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

Death and slate

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I was reading a piece recently wherein a writer was arguing that all mankind's actions are motivated, in some way or other, by the knowledge that we will all die. That this characteristic, one that distinguishes us from all other living beings, lies behind all that we do. Every action, no matter how important or trivial seeks to divert us from the thought of death, convince ourselves that we can transcend death, or prompts us to leave a record of ourselves that will last beyond the act of dying. I paraphrase rather crudely, but that was the gist of it.

That article came to mind when I was checking up on the progress of the repair of the spire at St Wulfram, Grantham. The usual entrance through the west door is not available due to scaffolding and a temporary path leads round to a door on the south side. This takes you through an area of the graveyard that surrounds the church where slate memorials predominate. Green Swithland slate, purple-tinged slate, grey slate and slate with a hint of blue can all be seen. Oolitic limestone is also present, but it is slate that catches the eye. The gravestones made of this material date from around 1760 through to the second half of the nineteenth century. And, the fact that they are made of slate means that they can still be easily read, the incisions almost as sharp as the day they were cut two hundred and fifty years ago. I've said elsewhere in this blog, and I'll repeat it again: if you want a tangible memorial to tell the world of your existence then it's hard to do better than a piece of inscribed slate placed somewhere that will not be disturbed.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 116mm (232mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ivy, like rust, never sleeps

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A few weeks ago I was well into the third day of cutting an area of rampant ivy from a vertical-lap wooden fence when, instead of hitting the chisel with my wooden mallet, I hit my hand. The pain was excruciating and I thought I'd broken my index finger. However, an hour or so later, after ice-pack treatment, I began to think that bruising was the worst of it. And, after a few days that's what transpired. This patch of ivy had expanded over the years, despite me regularly and savagely chopping it back. Of course, ivy is like rust, it never sleeps, it is always colonising fresh ground. So, having had enough of it, and in agreement with my neighbour, we decided to be rid of it. It is now gone, though I'm sure some will appear from the ground in a fresh attempt to re-assert itself when spring comes around.

I remembered my ivy (and my finger) recently when I was photographing this corner of the churchyard at Long Sutton, Lincolnshire. You might think this is a neglected acre or two of God's ground. Nothing could be further from the truth. The churchyard is well-maintained and its fine collection of seventeenth century, Georgian and later tombs are well displayed all year round. But, by way of contrast a few edges are left in a semi-wild state, and it was one of these patches that drew my photographer's eye. I liked the the contrast of the deep shade, the ivy-covered gravestones and the prominent uncovered cross, with the sunlit, orderly graveyard beyond. As we went on our way, I thought about the volunteers who must periodically control the ivy to prevent it completely smothering the trees and the gravestones, leaving them undifferentiated mounds of shiny leaves. I didn't envy them their task.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm (60mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8 Shutter
Speed: 1/60 sec
ISO:1100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Churchyard gravestones

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Standing in Quadring churchyard the other morning, my fingers chilly on the cold metal of the camera, I started to move about in an attempt to keep the recent, black marble gravestones out of the composition of my photograph. There is no doubt that, among the lichen encrusted oolitic limestone and the green and grey of the slate from Swithland and elsewhere that is characteristic of the older gravestones, these newer examples stick out like the proverbial sore thumbs. Over the years, and in different localities, church authorities have periodically tried to bring some aesthetic harmony to gravestones, particularly where they are being sited next to outstanding old examples, or where the churchyard is particularly uniform in this regard, or is especially picturesque. I have some sympathy for these attempts, and yet I can see a sound argument against it too.

At the very minimum, in sensitive churchyards, I'd like to see local stone, or stone that was been used down the centuries, or a stone that is similar to the traditional type, continue in use in the interests of visual harmony. In a churchyard such as that at Quadring areas of similarly styled gravestones tend to be grouped together according to the few decades in which they were erected, with the oldest the closest to the south, west and east of the church. Imported marble appears in the Victorian period and thereafter increases in both quantity and stridency. The currently fashionable glossy black examples with incised gold lettering jars with everything around them. Perhaps they'll weather to an acceptable finish, but I doubt it. Of course, were my prescription to be followed then the fertility of the memorial designer's art would be somewhat curtailed and the possibility of a new and admirable wave of gravestones appearing is lessened. That is the main disadvantage. On balance, however, I'd take that over the agglomeration of styles that sit awkwardly together today, with quite the worse being those made in the decades either side of about 1920, badly finished stone with letters and numbers fixed to their surface, looking drab and nondescript barely a hundred years after making.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Another view of fog

