Gravestones, Langcliffe church

click photo to enlarge
After a long walk from Settle taking in Watery lane, Lodge Lane, Lambert Lane, Stockdale Lane, Attermire, Clay Pits Plantation and Langcliffe Brow we stopped off at Langcliffe church, as we often do, and sat on a bench in the churchyard to eat our packed lunch. A couple of motorcyclists were doing the same on the green near the church, but apart from them our only companion was a young rabbit that showed far less fear of humans than was good for it. If it should meet anyone less benignly disposed towards rabbits than us it may not reach old age.

After we had finished eating my wife went to look at the books for sale in the church and I walked round the churchyard to look at the gravestones. Having been brought up in the area I recognised quite a few surnames carved on them. This churchyard is well kept, with areas nicely mowed and planted and other areas deliberately left wilder. The pair of brown gravestones above are near the path that leads to the south porch, and both their distinctive shapes and the leafy surroundings of ferns, ivy and hostas lit by the dappled light piercing the trees above, made for a nice contrast between the man-made and the natural.

As I processed the photograph I noticed, for the first time, the low wire round the flowers in front of the right-most gravestone and reflected that those responsible for maintaining the churchyard must be very familiar with our rabbit.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Gravestones, Langcliffe Church, North Yorkshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 47mm (94mm - 35mm equiv.) crop
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO:1000
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ropsley's slate gravestones

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Quite a few types of stone are used in the gravestones of Lincolnshire churchyards. The twentieth century shows the greatest variety. From that period I regularly see limestones, sandstone, granite and other common stones. There is also a myriad of coloured, imported (and native) marble. The nineteenth century has most of these stones too, but in the early years, roughly equating to the late Georgian/Regency period, oolitic limestone is very common. This local stone is also widely found in gravestones of the eighteenth century. However, during the last quarter of the eighteenth century and the first twenty or thirty years of the nineteenth century, slate became very popular.

This slate that is dark grey, or with a purple tinge, or (most attractively in my view) a greenish hue, was often sourced from quarries in nearby Leicestershire, particularly in the vicinity of Swithland. It is a material that takes detailed, engraved carving very well, and monumental masons and sculptors delighted in embellishing the stone with putti, swags, swirls, cartouches and florid script. It is also a material that is strong in thinner slabs, and consequently was cheaper to transport. As I've observed elsewhere in the blog, the carving on many slate gravestones is as sharp today as it was when it was cut over two hundred years ago.

The other day I was photographing Ropsley church. This building, of Romanesque and medieval date, stands on a rise among a small forest of slate gravestones. As I took my images I reflected on the tidiness of the churchyard; the neatly mown grass, the absence of weeds, the fact that unlike many churchyards the grass was cut up to the base of each grave and weedkiller was nowhere in evidence. Was it the case, I wondered, that the precision and neatness of the slate gravestones encouraged the overall neatness of the graveyard itself?

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Ropsley Church, Lincolnshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm - 35mm equiv.) crop
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Stone, cast iron and slate

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In the main the builders of Britain's medieval parish churches used local stone. Sometimes this was very well suited to the purpose - it withstood the weather well, held sharp moulding and carving for centuries, and the Victorian restorers left most of it in place. The Oolitic limestone of Barnack and Ancaster are two good examples of such stone. Elsewhere, however, the stone left much to be desired but was used nonetheless because to bring better material from afar was simply too expensive. Much of the greenstone used in churches of the Lincolnshire Wolds, though striking in terms of colour, has decayed down the centuries, flaking off the surface, leaving walls pock marked and shabby, requiring heavy restoration. The builders must have known that it wasn't the best building stone, but they used it for convenience, cost, colour and out of a sense of local pride. I'm glad they did. The medieval tower of Horncastle church is positively rainbow-coloured with old and new local stone, as is that of Great Malvern Priory in Worcestershire.

