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 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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Whichcote Memorial, Aswarby

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The church of St Denys at Aswarby, Lincolnshire, has this fine memorial on the south wall of its nave. It records the death of Marian, Lady Whichcote, daughter of Henry Beckett Esq., and wife of Sir Thomas Whichcote, Bart. It notes that she was born on 27th April 1820, married on 10th July 1839, and died on 10th May 1849. The inscription ends with a verse from the Od Testament's Book of Micah. Aswarby Hall, the grand house in which she lived her short life is no more: but the Victorian stables remain, and were converted into a house in 1969. Also evident, though perhaps less well tended than in her day, is the park in which the Hall was situated. The small village of Aswarby has a number of stone-built "estate houses" in the Tudor style. They would have been for people who worked on the Hall's large estate, and were under construction around the time of Lady Whichcote's death.

I see a lot of Victorian memorials during my visits to churches. Most are fairly formulaic, some are deliberately innovative (with varying degrees of success), and others are fine compositions, often in expensive materials. And then there is a group that is distinguished by the high quality of its figure sculpture. This piece at Aswarby is such an example. It is by the Scottish sculptor, Thomas Campbell (1790-1858), a man who was apprenticed to a marble cutter in Edinburgh, who went on to study at the Royal Academy Schools in London, and who opened a studio in Rome in 1819. There he made portrait busts of English visitors to that city, as well as of Pope Pius VII. In 1829 he relocated to London producing marble busts and reliefs. His subjects included members of the aristocracy, poets, politicians and others. His relief of the actress Sarah Siddons (d.1831), has similarities with that of Lady Whichcote: the figure is in vaguely classical dress, in a classical pose, below an arch in a pedimented frame.

I've admired the sculpture shown in today's photograph since I first saw it about seven years ago. The pose, the handling of drapery, the composition with stool, book (displaying the Lord's Prayer) and lamp, all work wonderfully well. However, there is one thing that has always puzzled me - the snake. Pevsner says it is there as a symbol of eternity. But I think he is wrong. Where a snake is used for that purpose it invariably has its own tail in its mouth making an endless loop or sinuous shape. Snakes (serpents) usually represent the Devil, but I can't believe that is the case here. A grasped or downtrodden snake symbolises triumph over sin, but isn't applicable here either. Mounted on a staff a snake can be used to represent Christ, and God's authority. This idea comes from Moses saving the Israelites from a plague of snakes by raising a bronze snake on a pole, and is the reason for the use of a snake on a pole to represent healing. It seems to me that these are more likely explanations for its presence, particularly since the flame probably signifies the Holy Spirit.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
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