Norman architecture, Melbourne, Derbyshire

click photo to enlarge
Too many writers and architectural historians damn Norman (Romanesque) architecture with faint praise. Because they look at it alongside the principal phases of Gothic architecture, styles that are later in date, more architecturally inventive and refined, and the sources that Victorian Gothicists usually used as their source of inspiration, they find Norman architecture wanting. I've never shared that view, being able to recognise in the style qualities that I find admirable and interesting.
Where detractors see crudity I see primitive vigour, where they see overpowering mass I see grounded strength, "savage" ornament and sculpture is, to my eyes, sturdy, dramatic, even dynamic. Norman architecture should not be judged by the absence of Gothic qualities but for its own elementary and evolving features that give it a grandeur of a different kind from that seen in Gothic architecture.

Today's photograph shows a view along the nave of Melbourne church in Derbyshire. It dates from the 1100s is much larger and grander than most Norman parish churches, but illustrates the sturdy nature of the style very well. The large, cylindrical columns, shallowly carved scallop capitals, rounded arches with heavy moulding and zig-zag , and the simple tub font on four squat columns, can all be seen elsewhere in parish churches, but not too frequently all in the same church. The rounded arches, of course, only allow a narrow nave and aisles, narrow windows, and a relatively short distance between the supporting columns: pointed Gothic arches enabled wider spans in churches.  Consequently Norman parish churches churches tend to be darker than their Gothic counterparts. Here the church is well-lit because the day was very bright. The barn-like roof, incidentally, dates from the 1500s.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Font and Nave, Melbourne church, Derbyshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9mm (18mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/50 sec
ISO:6400
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A new camera system

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I've had several emails recently from sharp-eyed readers who have noticed that many of my recent photographs have been taken with an Olympus OMD E-M10. The fact is, I've sold most of my Canon "full-frame" equipment and invested some of the returns in Micro Four Thirds (MFT). I enjoyed the Canon camera and lenses but I never really came to terms with their weight. Had I been younger it might have been different. But, as someone who shot with an Olympus OM1 for about thirty years, and then eventually settled on Four Thirds cameras and lenses, it was perhaps inevitable that I would succumb and seek out something smaller.

I was very unhappy when Olympus pulled the plug on Four Thirds - everything about that system appealed to me. And, having been left high and dry with only vague promises about future compatibility of old Four Thirds lenses with future Micro Four Thirds cameras, I went to a different manufacturer for my gear. But, now I've taken the plunge, albeit in a smallish way with an OMD model at the end of its product cycle and therefore quite good value. I'll buy another, higher end, body in the fullness of time, one with both phase and contrast detect sensors that will fully utilise my Four Thirds lenses. But, for now, I'm happy enough with the E-M10 body and a selection of MFT lenses, though I must make some adjustments to make it choose lower shutter speeds. I'm also using a third party adapter with my Four Thirds 35mm macro lens, something that works quite well. The Sony RX100 will continue as the camera I always carry when photography isn't uppermost in my mind. That just leaves the question of my Nikon D5300 and the 14-150 lens. Will that still have a place in my armoury, or is that on its way out too? Time will tell.

Today's photograph is a shot taken with the E-M10 and the 9-18mm (18mm-36mm in 35mm terms) wide angle zoom, a lens I am particularly enjoying. It shows the interior of the medieval church of St Botolph in Boston, Lincolnshire. The fine Victorian font is by Pugin - not the famous A.W.N. but his gifted, prolific, though less well-known son, E.W.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.4
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO:1250
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shadows, light and a font

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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

Saving redundant churches

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In the early 1970s, when I first started to take an interest in church architecture, I became aware of an organisation called the Redundant Churches Fund. This had been established in 1969 under the Pastoral Measures legislation of 1968 to deal with churches that were superfluous to the needs of the Anglican Church. The Measures prescribed one of three fates for such buildings: demolition, conversion to a new use, or, where the historic and architectural merit of the building was too important for it to suffer either of those actions, then it was to be "vested" in the Fund who would take over its management and preservation.

