Lions sejant?

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I have no time for the social structure that produced heraldry or for heraldry as a social tool; it seems to me to be a self-serving way of differentiating the plebeians from the aristocracy, of binding the so-called "upper classes" together by lineage, and, in many cases, giving a spurious antiquity to the nouveau riche. That being said, you have to admire the gusto with which the whole heraldic apparatus was invented established, codified and embedded in society.

Go anywhere in England and you'll come across heraldry. It's in almost every Church of England building, virtually all civic buildings, on the coinage, on pub signs, affixed to buildings, printed on book covers, an most of all, everywhere in castles new and old.

Eastnor Castle in Herefordshire is a Victorian castle and the builders took great pains to make it look like it has been built up over the centuries, with rooms and details in various architectural styles. It is also dripping with heraldry. The detail above shows part of a panel behind a stream of water that issues from a wall into a pool. It has two lions facing each other, their front legs raised on steps, between them a tree, and above a shield. The position that heraldic animals adopt are circumscribed by rules and special names. I think this pair are sejant!

© Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
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Heraldry and pelicans

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When coats of arms and heraldic devices were first conceived animals were widely used symbols. Those chosen were often selected for either their relevance to the family or for their fearsome qualities. Thus, the lion and the eagle are probably the most commonly found mammal and bird. But, as heraldry progressed, a wider range of creatures was used, such as boars, elephants, beavers or stags, and a veritable aviary of birds was put to work representing individuals, organisations and towns on their coats of arms. From the humble martlet (house martin) to the towering ostrich, birds of every description were pressed into service, including the pelican.

Before they featured in heraldry pelicans were used to symbolise Christ's sacrifice on the cross. It was believed that as young pelicans grow they strike their parent on the face with their beaks and the adult bird then kills them. But, after three days mourning the mother pierces her own breast and feeds her blood to the nestlings, which revives them. In an alternate version of this story the young pelicans are poisoned and the adult feeds her blood to bring them back to life. This tale was known from the medieval bestiaries and became part of Christian iconography. It can often be seen in medieval churches as the subject of carving in stone or wood, frequently on the underside of misericords or in ceiling bosses. It is also a popular subject for stained glass as in this Pre-Raphaelite example by Edward Burne-Jones for Morris & Co. that I photographed in the church of St Martin at Brampton, Cumbria.

The coat of arms of the Norfolk town of King's Lynn has been modified down the centuries but has usually included a pelican (though sometimes a gull). A marine bird is very appropriate for a port, and the designer of the late fifteenth century door shown in today's photograph decided it would be suitable as a central embellishment in the ogee arch that he put above the small wicket door in the centre of the larger main door. It's interesting that this door has survived in a secular property since the late 1400s, though it is noticeable that the surrounding woodwork is repaired and the topmost arch is characteristic of the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

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Camera: Sony RX100
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Hatchments

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"His means of death, his obscure funeral -
No trophy, sword nor hatchment o'er his bones"
said by Laertes in "Hamlet" (Act 4, Scene 5) by William Shakespeare

For the layman the sight of hatchments hanging inside a church, on the wall of the nave or on inner east face of the west tower, is something of a puzzle. They are heraldic, like the commonly seen royal coats of arms, and like them are painted on a square board that is placed point upwards. But whose coats of arms do they show and why are they found in churches?

"Hatchment" is an Anglicization of the French, "achievement", and therein lies the clue to what they are. Medieval noblemen had their armour, weapons and heraldic colours displayed in church on their tomb during their funeral. In later centuries this was formalised in the custom of the family coat of arms being painted on a square board that was hung, lozenge-wise over the main entrance to the family home during the period of mourning. After the funeral the board, now called a hatchment, was often moved to the church and displayed there on a longer-term basis. Some of these have survived and adorn our churches still.

By the eighteenth century many conventions had grown up around hatchments. For example, if the wife lived on after the passing of her husband then the sinister side of the background (left from the point of view of someone holding it like a shield but right as we view it) would be painted white (see top example above), with the reverse (dexter side) indicating that the husband was the survivor. The status of women as unmarried or married was marked by the former's arms being decorated by gold cord and the latter with a golden, winged, cherub head. The last of a family line was indicated by a skull and cross bones painted under the coat of arms. It's regrettable that names and dates were never put on hatchments (though they are on royal coats of arms) and that considerable detective work has been necessary to work out who it is that they commemorate.