On a recent visit to Derbyshire I came upon this stonework (above) at the church of St Giles, Calke. The building was erected in 1826-8 as a private church on the estate of Calke Abbey. I imagine the beautiful and subtly coloured stone is local, and it immediately caught my eye. What I also noticed was the tracery of the windows and I went to touch them to see if my suspicions were accurate. They were. The reticulated tracery of these two-light windows is made of cast iron. A little research  showed that they were made at a foundry in Derby. I've come across late Georgian and Victorian cast iron church windows before. They are not common, but can be found in cities and parts of the country adjacent to iron-producing areas. Here the colour they have been painted, does I think, go well with the stone and even with the dark slate gravestones rising up through the long churchyard grass.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 39mm (78mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: 0
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

Ordinary lives recorded

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I visit a lot of churches and churchyards and see many gravestones and memorials. In Britain the earliest in parish churches (as opposed to cathedrals, abbeys, minsters etc) date from the 1600s. Over the years I've seen examples from every century between that time and the present day. Some catch my eye with their opulence, others their elegance, a few because they depart from the conventions of the day, and then some because they are - how shall I put it - simple and unaffected, in fact, ordinary.

Today's photograph falls into the latter category. It tells, in plain language, using modest lettering - no decorative flourishes - who is remembered and the basic facts about their length of life and date of death. A poignant note is struck by the reference to "5 Children who died in their Infancy" but it is added in a matter-of-fact way. There is no pictorial or decorative carving, no cherubs or leaves, no wreaths or borders.  The only "extra" added to the basic facts is a short verse of four lines. Who were these people? I don't know. They were sufficiently well-off to have a memorial in the church (unless it was brought in at a later date to be used as flooring), but probably not well-to-do, perhaps an example of the "mute inglorious Milton" that Thomas Gray wrote about. Whoever wrote or chose the verse - perhaps James Bygott himself - had clearly seen and been repelled by the sort of memorial I've frequently come across: the ones that gush on in an unrestrained and often ludicrous manner about the wonderful qualities of the deceased and how he was (it's usually a man) held in the highest esteem by all who knew him, regardless of their station in life. The four lines on this memorial are an effective riposte to such bombast.

It occurred to me as I read the memorial again on the screen of my computer that the lives briefly recorded are ordinary ones. The death of multiple children was once commonplace. Death in middle age of a (only surviving?) daughter was not unusual, nor was a lifespan that didn't quite reach the "threescore years and ten" described in the King James version of the Bible. All of which prompted a feeling of gratitude for the longer, healthier lives that we experience and expect today.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f1.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 320
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early medieval gravestones

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The gravestones, tomb slabs and funerary monuments of English churches range in date from the twelfth century to the present day. Each one seeks to remember or exalt the deceased. Few of the older ones are in the position where they were first placed and many of these have been damaged by incident, accident or design. Sometimes they have been crudely cut so that a later architectural embellishment could be effected. Often Protestant zealots of the Reformation or later have taken their hammers to them, knocking off noses, limbs and any other easily removed projection as they sought to demonstrate their hatred of "idolatry". However, despite the vicissitudes of time, many have survived, largely intact, bequeathing to later generations information about the sculptural abilities and stylistic preferences of earlier times.

The oldest such monuments were often lids for stone coffins, decorated by a foliate cross or lines of stylised leaves. These usually date from the 1100s. Also found at this time, and a little later, are stone coffin lids with circles, quatrefoils or almond-shaped holes within which are carvings of parts of the  body that is being commemorated. Today's photographs show an example of just such a gravestone that can be seen in the church of St Denys at Sleaford, Lincolnshire. The viewer is invited to look, asit were, through "holes" in the surface of the lid, at the face, hands held in prayer and feet of a woman. The inscription around the edge tells us who she is. It says, "Ye who here pass by, for the soul of Yvette pray, who was the honoured wife of William of Rauceby on whose soul may god have mercy". These holes are incorporated in a leafy cross that decorates the surface of the coffin-shaped stone. It is likely to date from the 1100s. Despite being broken in two and now being fixed to the wall rather than laying flat on or under the ground, the stonework is still clear and the writing remains legible, a testament to the durable qualities that the sculptor conferred on the piece and to the care with which the church has been maintained for the past thousand or so years.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: iAuto+
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f1.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation:  0 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

Avenues

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The word "avenue" in English originally comes from the French avenir and Latin advenire, to come to or to approach. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the word was often spelt, "advenue", and in the eighteenth century "a'venue" was used. The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) records the first use of "avenue" meaning "approach" in a piece dating from 1639. However, by the eighteenth century the definition of the word that we use today - an approach or road lined with trees - was widely accepted. The United States seems to have modified its usage of the word to mean any fine, wide street, but in Britain trees are usually implied by "avenue".