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Today's photograph was taken about seventy yards from and a few minutes before the shot in the previous post. And, where that image was captured with the sun behind me, this one was taken contre jour. That fact, the nature of the subject and the conversion of an essentially monochrome colour photograph into very definite black and white has resulted in this image acquiring a quite different mood. The previous shot has a slightly melancholic touch but it's essentially neutral, wistful or even slightly upbeat with the intrusion of that warming sunlight. However, here the stark gravestones silhouetted against the misty west end of the church is loaded with associations that, I can't help thinking, are largely the result of certain writers and a whole slew of horror and mystery films.

People such as Edgar Allen Poe and Charles Dickens knew that there is nothing like a fog or mist to evoke a feeling of cold, menace or fear. Think of Pip and Magwitch in the misty Kent marshes in the 1946 version of "Great Expectations". Better yet think back to how Guy Green, the Oscar winning cinematographer on that film depicted the scenes, and how influential his work was for succeeding generations of film makers such as John Carpenter. And then consider how these images have affected how the man or woman in the street views a misty churchyard. From Bram Stoker's "Dracula" to the latest teen horror, the combination of fog and a graveyard have become, in the popular mind, synonymous with supernatural dread. Of course, none of this influenced me in any way as I carefully composed and processed this photograph. Really. Just as it wasn't a factor in this photograph of a "House of Correction" or this one of a ruined church. Honestly!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18.9mm (51mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bonby church 27 years later

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Anyone with an interest in English church architecture will be familiar with the main gazetteers and guides that document these buildings. All will know of the county volumes of the "Buildings of England" series by Nikolaus Pevsner (and others). Many will be familiar with John Betjeman's original or updated "Guide to English Parish Churches". And most will have an acquaintance with Simon Jenkins' "England's Thousand Best Churches". I have all these books and I list them here in order of preference, best first.

They all have their own take on listing and describing churches. Pevsner is completist and academic, Betjeman is brief, quirky and selective and Jenkins is more opinionated, historical, florid and his book has a more contentious title. Whose thousand best? Not mine, though he has many I would include. So how do I differ from Jenkins? Well, I have a liking for churches that have been knocked about a bit, that show their age, the ravages of time and the mark of successive builders. I can appreciate as much as the next man the big, richly ornamented, Grade 1 Listed, beautifully kept show-piece church. But, I can also appreciate the tumble-down, humble structure that needs a bit of maintenance, that can be found, with difficulty, surrounded by trees, at the end of a country lane: the sort of building that seems to grow out of the ground rather than look like it's been dropped in, scrubbed and polished, from on high.

Today's photograph shows a church that I liked the first time I saw it some time in the 1970s. It's a building that wouldn't even get on the long-list for Jenkins' best. St Andrew in the village of Bonby, Lincolnshire, is a mixture of work from the 1100s, 1200s and 1800s. The original stone has been replaced and reinforced by brick, and much of it shows its age. It must have always been a work in progress as people enlarged the church, made it smaller, renewed bits that fell down, patched walls, moved windows and blocked up doorways. After taking today's main photograph I searched out a shot of the church taken from a similar viewpoint that I remembered scanning from a slide last year. The original was taken in 1986 using an Olympus OM1n and a 135mm lens. I wanted to see if there had been any changes during the intervening 27 years. One jumped out at me immediately. The bottom two thirds of the east wall that was looking rough in 1986 is now rendered and painted white. But apart from that it was much the same low, squat, rustic building. Even the same dark red paint continues to be used on the drainpipes, gutters and door. I did notice one further difference: the churchyard grass is being kept a bit shorter!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Much Marcle yew tree

click photo to enlarge
The ancient yew tree shown in today's photograph is estimated to be about 1500 years old. It stands in Much Marcle, Herefordshire, next to the medieval church of St Bartholomew, the oldest part of which dates from about 1230. The tree must have been standing for 700 hundred years when the church was begun, and it is remarkable that it still lives today. Or perhaps not so remarkable when we consider that, in countries north of the Mediterranean, England is second only to Greece in the number of ancient trees (those that are several hundred years old) to be found within its borders.

