Giggleswick, a north country church

click photo to enlarge
The medieval stone-built churches of the Pennines are often characterised by a long, low shape, rather like the medieval farm houses of the northern uplands. But, whereas the latter came about by the living accommodation and barns being side by side and in one building, in the case of churches it was due to technological and, perhaps, stylistic reasons.

If you look at medieval churches across England, and especially in the north country, you will soon begin to notice a triangular shape on the east wall of the tower above the nave roof. You can see such a shape on St Alkelda in Giggleswick, North Yorkshire (above - below the clock). It is a drip mould designed to stop water flowing the down that face of the tower and penetrating the roof. Instead it is made to flow onto the slates, tiles or thatch of the nave roof and thence to gutters and gargoyle spouts. The moulding is revealed for all to see because, of course, the roof that it was designed to serve is no longer there. The availability, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, of cheaper lead in large sheets prompted a widespread migration from steeply pitched church roofs that didn't always work as well as they should, and which needed frequent maintenance, to lower pitched lead-covered roofs. These were frequently so low as to be invisible behind the parapets of the naves and chancels, and sometimes those of the aisles too.

One has to believe that the builders and church authorities who sanctioned the widespread introduction of low, lead-covered roofs decided that the advantages outweighed the less attractive appearance of the building. Certainly that wasn't the case when the Victorian restorers set to work on these churches. Quite a few lamented the lead roofs and in more than a few instances the pitched roofs were reinstated. This didn't happen at Giggleswick. We were there on an overcast evening after a bright day when the view from the side of the churchyard that is allowed to produce hay and grow a little wild offered an interesting image. It reminded me of how many such places looked in the 1960s and 1970s before powered mowers came into widespread use and memorial-strewn lawns replaced long grasses blowing in the wind.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: St Alkelda, Giggleswick, North Yorkshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.) crop
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ropsley's slate gravestones

click photo to enlarge
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

Death and slate

click photo to enlarge
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

Gravestones and lawnmowers

click photo to enlarge

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

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

St Nicholas, Sapperton, Lincolnshire

click photo to enlarge
English churches are often a reflection of the settlement in which they stand. Large town churches were usually built with not only the offerings of a large congregation, but also the riches of a local guild. Small villages and hamlets frequently have small churches, the best that could be afforded by a limited community.

But often these generalities don't apply. The village of Skirlaugh in the East Riding of Yorkshire has a large and fine C15 church of a much higher quality than might be expected in such a place. It came about because one of its inhabitants, Walter Skirlaw, became Bishop of Durham, a position that enabled him to fund the building. The village of Hoar Cross in Staffordshire has a large, lavishly built Victorian church by Bodley that was built in commemoration of Hugo Ingram of Hoar Cross Hall by his wife.

What then of St Nicholas at Sapperton in Lincolnshire. Well, this small church had no fabulously rich benefactor, and its modest size reflects its modest parish consisting of farms, cottages and seventeenth century hall. It dates from the late twelfth century (the north arcade), and has further work of the C13 and C14. The exterior, which is very crisp and neat, has all the hallmarks of a Victorian restoration that was a bit too enthusiastic. However, St Nicholas does sit very nicely in the unpretentious churchyard, with its mixture of stone and slate gravestones. I photographed the church on an afternoon when the shadows were lengthening and the low sun was saturating the colours of everything it fell upon. Snowdrops were peeping through the drifts of decaying leaves that had been blowing around the churchyard all winter. I composed my shot using the path as a lead in to the slightly off-centre building, and balanced the shot with the prominent gravestones and trees to the right.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Snow-fallen angel

click photo to enlarge
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

Ropsley church

click photo to enlarge
When I approach a church that I've never visited before, such as the one shown in this photograph, St Peter at Ropsley, Lincolnshire, I do two things. First, I take a photograph of the exterior. I then know that this marks the point in my sequence of images when I began shooting at a new church: important if you visit six or seven during the course of the day. Then I stand and stare. What I'm doing as my gaze ranges over the building is trying to read something of its history from the evidence that is shown on its exterior.

Here I immediately noticed the Decorated style (C14) of the fine broach spire, and the late C15 porch with its too-tall (for my taste) pinnacles. I guessed the south aisle was C15 too from the style of its windows, and wondered whether the extension at the side of the chancel was a chantry chapel. The clerestory clearly came at a point when the church was enlarged, but was it C14 or C15? Of course, when you enter the building the nave arcades are usually revealing, and here was no exception - the south columns and arches C13, like the chancel arch. Some windows on the north side looked post-medieval. However, churches often have the capacity to surprise a visitor, and Ropsley is no exception, because the nave corners show evidence of Anglo-Saxon "long and short work", and the north aisle has obviously Norman work. So, the Gothic exterior surrounds and extends a Romanesque building from the C11.

None of that early work is obvious in this black and white image taken from the south-east corner of the churchyard. This is usually the best location for a shot of a complete English church, providing the church council hasn't planted trees (particularly dark, dense yews) that obscure this quarter! However, Ropsley is quite exposed, making a fine sight on its slight rise, its surroundings restricted to a soft greeensward and a small forest of leaning gravestones that include many excellent slate examples from the C18 and early C19.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bassingthorpe Manor House

click photo to enlarge
Legislation dating back to 1947 gives protection to historic buildings in England and Wales. Buildings deemed suitable are added to one of three graded lists, thereby becoming "listed". Grade I applies to buildings of outstanding architectural or historic interest. Grade II* is for particularly significant buildings of more than local interest. Grade II applies to buildings of special architectural or historic interest.