Today this important organisation is known as The Churches Conservation Trust (CCT) and it cares for over 340 churches. The county with most redundant churches managed by the CCT is Norfolk with 28, closely followed by Lincolnshire with 24. It is always a pleasure to visit one of these buildings because they are usually open. Moreover, if they are medieval churches they frequently have something of the character that they must have had centuries ago. Many don't have the newer building work and Victorian prettifying - what William Morris called "scraping" - or the artefacts of a church that is in use, and often you get a sense of being transported into the past when entering through the south door.

We came upon such a church a while ago, St Benedict at Haltham, Lincolnshire. It was made redundant in 1977 and remains open for visitors on its slight rise at the edge of the hamlet. The highlights of the building, for me, are the crude Norman tympanum, the beautiful fourteenth century flowing tracery of the east window and the rustic woodwork of the screens and seating. The real oddity of the church is the wooden bell turret that once must have stood tall above the roof, but which became embedded in a new one, almost to the point of disappearance when the nave was restored in 1880. However, it was the font, set upon a square rather than the usual octagonal stone,   on a brick floor that was lit by two modest windows that drew my camera. In its simple, rustic setting it exemplified the charm of such buildings.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation:  -1.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

South Chapel, St Lawrence, Evesham

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Today's photograph shows the south chapel of the church of St Lawrence in Evesham, Worcestershire. It was built in the early 1500s as a chantry, and today holds the building's font. It is a beautiful, well-lit space, with a fine fan-vaulted roof. The building is no longer in regular use and is in the care of The Churches Conservation Trust. It forms one of an interesting group of three medieval buildings in the centre of Evesham - the other two being the parish church of All Saints and the bell tower of the former abbey. The piece that follows tells something of the history of St Lawrence, and is a transcription of the text on a plaque in its porch.

"The first church built on this site was consecrated by the Bishop of St Asaph in 1295. No feature of this building remains except possibly the crucifixion panel on the north external wall of this porch. It was replaced by the existing Perpendicular building in 1470 and formed part of the conventual buildings of Evesham Abbey which was then the fifth richest in England. The church was erected for the use of the multitude of pilgrims who piously came to worship at the Abbey shrines throughout many years of storm and calm alike. Many diseases being prevalent in these times made it necessary to isolate them from the townsfolk, who exclusively used the adjoining parish Church of All Saints.The bodily needs of the pilgrims were catered for at the Abbey Almonry nearby which is still standing. The church had become sadly dilapidated and in 1730 an extensive and as it proved, disastrous reconstruction took place because owing to faulty construction and poor materials, the new roof collapsed before 1800. The church remained in ruins until 1837 when it was restored and reopened for divine worship in its present form. In 1957 a further minor restoration took place."

photograph and text (c) T.Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.4mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sunlit church interiors

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In the days when I took photographs inside churches using a 35mm camera I almost always used a tripod. The older medieval churches and many Victorian buildings, through a combination of small windows and stained glass, have low levels of light, and so a stability aid was often necessary. In churches of the fifteenth and sixteenth century, and in certain later churches, larger windows and less (or more translucent) stained glass sometimes meant that the tripod could be dispensed with. There is a big difference in all churches between a sunny summer day and an overcast winter day, but the general principles outlined above still hold.

When I transferred to digital in 2000 the situation didn't change: a tripod accompanied my church photography. Anyone who has photographed in this way knows that carrying a heavy lump of metal around, and erecting and disassembling it on a regular basis detracts from the pleasure of photography. So, when Olympus introduced in-body image stabilisation in a camera that I was prepared to pay for (the E510), then I gratefully bought one. And I've never looked back. Today I don't often use a tripod. The image above was taken with my compact camera (the LX3). This too has image stabilisation (and a fast f2 lens), so it rarely requires a tripod. The smaller sensor means that it has good depth of field, even when wide open, and its high ISO capabilities are fairly acceptable, so it manages dark interiors quite well: in some respects better than the Olympus.