Much Marcle's tree is justly renowned, not only for its age, but for its girth of 31 feet at a point 4 feet 6 inches above the ground. The tree's trunk, as you can see from the photograph, is hollow, and it is provided with seating that can support several people. In recent years the tree was pruned for the first time in a long time. Six tons of dead and unnecessary timber was removed. When we were there the other day - our third or fourth visit over the years to this interesting village - I noticed a heavy chain wrapped around the tree at a height of twelve or fifteen feet. Its purpose may have been to keep the branches from drooping down to the ground. In a few places it was in the process of being absorbed into the limbs so it must have been there for quite a while.

Ancient yews, particularly those in churchyards have long been noted and revered. In the seventeenth century John Evelyn and John Aubrey wrote about them, and travel writers and antiquarians continued to do so in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In the twentieth century Vaughan Cornish's "Churchyard Yews" (1946) and E.W. Swanton's "The Yew Trees of England" (1958) raised their profile considerably. However, it was "The Sacred Yew" (1994) by Anand Chetan and Diana Brueton (leaning heavily on the work of Allen Meredith) that gained the attention of the media. It catalogued 404 trees that were estimated to be more than 1,000 years old. In 2003 the Ancient Yew Group was formed and continued the documentation of the tree. It has noted 837 "ancient, veteran or significant" yews in England and Wales. Further details about this group and much fascinating information of yew trees can be found on their website.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 2500
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

Bluebells, native and introduced

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It is estimated that between a quarter and a half of all bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) are found in the British Isles. In England they are a much loved flower, and a visit to a "bluebell wood" in April or May is a pleasure that many seek out in spring. The carpet of blue flowers taking advantage of the filtered light through the emerging tree canopy is one of nature's finest sights. However, the native bluebell is under threat from loss of habitat, illegal picking (they are protected by law) and hybridisation. Moreover, I am one of those who is contributing to the decline of this beautiful flower.

How so? When I moved to my present house I enjoyed the appearance of bluebells in the garden each spring. Clumps grow under the willow tree, fruit trees, flowering cherries, maple and in the deep borders shaded by silver birches and shrubs. They grow on our rockery too. But, I discovered, these are not the native bluebell, they are mostly the Spanish bluebell (Hyacinthoides hispanica) that is commonly found in gardens and sold in garden centres. A few are hybrids produced by the natural crossing of the native species with the Spanish variety. Such has been the impact of this introduction and hybridisation that the introduced bluebells are increasingly common in the countryside and few urban or garden bluebells are the native species. How can you tell the difference between H. non-scripta and H. hispanica? The native flower is scented, the anther that bears the pollen is cream coloured and the flowers are carried only on one side of the stem. In the non-native species there is no scent, the anther is mid-blue and flowers are carried on all sides of the stem. The hybrid, Hyacinthoides x massartiana is more like the Spanish variety but has creamy-blue anthers.

There is no easy answer to the problem of how to ensure the survival of the native bluebell throughout the country. It may be that the best we can hope for is its survival in more remote woods. It would seem that the spread of the Spanish variety and the hybrids is well past the point where eradication is a feasible solution. Lincolnshire has bluebell woods, but in the Fenland region the flowers are found in smaller stands of trees, gardens. These bluebells in Swineshead churchyard (churchyards are another common location for the flower) hint at the beauty they bring in spring, but are, you've guessed it, further examples of the non-native flowers.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO:80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Seeing what I see

click photos to enlarge

Due to my power supply failure I've been publishing blog posts from my second computer for several days now. When I've been looking at earlier posts produced on my main computer I've become very aware of the slight but significant difference in the way many images appear. My main computer is calibrated with an electronic device made for the purpose. The computer I'm currently using isn't. I could calibrate it, I suppose, but then I'd have to go through the process of adjusting my screen again when I receive and install my new power supply. And, to be blunt, calibration is a real pain, something that I do reasonably regularly anyway, and the prospect of doing it again unnecessarily doesn't appeal to me.

The upshot is, some of my earlier posts have "blown" areas in them when viewed on this machine, and I suppose those prepared on this machine will appear to be a touch dark when I get back to viewing them on my main computer. Does that matter? Well, yes and no. It matters to me in that I want to prepare photographs to the best of my ability and in the way that suits me. However, I have always been aware that other people viewing them on their computers may or may not have their screen calibrated and consequently may or may not see what I see regardless of whether or not I calibrate my computer. Even those with a calibrated machine may not see them quite as I see them, such are the dark arts of of this process.