Though it is mainly buildings that are listed, monuments, bridges, piers, milestones and other structures can also receive this designation. England and Wales currently have about 442,000 listed buildings and structures of which 418,000 are Grade II, 18,000 are Grade II* (starred), and 6,000 are Grade I. Examples of the latter, the highest category of listing, are the Palace of Westminster, Buckingham Palace, York Minster, Windsor Castle, Manchester Town Hall, the Natural History Museum, and the building shown in today's photograph, Bassingthorpe Manor House, Lincolnshire.

The reason for this relatively small, provincial building receiving the highest grade is because of the advanced quality of its architectural design for which there are no known parallels. What we see today is a fragment, probably the parlour block, added to an older and larger house. The building carries the date 1568 at the top of its west gable, and positively bristles with architectural details that were to become more widespread only later in the Elizabethan period. It was built for Sir Thomas Cony, a notable wool merchant who, as well as adding this extension to the older property left to him by his father, funded repairs and alterations to the medieval church that stands next to the house.

I took my photograph from the churchyard, and placed a group of thin, slate gravestones in the right foreground as a visual counterweight to the house on the left. A black and white treatment seemed to suit the subject better than the original colour.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Summer morning churchyard

click photo to enlarge

Twice this year I've made the journey to the top of the tower of St Swithun, Bicker. The first was on a foggy, frosty day, and the second when it was warm and sunny, but slightly hazy. Only on that brighter day did I get a few photographs of the view over the the flat Fenland landscape.

The ascent of the tower starts by entering an internal low, narrow door that leads to steps spiralling up to the ringing floor. This level of the tower is where the bell ringers stand to ring the eight bells of the church's peal. It's a cosy place decked out, as these places often are, with photographs of previous ringers and records of notable ringing feats. A wooden ladder is needed to get to the next level of the tower where the bells are held in an elaborate and solid framework of steel and wood. Once there, contortions are required to get to a steel ladder up to the trap-door that leads out on to the roof itself. This is a shallow, lead-covered pyramid surrounded by the old stone battlements. Successive generations have inscribed names, dates and outlines of of their feet on the lead surface. The oldest date I recall seeing was from the nineteenth century, so I imagine the roof was re-covered in Victorian times.

It's said that from the top of the tower, on a clear day, 14 medieval church towers can be seen. On my second visit I could see (or imagined I could see - I'd forgotten my binoculars!) the big towers of Boston, Swineshead, Donington, Quadring, Heckington, Helpringham, Swaton, and Gosberton. However, I struggled to see others because of the tall churchyard and roadside trees, and the heat haze that hung over the horizon. A clear winter day, when the trees are bare, perhaps will extend the view to Billingborough, Horbling, Threekingham, Surfleet, Sutterton, and maybe Great Hale or Pinchbeck. I think I'll have to choose my day more carefully for my next climb!

Today's photograph was taken on a sunny August morning with the early sun throwing long shadows in the churchyard.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Dedications and weather

click photo to enlarge

All Church of England churches have a dedication, usually to a saint, but often to the Virgin Mary, the Trinity, the Holy Rood (Cross), or one of a few other religious symbols. This dedication is usually included in the full name of the building. So, the faintly seen structure in this photograph is The Parish Church of St Swithun, Bicker, Lincolnshire.

Usually the dedication that the church carries today is the one that it originally received a thousand years or more ago. But sometimes it is changed. Bicker's church has always, as far as I know, carried the name of St Swithun, although sometimes it has been, and still is, written as St Swithin. Who was this person? Well, he was a Bishop of Winchester, who died in the year 862, and whose life is relatively well recorded. He appears in"The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" and several other ancient texts. Like most saints his fame increased after his death, and miracles began to be attributed to him. Swithun's best known miracle is the restoration of a basket of eggs that some workmen had deliberately broken! However, in England, his feast day - 15th July - is much better known than that of many other saints. This is mainly due to the saying that surrounds rain falling (or not) on that particular day: "St Swithun's day if it does rain, For forty days it will remain, St Swithun's Day if it is fair, For forty days 'twill rain no mair (more)." So, English folk who know this saying pay special attention to the weather when 15th July comes around, and hope that precipitation does not bring forty days of wetness right in the middle of summer!

Rain wasn't the prevailing condition when I photographed St Swithun's. An overnight frost had coincided with fog, and the early morning sun forcing its way through gave an opportunity for a contre jour shot. A horizontal crop seemed to make best use of the photographic elements available.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

The gravedigger's door

click photo to enlarge

"As one door closes, another opens", we say, and this was metaphorically and literally true for the parishioners of Swineshead in Lincolnshire. For a period of a hundred, or maybe even two hundred years, as the door of life closed on a person, so the door of this churchyard shed opened, and the gravedigger brought out his tools to prepare a burial place for the deceased.

Today the building is more likely to contain a lawnmower and a few other tools for maintaining the grounds of the ancient church. But it may still hold the gravedigger's tools for those parishioners whose final journey doesn't include cremation. Whatever its present purpose, it still stands, castellated above, repaired and extended with different bricks, and sealed with its old pointed door in its old pointed arch - the builder's idea of what is appropriate for a churchyard.

I'd gone to Swineshead to photograph the lovely church tower and spire with its corona base, and came away with a number of images that I'm pleased with. This is one that I didn't look for - it just, serendipitously, presented itself. Of all the shots I took on that bright, windy afternoon, this is my favourite for the combination of colours, shadows and texture.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off