A truncated fragment

Incredibly hot day - the heat and humidity oppressive, the silence unnerving, the sense of presentiment prescient.

I parked in the village by the ancient coast (discernible by the land on one side of the road being lower than the other).  I looked around the church, and photographed the exterior of two farmhouses.  Then I turned my attention to the hill, and the trees at the summit.

Walking up the track my plan was to continue until challenged and told to clear off.

Eventually the manor house came into view.  Pevsner says it is a truncated fragment and was originally three times larger.  A rainwater head gives the date 1630.

Approaching the house I was challenged immediately.

Very elderly gentleman but active, moving quickly across the lawn.

I explained I had seen the church and wanted to look at the outside of the house.

He was very welcoming, pointing out the architectural details, the great blank wall where the rest of the house had originally stood, the magnificent chimney stacks.  He apologised for his wife not being up (she was having a lie-down).  He offered me a cup of tea.

One of the hottest days of the year, but I had the sense that summer was draining away.

Deeper and deeper

After lunch I most wanted to go to sleep.  The sun was hot and the air was humid after the night's rain.  Sleeping was what I most wanted to do, especially as I have averaged six hours of sleep per night over the last week.

But I made myself drive over twenty miles across the county to three villages where medieval remains were being made accessible.

Above - first village, the church outwardly Georgian but enclosing a medieval core.  Odd little pastiche tower.  Inside tea and cake was available.

Above:  in the churchyard was this truncated cross.  Pevsner says it is 14th century but gives no evidence for this conclusion.  Probably it is much older and predates the church.

Above:  inside the east end had a simple harmonious dignity.

Above:  second village, on a hill.  Again an 18th century exterior enclosing far older remains.  Although my photograph looks washed out, that's how the fierce sunlight made the world look (to my eyes).

Above:  inside it had an intact Georgian interior with box pews and these attractive communion rails.  Clear glass in the windows, which given the eminence of the building gave scintillating views over the countryside.  You may not suspect it from my photograph, but the church was packed with people having a tea party.

Above:  chief glory of the church is this sculpture (one of two) with 11th century carving - including a figure with wild hair.

Above:  deeper and deeper into the countryside, I stopped the car to try to find the earthworks of an ancient abbey.  After enquiring at a cottage, I was directed down this track.  The heat of the afternoon was almost unbearable.

Above:  the earthworks were on private property, so as I walked I kept half an eye on the farmhouse.  There was no sign of life.  Perhaps they were sleeping off a heavy lunch (possibly including a suet pudding with custard). 

Above:  at one point I had to walk through a gigantic midden (it was actually a massive dung heap, but midden sounds more polite).

Above:  after about half a mile the way was blocked by a gate and a field of cattle.  From the undulations in the landscape this was obviously the site of the abbey.  Perhaps the bovine herd had been placed here to deter antiquarian visitors such as myself.

Above:  beyond the fencing I could see the great earthworks.

Above:  third village, little more than a hamlet, the church Victorian built on the site of a much older structure.

Above:  huge fern growing in the lee of the north buttress.

Above:  inside all appeared Victorian, thoroughly restored in 1958.

Above:  but in a recess off the sanctuary was this fine 13th century recumbent effigy of a knight.  His feet rest on a dog.  From the carving he appears to be lying on a bed of flowers.

Above:  you can't really see in this photograph, but the carving of the head was very fine.  Note the surcoat of chain mail.  Angels either side of the head.

Above:  note the large pommel of the sword.  Professor Roberta Gilchrist of Reading University has advanced the theory that these sword pommels are phallic symbols, presumably meant to represent the size of the male reproductive organ (a sort of eternal boasting in stone).

Above:  in the stained glass window above the effigy was a Victorian representation of a martial Archangel Michael with his hand actually resting on his er... erect sword pommel.  Professor Gilchrist would no doubt tell us that the Commander of the Heavenly Hosts is in a state of arousal, and using his left hand to er... stimulate his er...  Or perhaps we should conclude that Professor Gilchrist has an over-active imagination and needs to calm herself.

Fragments

Bank Holiday Sunday afternoon, warm and damp (from twenty minutes of light rain).

I drove across the county to look at medieval architecture.  Hopelessly lost in a network of lanes.  Several times I concluded that the Ordnance Survey map was wrong, only to eventually find a way through.

At the first village the thirteenth-century tower rose above the hawthorn blossom (note the broad buttress which contains a winding staircase lit by tiny slit windows; note the bell openings with ogee hood moulds; note the battlements with ornate pinnacles).