All of which is my way of saying that if you detect a deterioration in the quality of my photographs that may account for it. On the other hand they may look better for you and you could be wondering what on earth I'm talking about! And with that remark I'll be quiet and say that today's trio of shots of St Helen, Brant Broughton, Lincolnshire, show the exterior and interior of a church, the architecture of which, I hold in high regard. I've posted a couple of images of this church before (this roof and this tower vaulting), and if you'd like to know more about the building have a look at those earlier posts.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 27mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Aslackby church

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In a piece about Ropsley church that I posted in 2009 I reflected on the thoughts that go through my mind when I visit a church for the first time. The other day, before the rains descended in what seemed like a permanent way, I photographed the exterior of Aslackby* church. And, though it wasn't my first visit to this building - I've been several times - the first thought that entered my mind was the same as on my first sight of it: what is that arch outline on the tower?

My first thought is that the church tower was originally a crossing tower rather than the west tower that it is now; that the present nave was once the chancel and that the arch was the drip moulding marking the place where a transept had been. I've seen such things before. Or, was there an intention to build in that way, but a change of mind resulted in the current, more traditional layout, and the drip moulding was left on the tower face, a reminder of what was to be, but never materialised. Reading Pevsner on the subject I found that he too ponders along similar lines. Whatever the reason, it adds a little mystery to this small, fairly unexceptional church that dates mainly from the fourteenth century with a few bits from earlier and rather more from later.

I've photographed Aslackby church before, but the light and sky on this January afternoon were very good, so I composed a shot from across the road, near the ford that was filling with the afternoon's plentiful rain. I'd never noticed the old-style, black and white road sign before - perhaps it has been recently been painted - so I used it in my composition as a visual counterweight to the church tower.

* for the local pronunciation of the village name Aslackby, which departs significantly from what it looks like it should be, see this post

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photography in the fog

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When I lived in Hull and the weather was foggy I often heard the sound of the ships' foghorns as they negotiated the River Humber into the port or went out into the North Sea. Living on the Lancashire coast I heard them occasionally: there were fewer ships, fog was infrequent, and technology had advanced compared with when I lived near the east coast. Now that I'm in Lincolnshire I experience more fog than in either of the other locations but I recall hearing a ship's foghorn only once. I suppose I'm too far from the sea and ships in The Wash are relatively few, smaller, and fairly quiet.

In common with much of eastern England we've recently had a few days of mist and fog and I've made a point of going out with my camera to see what I could snap. As I've said elsewhere in this blog, fog is one of those weather conditions - like snow - that transforms a landscape and allows the photographer to make very different images in very familiar surroundings. Unfortunately inspiration seemed to have deserted me on my forays into the gloom and I came back with very little that satisfies me. The two shots I post today are the best of my meagre pickings.

Certainly, to my mind, they don't compare with some of my earlier efforts such as this jetty and yacht, this tree, this cottage or this Fenland "view". The smaller of today's offerings shows a new footbridge over a dyke on a footpath near Donington. The main image is the west end of Donington church. This marvellous piece of medieval architecture has a very interesting west doorway. It dates from the fourteenth century and, unusually for a village church, has a projecting hood with an ogee arch that protects the inner arch and door. Time and weather have eroded the sharp details of this feature, but the sculpted leaves and other mouldings can still be discerned under its current generous covering of moss.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Spires, views and hits

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Ever since July 2010 I've used Blogger's in-house hit counter to analyse the traffic that comes to this blog. It's called "Stats" and it gives a reasonable summary of information: not as much as some of the other free offerings - I also use StatCounter and Google Analytics - but enough for it to be my main port of call. Regular readers of this blog will recall that in August 2010 I posted a list of the top 10 pages by hits and speculated on why they were popular. I looked at this information again recently and found some interesting developments and, once again, more questions. The current 1 to 10 (with last August's placing in brackets) are:

1 (1) Tree shadows and architectural drawings
2 (2) Lichfield Cathedral
3 (5) The corrugated chair
4 (new) Old tools and toffee hammers
5 (3) Promenade silhouettes
6 (new) Views with spires
7 (new) The story of a blog post
8 (new) Church music
9 (new) Colour or monochrome?
10 (new) Rooks, hoar frost and adverts

I find it interesting that only four of last year's top ten feature in the current list, though given the relatively short amount of time I'd been using Stats when I did the first survey perhaps that's not so surprising. As before I'm given to wondering why these particular posts receive more hits than others. However, one of the newcomers is, I think, particularly noteworthy. The entry, View with spires, dates from as recently as May 24th 2011, yet in that short time it has become the 6th most viewed blog post with 351 hits. Not as many as the number one with 2,101, but a high number (for this blog) in quite a short period. Why? The photograph isn't what I'd call my best, and the writing that accompanies it is unremarkable. So what is it that brings so many viewers to that particular page? I haven't a clue!

