, London. The founding of the Society was prompted by concern that many architects were over-restoring old buildings, particularly churches, and in so doing were literally scraping away history. William Morris, ever one to call a spade a spade, actually referred to the organisation as "Anti-Scrape"!

When we visit old churches today we can often determine the degree of sensitivity that the Victorian restorer applied to his work. In the worst examples we can find original Norman windows substituted by Victorian Gothic, whole aisles replaced in a totally unsuitable style, or any vestiges of the original architecture in windows, doors, towers, etc, replaced by something entirely different that was deemed to be "better". Of course many churches were in a very dilapidated state when the Victorians set about restoring them, and one mustn't forget that many would not be standing today without their intervention. However, through the work of SPAB and the agitation of vocal individuals, architects came to realise the importance of repairing and restoring whilst retaining original fabric, and understood the need to make new additions sensitive to what was already there.

St Mary and All Saints, Swarby, Lincolnshire, shown above, was restored in 1886-7, a time when the influence of the SPAB was being felt across the country. That being so, it's unfortunate that its exterior has that "scraped" look, with everything too sharp, too perfect, too new looking. The south aisle dates from those years in its entirety, so accounts for some of this. But, the chancel wall must have been rebuilt too, and its flat smoothness in no way reflects its origin in the 1200s. Nor does the tower suggest it dates from the 1400s though much of it does. Perhaps it's those fanciful pointed battlements, surely not the original design, that draw the eye away from the older material. There's no doubt that this is an attractive looking building - perhaps a touch too pretty - but its over-restoration, in my view, robs it of character. Fortunately the interior is less "scraped".

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On