If I'm photographing church interiors with the architecture in mind I much prefer a bright but sunless day. When there is sunlight throwing shafts and pools of light in a predominantly dark interior the dynamic range of the subject is enormous, and getting detail in the shadows without the sunlit patches turing to white is next to impossible. However, when I'm looking to capture the light and mood of a church interior I often welcome a beam of sunlight through a traceried or leaded window: it makes the old stonework glow, adds an interesting focal point, and sharpens the carved details. It was these qualities that prompted today's photograph of the west corner of the south aisle that holds the font in the church of St Nicholas at Walcot in Lincolnshire. For another of my blog photographs of this church interior see here, and for a full-size version, here (click the image for maximum dimensions).

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A Norman font

click photo to enlarge
In about 1840 the Victorians decided that church architecture should be based on Gothic forms. This was a style that had originated in northern Europe, one they saw as "Christian", as opposed to the classical styles that were derived from the architecture of ancient Greece and Rome, and hence were "pagan". It was a false argument, of course, but one that persuaded the majority of churchmen and architects, and consequently most churches (and their fittings and furnishings) that were built during the rest of the century were in one or other of the Gothic styles. Thus, at a stroke, the Anglo-Saxon and Norman architecture of England was dismissed. Well, almost, because a few brave and idiosyncratic souls did build churches that used the forms of the twelfth century, but they were a distinct minority, their chosen style was seen as "crude", and it didn't achieve wide acceptance. For some the term "Romanesque", that embraces Anglo-Saxon and Norman architecture in England, became a label of abuse.

A few of these daring architects went so far as to design Norman fonts to complement their Romanesque buildings, though they usually restricted their decorative details to the rounded arches, cushion capitals, chevron moulding and great solidity of this earlier style. I know of no nineteenth century Norman fonts that sought to emulate the crude vigour of the figures of the original fonts, such as is seen in this example at St Mary Magdalene, Eardisley, Herefordshire. This wonderful font, dating from c.1150, exemplifies much that repelled the Victorians, and everything that I find fascinating about this style. The overall form is quite simple - a large bowl sits on a wide, tapered stem - but the surface is extremely complex. Encircling the top is a plaited band and around the base are knot patterns that recall the penwork of illuminated manuscripts as well as the stone preaching crosses of the C7 -C10. Between these abstract elements is a frieze. This depicts two soldiers fighting, one with a lance, the other with a sword, as well as The Harrowing of Hell, a further figure, and a large lion. These dramatic and dynamic figures have a sculptural naivety compared with Gothic work, but their greater animation draws the viewer into the depictions much more effectively than the later works. The men who carved this font revelled in the use of line: their delight in covering the surface in sinuous and interlocking pattern is very evident. In fact, the whole piece is as much a drawing as a sculpture, and tells us a lot about how a culture that worked in wood, that inscribed metal, and that valued the beauty of illuminated works, made the transition into stone sculpture and architecture.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/20 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

The oldest parts of a church

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Over the years, knowing my interest in ecclesiastical architecture, many people have asked me which part of a church is usually the oldest. It's a question with several answers. In most instances it's the chancel, the nave arcades, the font, the tower or fragments of sculpture that provide the most ancient material. But there are always (and many) exceptions.

The chancel is often the oldest part because that is where the builders of a church often started - with the place that holds the high altar. However, most of England's churches were enlarged as the country's population grew. So, chancels were sometimes renewed, aisles added, and the height of the nave increased. When this happened the nave arcades of the earlier building were often kept and the extensions were built around them. In some parts of England, particularly the north-west, where a lack of wealth had meant medieval parish churches were often small and poorly constructed, the tower is often the oldest remaining part. This is because when the Industrial Revolution that flourished there in the nineteenth century produced its enormous riches, wealthy individuals and congregations frequently replaced all except the tower with new work. Very often the church font carried on being used through all these upheavals, and in many buildings it is the oldest part. Sometimes, however, it was replaced and the original became a receptacle for flowers in someone's garden! In the village where I live fragments of Saxon carving, presumably from the building that pre-dates the present Norman structure are the oldest evidence to be seen. So, the answer the question has a number of answers.