Incidentally, in October 2010 I noted the top ten countries providing the hits for PhotoReflect. Here is that list compared with today's:

2010 (2011)
1 UK (UK)
2 USA (USA)
3 Australia (Australia)
4 Canada (Canada)
5 India (Germany)
6 Germany (Netherlands)
7 Netherlands (India)
8 Brazil (Poland)
9 Italy (France)
10 France (Russia)

Much less of a change here: eight countries remain in the top ten, with Brazil and Italy being replaced by the newcomers, Poland and Russia. The connection of all this with today's offering is tenuous, but my photograph sparked the line of thought that resulted in the subject of this blog post. The Swaffham church shot is a view with a spire, a lead-covered spire that looks like a later addition to a tower of about 1500. However, it seems that a spire was part of the original design, was replaced by a Gothick version in 1778, and the one we see today is a rebuilding of the eighteenth century incarnation that dates from 1897.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Donington church

click photo to enlarge

With 22mm (35mm equivalent) I couldn't do it, but with 17mmm I can. What is it? The answer is fit this church into the frame in landscape format while showing the "semi-detached" nature of its tower.

The village of Donington - like many villages in the Lincolnshire area called Holland - has a big medieval church, a reflection of the relative prosperity of this area in the middle ages when sheep roamed the flat landscape. However, like a lot of these big churches, St Mary and the Holy Rood is fairly near to the road, has houses in close proximity, and its churchyard has a retaining wall and very tall trees. Consequently, the number of positions for a photographer who wants to capture the whole of the building, are relatively few. My recent purchase of the 17-40mm zoom, a lens that covers the range from "ultra-wide" to "normal" has solved my problem at Donington. Over the next few months I'll try it out on other local churches where this is an issue.

When I first bought an SLR in the early 1970s 35mm was considered a wide angle lens. Gradually, over the years, this came to be seen as a relatively normal focal length, and 28mm became the widest that the average amateur photographer aspired to. Today 24mm is relatively common and the enthusiast can choose from a range of wide angle lenses that go down to around 10mm, at which point the "fish-eye" lens with a 180 degree field of view enters the equation. As a result of this widening of lenses and of choice, images with distortion are much more common than formerly, and viewers are much more accepting of it. But, I'm not. Perhaps it's the legacy of my days with longer focal lengths, or perhaps it's my interest in painting and architecture. Whatever the reason, with some images I just have to straighten the verticals. Any time you point the camera up or down, and straight lines feature in the subject, you get convergence. With a wide angle, however, they occur much more frequently and noticeably. Today's image had them, and they've been corrected, as has the building's relative height. But, what can't be corrected is the proper ratios within the building. Here the chancel looks bigger than it is in real life, and the balance of tower to spire isn't quite right. One day there will doubtless be software that can deal with these anomalies. Until then, this is the best I could do as the late November sun started to disappear behind the nearby houses and trees.

For more of my images of the exterior of this church see here, here and here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation:N/A

Commemorated in slate

click photo to enlarge

In a post a while ago I commented that anyone wanting to erect a permanent memorial to themselves could do worse than have one made in brass. However, if that memorial was to be placed outside then a better choice might be a fine slate such as that found at Swithland in Leicestershire, a material that comes in grey, bluish grey or with a greenish tinge.