The habit of lining a street, road or entrance driveway with trees to give it an enhanced status is a practise of long standing. It is a feature seen in the grounds of most large English country houses. Towns and cities with streets of eighteenth and and nineteenth century foundation often have such trees and feature the word "avenue" in their name. Municipal parks of the Victorian and Edwardian period usually have avenues, and the rare park of eighteenth century date, such as that at King's Lynn, frequently have them too. Go to the municipal cemetery- usually a nineteenth century creation - and here too you will find a tree lined road leading from the main entrance or to the chapel.

We recently, for the first time, walked into the cemetery at Boston, Lincolnshire, and found here a fine, imposing avenue leading from the entrance gatehouse to the chapel. Unusually it had a mixture of trees rather than being restricted to one or two species. Pines stood alongside beech and lime, with the deciduous trees shedding their leaves on the tarmac and gravestones below. we didn't venture far into the cemetery - that exploration can wait for a later date - but I lingered long enough to see two men come into view at the bottom of the avenue, figures to give some scale to my symmetrical shot down the roadway.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 1000
Exposure Compensation:  0 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

Gravestones and lawnmowers

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The earliest device for keeping down the grass in graveyards was the humble sheep. They are still occasionally used today, and their presence brings an old world, agricultural charm to the hallowed plot. The scythe was also used for long grass and awkward corners, but like the sheep it has pretty much disappeared. In virtually every UK churchyard today (except those that deliberately let the grass grow long for conservation reasons) it is the lawnmower and strimmer that are employed to keep the grass in order.

Walking a mower round the closely packed and irregularly sized graves is never an easy task, and around the mid-twentieth century some parishes tried to make the grass cutting an easier task. They took down all the headstones and re-positioned them in lines around the perimeter of the churchyard. Often they were placed in front of the wall: sometimes they were used to make a wall. This was accomapnied by levelling of the turf. Immediately the job of cutting the churchyard grass was a task taking a couple of hours rather than a day ot two, and the volunteers to do it became easier to find. Not everyone likes this development, and where it has been proposed in some churches it has led to strong disagreements. But, quite a few have adopted the measure, particularly those in urban settings.

The second of today's photographs shows a church (St Margaret's at King's Lynn) where this has happened  in a very extensive way. A few notable gravestones remain, dotted amongst the greensward, but most have been put to the edge. These headstones date from the second half of the eighteenth and the early nineteenth centuries. The first photograph (of Duddington churchyard, Northamptonshire) may show it too, though much of this churchyard looks fairly "unreconstructed". What this image does show is the damage that mowers can cause to gravestones (see the chips and scrapes at the base of the leftmost), something that never happened when sheep quietly cropped the grass away.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1(Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3 (Olympus E510)
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35 mm equiv.)(55mm (110mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f2 (f5.6)
Shutter Speed: 1/125 (1/160)
ISO: 80 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 (-0.3 EV)
Image Stabilisation: On

Overgrown churchyards

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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

In memoriam

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The rules regarding what is permissible in terms of a gravestone or other graveyard memorial seem to differ from church to church and cemetery to cemetery. When one looks at the earliest English churchyard
gravestones of the seventeenth and eighteenth century what strikes the observer is that the same decorative motifs, imagery, scripts, language and verses, or slight variations on them, tend to prevail. Some lean towards the macabre in their depiction of skulls and bones, others to the homely with their podgy putti. They are, in the main, sober memorials with nothing to which the average parishioner, or vicar, could take exception. Because the language follows widely used polite conventions they have a formal air. Only the odd humorous or idiosyncratic verse breaks through this civil veneer.

In the nineteenth century formality is, if anything, increased. The mechanical looking script, boldly carved urns, bibles, doves, ivy and flowers, ritual descriptions - "Fell asleep", "Carried Away" - and the full names of the departed, describe a society that took the recording of the particulars of the deceased very seriously. However, during the twentieth century a lighter note starts to creep in, with occupations and hobbies commonly mentioned through inscriptions and pictures, shortened names - "Bert" instead of "Albert" - and children's terms to describe family relationships - "Grandad" rather than "Grandfather". Some vicars and parishes took a stand against this increasing familiarity: shortened names, nicknames, etc were prohibited. Others specified that particular types of bright marble were forbidden lest they clash with the gravestones made of local stone, and in places the green or white glassy chips piled in the centre of graves were banned. I often see churchyard signs saying that artificial flowers must not be placed on graves, natural blooms being deemed environmental and more suitable.