Today's photograph shows the interior of the church of St John the Baptist at Barnack, Cambridgeshire. Beyond the pierced wooden screen is the chancel that was built around 1300, replacing the original Saxon structure. The columns of the nave arcade on the left have capitals with crockets and volutes of the late 1100s, whilst those on the right are in the fully-fledged stiff-leaf style of twenty or thirty years later. The fine font also looks thirteenth century, though some have suggested the deep bowl may be earlier. However these are not the oldest parts in this building: the strong Saxon tower dates from about 1020, and a sculpture and pieces of carved stone may be of a similar age. So, Barnack church fits the pattern I outlined above, with the oldest elements being those that are usually the oldest in most churches. The one idiosyncracy here is the unique south porch with its steeply pitched stone roof that dates from about 1200. Frequently these porches are later medieval, Georgian or even Victorian additions.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/5
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off (Tripod used)

New tops on old bottoms

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My desk is the same size as many internal doors - 6 feet 6 inches (1.98m) long and 2 feet 6 inches (0.76m) wide. I know this because it is an internal door resting on some small, old, vertical, chests of drawers.

A few years ago I decided I needed a bigger work surface to accommodate my computer and printer that would still leave space to write. Looking around I found plenty of cheap and cheerful small desks, quite a few small and expensive desks, and some large and extremely expensive desks. So, I went back to first principles, decided that I neeed a big flat surface with storage below, and cast around for the materials to supply that need. When I decided I already had the storage a door immediately came to mind. Sapele-faced internal doors were relatively inexpensive, well made, perfectly flat, and ready-varnished. So now I have a big desk that perfectly meets my needs with the added advantage that it can be easily taken apart when required!

What has my tale of a new top on old foundations got to do with today's photograph? Well, my main subject, the font at the west end of the nave of Peterborough Cathedral, is similarly arranged. When the Victorians came to restore the font they wanted to keep the thirteenth century bowl with its sensuous undulations and stiff-leaf carving, but felt it needed better support. So they designed new columns that drew their inspiration from the period of the upper part, and put the whole together. It looks marvellous. A couple of years ago the font was moved into its present position and the flower-like paving was designed to give it emphasis. That was an excellent decision: not only does it draw attention to this delightful object, but it provides wonderful foreground interest for a shot down the length of the nave with its Norman arcades and nave ceiling of c.1220!

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
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tiles and styles

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It's nothing short of criminal that tiles, a wall and floor covering that is made to last, should be subject to the capricious fancies of fashion, and that people should feel pressured to regularly change the perfectly sound surfaces of their kitchens, bathrooms and showers. Anyone who has lived through the last fifty years can very easily assign a tile to the decade in which it was manufactured. From the mottled beige of 1950s fireplace tiles, through the "cracked ice" tiles in sage, turquoise and pink of the 1970s, to the small fabric-backed mosaics of the turn of the millennium and the elongated "stone" of today, the pernicious march of fashion seems, ridiculously, to affect durable tiles just as much as more flimsy housewares, clothing and vehicles.

Was it always so? Not really. The Romans introduced tiles to Britain in the form of mosaic flooring, and many examples of their figurative and decorative designs can be seen in museums. But it was not until the monasteries of the middle ages wanted to floor their buildings with something better than trodden earth, rushes and stone, that floor tiles became common again. Their pattern-impressed and slip-decorated designs using symmetrical crosses, circles, part circles, birds, shields, etc remained, to the untutored eye, much the same for a few hundred years. And, the beauty of what they produced so appealed to the Gothic Revival architects of the nineteenth century that they faithfully copied many of these earlier designs.

Today's photograph shows the font and some of these Victorian tiles in the medieval church of St Mary, Swineshead, Lincolnshire. The fact that the designs of such tiles derive directly from medieval examples, or from catalogues of drawings of early tiles such as Parker's "Glossary of Architecture" (1840), and from original designs that often re-worked the motifs of the middle ages, makes identifying the manufacturer quite difficult to anyone but an enthusiast. As in many British churches those at Swineshead are probably made by Minton, but could well be by Campbell, Maw, Godwin or one of the smaller makers. Victorian tiles are commonly found in the chancel, the most sumptuously decorated part of a church. Here at Swineshead they were also deemed suitable for the area around the font, reflecting its importance as the place where a Christian is received into the the church through baptism. I was attracted to this shot by the sunlight streaming through a clear glass window, illuminating the font and its surrounds, throwing a lattice of shadows over everything, and leaving the background in relative gloom.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -3.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On