During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in particular the slate from this location found its way into many churchyards in the East Midlands, Lincolnshire and even further afield. Stone masons prized it for the way very detailed patterns and letters could be cut into its smooth surface. I have a particular fondness for examples from the 1700s when florid scripts, loops, curls and swirls were used on gravestones and wall memorials made of this Swithland slate. Many churchyards in the South Holland area of Lincolnshire where I live have fine examples of this style. The memorial in today's photograph is mounted on an outside wall of the church of St Mary and the Holy Rood at Donington. It commemorates the death of a ten year old boy, Tycho Wing, who must have been a pupil at The Thomas Cowley School in Donington. The fluid script, flourishes, curving underlines, loops that emphasise, and the frame of leaf-like fronds make for a wonderfully delicate effect. Only the slightly black-letter Gothic of the word "Pickworth" departs from the overall style, and even that is brought into the design by the curls that surround it. That this piece of carved stone has been exposed to the weather for 231 years, and still carries the detail that the mason incised, is a testament to its durability and its suitability for this purpose: many of the limestone and sandstone gravestones and wall plaques of that time are now illegible.

Incidentally, the boy commemorated on this memorial must be related to the philosopher, astronomer, astrologer and instrument maker, Tycho Wing (1696-1750), who also came from Pickworth.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Overgrown churchyards

click photo to enlarge

There's a lot to admire about an overgrown churchyard. To start with there's a certain harmony between a place of death, burial and return to the earth "from whence we came", and the luxuriant growth of grasses, bramble, cow parsley, poppies, dandelions and the like. Moreover, it tends to be the distant parts of the churchyard with the older gravestones, the ones that are infrequently, if ever, visited by the descendants of the deceased, that decline into an abandoned state. And, with that neglect the stone memorials become surfaces for mosses and lichens to cling to, for ivy to climb, and for thickets to envelop. The sight of the pointed tops and crosses peeping above the vegetation has a melancholic feel that has appeal for anyone of a romantic turn of mind.

Autumn is often the best time of year to experience this sight of benign neglect. At that season the plants are beginning to die back revealing more of the old stones. The browns and creams of dead grass and dying leaves blend better with the earth colours of the gravestones. And the thin, dry stalks and stems of dessicated umbellifers lay a delicate tracery across the flat, upright slabs.

However, this summer the heat and dryness has caused many of the plants in such places to die back much earlier than usual. On a visit to the church at Navenby, Lincolnshire, I came across such a sight and took the opportunity to capture it with my camera. A black and white conversion made better use of the delicate, dead foreground stems.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wide angle tulips

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Last week, with a group of people, I visited a number of Lincolnshire churches. One of those on our intinerary was St Mary at Long Sutton. This marvellous medieval building is known by architectural historians for its lovely, almost detached tower that has one of the earliest well-preserved lead spires in the country, as well as its fine Norman, three-tier nave arcades. People who don't have an interest in eccesiastical architecture are more likely to know St Mary's for the fine flower festival displays that fill the church every year at this time, and for its beautiful collection of tulips that grace the churchyard.

It was in connection with flowers rather than architecture that I made my visit the other day. I'd been to Long Sutton last year for the first time, and on that occasion took my DSLR, a collection of lenses, and shot the building as well as the flowers: regular viewers of the blog may remember this image. However, this time I decided to restrict myself to the compact LX3, and work within its limitations: today's photographs are the two best images to result from my endeavours.

This year I caught the tulips in pretty much perfect condition, with drifts of different colours and varieties positively glowing under the trees' canopy of freshly opened green leaves. Anyone who looks at the camera details that I include with the photographs that are posted may have noticed that when it comes to the LX3 I use it at the widest point of its zoom (24mm/35mm equiv.) much more often than at any other setting. That is the case with both of today's images. In fact, I do wonder whether I'd be happiest with a compact that had a wide fixed focus lens such as Olympus and Panasonic are offering in Micro Four Thirds because it seems to suit me down to the ground.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/200 (1/250)
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

St Peter & St Paul, Wigtoft

click photo to enlarge
Go into any Lincolnshire churchyard towards the end of March and aspects of the scene above will meet your eyes. There will probably be a medieval church at the end of a path leading from the lych gate, mainly Gothic of the period 1200 to 1500. At Wigtoft, however, significant parts of a Norman building remain. On the west face of the tower is a Norman doorway and an elaborately decorated window, with elsewhere blocked windows and a section of corbel table from the same period.

The gravestones are of the typical mixture to be found in most Lincolnshire churchyards, the oldest dating from the eighteenth century and blending harmoniously with the building, some nineteenth century examples managing this too, but later ones from that century and most from subsequent years sticking out like sore thumbs: note the two snow white ones to the right of the centre of the image. The landscape of the Fens is not known for its woodland, and without the trees of the churchyards the plentiful rooks of this part of the world would have great difficulty finding enough nest sites. As I walked around the church the birds rose from the tops of the trees, and with raucous cries circled around until I was far enough away for them to feel safe to settle down again. When their eggs have hatched they'll sit tight, ignoring anyone walking below.