Inside were fragments of a medieval scheme of wall paintings.  Also some 15th century monastic benches (from a long-gone local priory).  Also interesting capital of flat leaves to one of the columns in the nave.

Second village the twelfth-century tower was an attractive mix of ashlar, limestone, ironstone rubble and blue lias.

Inside was this fabulous Norman arch.  Note the church seems to rely entirely on candles for lighting.  Remnants of Tudor panelling in the chancel.

Third village where the manor house garden was open (proceeds to church funds).  I was the 97th visitor of the day.  Close to closing, at 5pm.

The gardens were sophisticated, shades of green, the plants about to burst into summer colour.

Summerhouse-gazebo slightly tumbledown.

Inside were murals by Barbara Jones in a decaying state.

On the back lawn teas were being served.  I sat at one of the tables - cups of tea and Victoria sponge cake and coffee gateau.  The air very still and one of the most beautiful views in England.

Harvest Festival

Preparations for Harvest Festival.

Fresh produce is given away afterwards, tins go to the local Food Bank.


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Famous bloodlines

Page from a local farmer's record of calves born on the farm.

The pedigrees go back decades.

There are some famous bloodlines among the local cows.

Autumn

The county still has the appearance of late summer, but with the sombre colours of autumn.  Grey, brown, green.  A precious feeling of lonely melancholy (not unpleasant).

Cold in the morning, hot during the day, cold again at evening.  The cool air moves across the empty land.  An intense solitude that creates a deep sense of peace.

By the stone wall the common elder has berries that are turning black.  Lush harvest wasted among the wild foliage.  Green leaves at the point where they are about to turn brown.

A bizarre intrusion into an already preternatural experience

Driving home yesterday the heat was so intense, even in the early evening, that I felt I had to stop the car and rest for a while.

I turned off the main road, and then turned off again into a quiet village.

Six o'clock, the sun still high in the sky, the air so hot I felt it warming my lungs as I breathed it in.

High above the private hedges that screened the houses I could see a sliver of silver moon in the cerulean sky.

The key to the church was kept at the Hall, but the Hall was silent so that the house itself seemed exhausted by the endless hours of oppressive sun.

I looked round the outside of the church, the silence a little unnerving.  Obviously an ancient and holy place, the tower at a different angle to the rest of the building, the finials on top of the topmost pinnacles dazzling gold with the sun.  In my mind the music of Debussy's Apres midi d'un Faune.

Dappled sunlight on honey coloured stone, the archaeology of the building complex, Romanesque remains next to gothic tracery.

The silence disturbed by a sound of hissing and sizzling, so that going back out onto the round I saw a traction engine trundling along the deserted street, accompanied by billowing clouds of soot and steam.

It was a bizarre intrusion into an already preternatural experience.

Calocybe gambosum or St George's Mushroom

Opening the upstairs curtains this morning I looked down on the main lawn and saw a white blob in the middle of it.

Going downstairs and picking it up, it was a mushroom that had appeared overnight - surprisingly heavy.

I think it is Calocybe gambosum or St George's Mushroom.

The soil

Recently I have been taking photographs of the various kinds of soil in the county:

Above:  clay soil.

Above:  fen soil from the south of the county (apologies for the blurred photograph).

Above:  heath soil from the inland uplands.

Above:  limestone soil from the limestone belt (of course).

Above: loamy soil, found throughout the county.

Above:  sandy soil from the north of the county.

Above:  silt soil, found throughout the county.

All human life depends upon the health of the soil.  Uncontaminated soil is of crucial importance to the well-being of mankind.  Small family farms need to be accorded much higher status in society.

Avenue of lime trees

This avenue of lime trees once led to a great country house, now demolished so that nothing remains except this grand approach.

I cannot adequately describe how wonderful it was to walk along this path - the grass wet, the birds singing, the mild scented breezes blowing.

The world seemed fresh.

I felt completely alive.

Old-fashioned

Above:  the wide river, the clouds blustered by a mild wind, the ferry long gone so that the villages just look at each other with little contact now.

Above:  inside the little Victorian church the atmosphere is timeless and eternal, the chancel panelled like a country house, the altar frontal white to mark the fifty days of Easter ("white for the light, joy and purity of Christ, Mary and the saints").

Above:  when the village school closed it became a private house, and the school Great War memorial was moved into the church.  It is in an art nouveau style, old-fashioned for the 1920s but perhaps that was appropriate for such an out of the way place.  Carved wooden surround with a painted plaque - laurel wreaths for victory and a mourning mother.