The parish church of St Wulfram in Grantham, Lincolnshire has six fine hatchments and two royal coats of arms (one dated 1586, the other some time before 1701). In recent years these have been grouped for display purposes and they make a fine sight spot-lit against the stone of the ancient walls.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
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Heraldry and grave diggers

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Heraldic coats of arms as we know them today became common in Europe around the middle of the twelfth century. They identified a family, especially the men when they were in armour, but were also used in sculpture, interior decoration and stained glass. Coats of arms were passed down through families by inheritance, often with modifications following marriage.

A typical coat of arms has a shield (escutcheon). Its surface (field) employs various colours (tinctures) in shapes (ordinaries) with motifs such as animals, leaves, shells etc (charges). A written phrase (motto) on a scroll or banner is often found below the shield. To left and right are figures, usually people or animals (supporters). The shield is topped by a helmet, its style dependent on rank, which may have a crest and is usually flanked by ragged cloth (mantling).

Recently I stood in the south aisle of the medieval church of St Mary at Long Sutton, Lincolnshire, and looked up at a memorial that included a coat of arms (of sorts). It wasn't the kind that you often see, carefully sculpted and carved in marble or fine stone, a tribute to a man (or woman) of wealth and importance. Rather, it was crudely fashioned and made fast and loose with the heraldic vocabulary. In fact, I was in two minds as to whether it was a naive attempt to emulate the style of the deceased's "betters", or a mischievous parody that poked fun at the style. The convex disc at the bottom of the memorial, in the place where a motto might be on a coat of arms, was difficult to read, the carving being barely better than scratch marks. However, from what I could read it appeared to be words in memory of someone who died in the early 1700s, perhaps 1725. One look at the carving above the disc make it very obvious that the person must have been a grave digger.

The shield is divided into four (quartered) by two large bones. In the top left corner is the bell that would toll for the deceased. The top right corner has keys on a chain, perhaps symbolising St Peter and the hope of entry into heaven. At the bottom left is a coffin and what appear to be two rib bones, whilst at the bottom right are tools of the trade of a gravedigger - a pick axe and spade. The supporters are a man, full of life, and a skeleton. Quite what is in place of the helmet above the centre of the shield I'm not sure. However, it may be a clumsy depiction of the simple helm found on the coat of arms of an untitled person. If so, the crest that surmounts it looks for all the world like an hour glass in a wooden frame, the sands of time marking the passage of life. The mantling resembles the sort of palm-like leaves that the eighteenth century often used to represent the Tree of Life. Further leaves provide the "ground" on which the supporters stand.

So, is it crude emulation or knowing parody? It's hard to say, and it may be a bit of both. What is certain is that the coat of arms documents its time in an interesting and entertaining way, and seemed like a good subject for a photograph.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
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Today's heraldry

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I've always liked heraldic devices. As a child I used to be fascinated by the arrangement of shapes, symbols and colours. I know something of the history of heraldry, and how it has developed, but it's really the graphic design of it that interests me. Heraldry and its devices continue in a small way today, of course, but it's now largely the preserve of large organisations and those who want to feel separate from the masses by associating themselves with these ancient tokens of status.

Today's living heraldry is in fact found in the logotypes that modern businesses use to market themselves. And, like their antecedents, the designs are not immutable. Many logos slowly evolve over the years, adopting the styles that are current, then morphing again when fashions change. It's illuminating to look at the evolution of the logos of, say, Ford, Coca-Cola, BP or Barclays down the decades. The overarching rule is one of complexity being reduced to simplicity over time, though sometimes firms do step back to a more ornate, "older" looking design. Some logos are wonderful pieces of graphic design encapsulating the essence of the organisation they represent with a few strokes of the pen. My particular favourite is that of the now defunct electronics company Plessey, whose logo both spelled out its name and suggested an oscilloscope display!

I took this photograph of the current Royal Mail logo when I came upon one of its new buildings, clad with gleaming, highly reflective metal, surrounded by newly planted trees, in Boston, Lincolnshire. As a logo it's competent without being inspirational, the worst part being the chosen font. However, the splash of red seemed a good focus for the flawless background overlaid with the imperfect lines of the tree and its reflection.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
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