No such prohibitions seemed to be in place in the Lincolnshire churchyard where I took today's photograph. This particular memorial was made of the whitest marble filled with green glass chippings Standing on them was an urn, an additional tribute from grandchildren, that described the deceased as "Grandad" and "Nan" ( a shortening of a truncation!) Moreover, in the urn was a bunch of faded artificial roses and carnations. I'm not one for applying too many photographic "effects" to the images I produce, but the faded nature of the flowers on this grave caused me to try fading them a little more and adding a touch of brown across the whole image. I quite like the result. It reminds me of an old postcard that is losing its colour.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm (34mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sharpening marks and old churches

click photo to enlarge

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

Serendipity and an Atlantic crossing

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One of the pleasures of stopping by a small country church that you've never visited before is the possibility of coming upon the unexpected. Here is what serendipity offered up the other day when we were travelling in Norfolk.

In the churchyard of St Mary, Rougham, was a gravestone dating from 1919 with a carving of a twin-engined biplane on it. Today it isn't unusual to find gravestones with a tractor, a car, a cricket bat or some other illustration that refers to the deceased's work or hobby. However, it is quite unusual (masonic emblems excepted) in a memorial from the early twentieth century. The stone marks the final resting place of Thomas Keppel North, and notes that he designed the first aircraft - a Vickers Vimy bomber (suitably modified) - to make a non-stop flight across the Atlantic Ocean. This feat was accomplished in June 1919 by the British fliers, Alcock and Brown, who set off from St John's, Newfoundland, and landed in a bog at Clifden, Ireland, 16 hours later having flown at an average speed of 115 mph. The aircraft designer, unfortunately, did not live to hear of their accomplishment, having died in February, a victim of the influenza epidemic of that year.

This is what is recorded on the gravestone:

Here lies all that was mortal of
THOMAS KEPPEL NORTH O.B.E.
youngest son of the late CHARLES NORTH
of this parish who died at Crayford in the
county of Kent on the 10th day of February
in the year of our Lord 1919. Aged 43 yrs
He was there superintendent of Vickers
works and designed the first aeroplane
to cross the Atlantic Ocean.

"Seest thou a man diligent in his business?
he shall stand before Kings: he shall not
stand before mean men."
Proverbs XXII29

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3 (Olympus E510)
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.) (15mm (30mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f2.8 (5.6)
Shutter Speed: 1/400 (1/250)
ISO: 80 (100)
Exposure Compensation: 0 (-0.3) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A bird pain?

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Which bird is the most disliked in Britain? I was pondering this thought the other day when watching a couple of amorous robins flitting around the hedge near my kitchen window. Books, TV programmes, websites, magazines and newspapers often feature articles on "Britain's Favourite Bird" - yes, it's usually the robin (Erithacus rubecula) - but few tackle the other end of the avian adulation spectrum.

I've heard many people express a dislike for starlings (Sturnus vulgaris), particularly those who feed birds in their garden. Such folk see the way they descend on the food mob-handed, briskly marching about, elbowing house sparrows and dunnocks aside, hoovering up the crumbs like demented Dysons, as unappealing. I suppose I can understand why they might think that, but it's not a view I share. Anyway, one has only to look at the breeding plumage of the starling - a star-speckled iridescent night sky - to forgive its table manners. Others save their expletives for the magpie (Pica pica), or "thieving magpie" as they usually refer to it. Its true they do purloin trinkets, and they definitely plunder nests for eggs and nestlings. But it is done with a piratical swagger that has its attraction, and anyway, the poor bird has to live. I often think that the magpie is Britain's "tropical" bird, so bright is its plumage. Then there's the herring gull, a species with habits that in seaside towns have earned it the soubriquet, "flying rat". Dive-bombing people (in defence of its rooftop territory when it has chicks), tearing open bin bags and foraging in litter bins in search of food, "spotting" cars, windows and people: these are not the actions that win admirers. And finally there's the collared dove (Streptopelia decaocto). Doves are a symbol of peace, known for their loving nature, and usually quite timid. So what is it about the collared dove that raises the ire? Well, it's that monotonous, insistent, trisyllabic "coo". The call, uttered from a house roof or tree-top vantage point early on a spring or summer morning, when people are trying to sleep, has been known to drive the most mild-mannered to violence. My house has collared doves that sit on our chimney pots, calling, so that their voices are heard clearly emanating from fireplaces of two of the ground-floor rooms. However, I'm pleased to say that I am able to filter the sound quite easily, and what irritates many, doesn't affect me. In fact I quite like the ubiquitous collared dove, and am old enough to remember the time when it had never been seen in Britain.