Then there's the churchyard grass. About now it gets its first cut, and you can see in the foreground that the mower has begun its work. A few yellowish patches reveal the moss that has grown in the grass during the damp of winter. It's a thankless task, steering the grass-cutter around the hundreds of gravestones, keeping "God's acre" tidy, but people continue to volunteer to do it, and it is a job that will be repeated at regular intervals until late October.

The fine skies and photographic withdrawal symptoms took me out to Wigtoft church, and I took a few shots during my visit. This is the best I managed, with the church framed between trees, the graveyard below, the clouds above, and the straight line of the concrete path, as well as the perspective of the lines of gravestones, leading the eye towards the building.

photograph & text (c) T.Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wyberton churchyard in March

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Churchyards are, for the most part, a reflection of the place, time and congregation of a locality. In cities and many towns they are frequently small, containing the tombs of those who could afford to be buried there. Often they have been turned into gardens or small semi-public parks. In these larger settlement big Victorian cemeteries such as that at Highgate in London, or Hull's Western Cemetery, contain the graves and memorials of more ordinary folk.

However, in villages many churches continue to be surrounded by graveyards that are still used, though often they hold the cremated remains of the faithful, rather than the interrred body, a more efficient use of scarce space. Dwindling congregations find it hard tofund the regular upkeep of village churchyards. Consequently, many are "rationalised", the space between gravestones given over to mown turf. Others let the grass grow long over the summer, sometimes for wildlife conservation reasons, frequently for lack of a person or the funds to have it cut regularly. Then there are those that grow a little wild, the result of what looks like benign neglect. Such graveyards can look wonderful, both wildlife oasis and darkly mysterious surroundings to the church. Where this happens it is usually the planting of the Victorians - laurel, yew, laburnum, rhododendrons and similar plants - that take over.

During a recent visit to the church of St Leodegar at Wyberton in Lincolnshire, I surveyed the rather rambling churchyard. On my previous visits parts of it have had something of this "overgrown" character. But no longer. Out of shot, to the right, a thicket of very old laurels has been cut down, the wood of the trunks and piles of leafy branches neatly stacked, awaiting removal. Perhaps the next area to be tackled will be the ivy covered ground and trees on the left of my shot. It's a delicate decision to know how far to go with clearing: too much and it can end up looking sterile, not enough and it needs too much maintenance. On the day of my visit I took the opportunity to record the clumps of snowdrops, the ragged trees, and the equally ragged looking church (it had a central tower that collapsed in 1419 and was rebuilt with a west tower and no transepts using the fallen masonry). The short brick chancel, that looks very out of place, is a further addition of 1760.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.4mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Irby in the Marsh church

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The county of Lincolnshire has more than 200 place-names that end with "by" (pronounced "bi" as in bit). It is thought that these derive from the homesteads of small groups of Frisians, Irish vikings and Norwegians who accompanied the Danes when they settled the area. Irby in the Marsh (one of two Irbys in the county) has a particularly descriptive place-name. The "Ir" probably refers to Norwegian vikings from Ireland, the "by" means farm/s or village, and the remainder of the name describes the location.

The Scandinavians arrived in Eastern England in the 9th century, and the settlements around Irby will date from that time. The place-name itself is first recorded c.1115AD as Irebi. When you visit this part of Lincolnshire you are struck by the position of the church on a low rise in the flat landscape. Did the medieval builders displace farmers who would also have been drawn to this drier eminence? The church of All Saints is a picturesque mixture of greenstone, limestone rubble, limestone ashlar and red brick. The principal medieval remains, from the 13th century to the 15th century, are the foundations and lower parts of the wall, remains of aisle arches, a piscina, and the plain octagonal font. Much of the church was renewed in 1770, including the tower with its obelisk pinnacles and arched doorway with datestone, and the nave. This latter has curious alternating bands of greenstone and bricks pierced by characteristic round-arched windows. The building was further renewed and restored in 1886 by the architect, Ewan Christian, who built the chancel.

I took a number of pictures of the exterior of the church, but chose this one to post because it shows its position on the low hill, and for the fine clouds that acquired added drama by my use of a wide angle lens (22mm @ 35mm equivalence).

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On