The example in today's photograph sat very obligingly on an eighteenth century gravestone at Croyland Abbey whilst I took its photograph. I think if I'd have taken a step closer it would have taken fright and flight. Oh, and by the way, I still don't photograph birds.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Snow-fallen angel

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By my calculation this area of Lincolnshire has had only one day since 18th December when snow hasn't covered the ground. Now that may be an inconsequential length of time compared with what can be expected in Canada, Finland and Siberia, but for this corner of England it's both long and unusual. Most years, after a snowfall, the weather warms sufficiently for it to melt away within a day or two. Sometimes it lingers for a week, with the odd top-up falling, usually during the night. However, this year the weather seems to have got stuck in a cycle of easterly and northerly winds, with some heavy or light snow most days recently. The first snow to fall wasn't accompanied by strong winds, so it was relatively pleasant. In recent days the icy blasts have made going out much more of an ordeal. Not that it has stopped this photographer, of course. But my radius of action has shrunk considerably, and the car has made only a few forays down the slippery roads.

Today's photograph shows a churchyard angel that I came across after a recent heavy bout of snow. She usually stands, looking quite imperious, gazing eastward, holding on to her anchor lest the winds or temptation should seek to bring her down from her pedestal. In the snow she looked to me like someone had poured the contents of a bag of icing sugar over her head, which seriously undermined her usual dignity. From memory, I think this is the only large monumental figure sculpture in this churchyard. Some of the eighteenth century graves have small cherubs and relief sculptures, but that's about it. In fact Lincolnshire churchyards contrast strongly with those I've been used to seeing in Lancashire where nouveau riche Victorian businessmen often constructed ostentatious memorials with angels, neo-classical weepers and the like.

For this photograph I was torn between a close-up of the angel's upper body and this contextual view. My final choice was clinched by the "white-out" of the trees behind that allowed the lichen-encrusted green stonework to stand out in a way that it wouldn't in less snowy circumstances.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 98mm (196mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Eroded gravestone

click photo to enlarge
Before you read on - if you were intending to do so - try and make out what this gravestone once said. My attempt at deciphering it is at the end of the post.

It occurred to me a few years ago that the job of a vicar or priest has much to commend it sartorially speaking. When you get up in the morning you don't have to agonise over what to wear, whether this colour goes with that, or if your clothes will be suitable for the events that the day will bring. Out come the same grey, black and white garments, on they go, and you're ready. Whether you're meeting the Queen, conducting a service, or have your sleeves rolled up in the soup kitchen you have the satisfaction of knowing that your dress is appropriate.

I've sometimes wondered whether the job of monumental mason has similar advantages. However, I suppose you have to keep abreast of fashions in gravestones, and fashion isn't something that sits easily with (or on) me. Also, you share the major disadvantage that doctors and the police have - you're usually meeting people when they're at their worst or they have a problem. In the case of a monumental mason the price and style of the memorial stone, and the wording of the inscription must sometimes be bones of contention between relatives, and I imagine that the poor old mason sometimes plays the role of referee in such disputes.

The other day I came across another pitfall in that line of work. You buy your stone, engrave it, sell it, it's placed over the grave, and a few years later it starts to break up - you've been sold a pup! Relatives start beating on your door demanding a replacement, and you're on the phone to the supplier who probably isn't interested. Of course, if the decay sets in after a hundred years probably no one is interested, least of all the mason who is somewhere below one of his own pieces of handiwork! I was thinking about this as I surveyed this eroded gravestone in the churchyard at Toynton St Peter, Lincolnshire. I've seen gravestones from the early 1700s that are as sharp and legible as the day they were cut. But this sorry specimen seems to have been made from a very unsuitable piece of stone and is almost illegible after - well, after how many years?

Today's challenge is to try and decipher the lettering.

Here's my attempt based on a lot of reading of gravestones :
Line 1 ******* REMEMBRANCE
Line 2 OF
Line 3 WILLIAM ROBINSON
Line 4 WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE
Line 5 APRIL 25TH 1898
Line 6 AGED 82 YEARS
Line 7 *************************

For how much longer, I wonder, will William Robinson be remembered through this gravestone? Here is a gravestone that is about one hundred years older than the one above that wears its age much better.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm (34mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On