Rattling On...

Mooching...

I was in Baslow at the weekend, buying my Annie Sloan paint (so I don't need to do any rubbing down) and, as I always do, went for a mooch around the churchyard.

The church itself has some interesting features, such as a sanctuary knocker on the door, from the Middle Ages. Also a clock face that was added to commemorate Queen Victoria's diamond jubilee.

I always like a good look at the gravestones, and there are some very interesting ones...

The Wrench plot, where there were several graves, had particularly well decorated stones- the backs being better than the fronts. I decided to Google Edward Mason Wrench as he had letters after his name...

He served as a surgeon in the Crimean War and in Madras during the Indian mutiny. He came back to Blighty and married his cousin (maybe he didn't have the time to look further afield), becoming as he did surgeon to the Duke of Devonshire and a magistrate. He died while cycling in Buxton, at the age of 79. Not a dull life.

All Saints, Sudbury...

All Saints Church, adjacent to Sudbury Hall, was having a flower festival and was open to visitors. The theme was the Diamond Jubilee years, and major events that had happened during the Queen's 60 of them on the throne.

Space travel, test tube babies, the Commonwealth, fashion... it was all there with lovely displays made by local groups including artefacts as well as flowers. The robes and dresses actually worn at the Coronation were fascinating.

The church is quite bijou and very cosy inside, the organist was playing a selection of hits and favourites...

The Millenium stained glass window was commissioned by a man who was a former evacuee to Sudbury in the war, it's very beautiful and my picture doesn't do it justice.

The ladies of the church were serving tea and cakes with vintage crockery, there were a lot of visitors partaking while sitting in the pews, one lady was crocheting as well!

The churchyard is very well tended and if, like me, you are interested in looking at headstones, then you won't be disappointed. I've put pictures of these on my Flickr page (link in sidebar).

I like looking round churches, there are always lovely people there willing to answer questions and show you round, make a cuppa and sell you a slice of cake. Or maybe the church will be completely empty and you're trusted to just be there.

(If anyone else would like to send pictures of their teddy then please feel free as I'll be sharing the ones I've been sent very soon!)

Pimp your trees...

Or... Christmas tree festival at Christ Church, Burbage.

While out walking the dog the other day I noticed a small poster advertising a tree display/competition at my local church. Which makes it sound like a pub, My Local, and all that. But it's the church of the parish I live in.

Tuesday afternoon was gloomy and cold so I thought a bit of tree spotting would be a good idea so I trundled off.

It's a nice traditional building (built 1860/61) with a lych gate at each of the two entrances, I like them a lot.

So I go inside, camera in hand, and ask the man just inside the door if it was ok for me to take pictures. He said he wasn't an official but he'd ask the Lady in Charge for me. She turned out to be a friend from work and she was doing the afternoon 2-4 opening stint.

Can you just see the tea table peeping from behind the tree? Friend and I got settled down with a cup of tea and spent almost the whole two hour opening time jawing away. Her parents, daughter-in-law and tiny grandson were also there. Other people came and went, bought raffle tickets and shared baby stories.

The trees had been decorated by different community groups, including the pub over the road who host a carol service and auction each year. The WI, bellringers, guides, Mothers' Union, Brass Band and so on all have a tree with a pertinent theme in many cases.

After Tuesday's relative calmness, yesterday was all-go. I went to visit a cousin in the morning 'For an hour' which turned into three. So then I had to do present shopping, wash all the sofa covers and cushion covers and assorted throws (I like to be clean at Christmas), make the Christmas cake (I know...) and do an airport run at 9.30 in the evening. That took three hours.

The little pile of DVDs I bought myself to watch in my spare time remain untouched so far. I bought most of them for half-term in October. Maybe when I've wrapped the presents, iced the cake, done the food shopping...

Or maybe I'll just hit the bottle of port I treated myself to.

Sunday Scrapbook

This is Christ Church, Earl Sterndale, founded 160 years ago. It has a lot of family connections on my Mother's side, as her own mother's family farmed nearby. The names in the graveyard are all familiar to me, and relatives are buried there. The hamlet is truly tiny, in beautiful surroundings.

Chinley Independent...

Chinley Independent Chapel, which is confusingly situated outside Chinley, overlooking the hamlet of Chapel Milton.

The Chapel was founded in 1662, but this structure was completed in 1711 at a cost of £126 and against much High Church opposition. It is beautifully simple in design.

The Sunday School is just over the road...

...and the churchyard overlooks some magnificent architecture...

It's actually a special viaduct...

... because it's a bifurcating double railway viaduct. Which was hard to take a picture of without actually getting up onto the wall in the graveyard. Even I have limits...

A Gloria too many...

Highland Burgundy Red Heritage potatoes. I know, they saw me coming... but who could resist these spuds? Which we had roasted for Sunday dinner.

Following hard on the heels of a speedy roast and the washing up, MrH and I had tickets to a recital at St John's church.  To wit:

Bach- Orchestral Suite No3 in D

Handel- Organ Concerto No10 in D Minor

Haydyn- St. Cecilia Mass

We had gone dressed in 'smart casual' and MrH almost blew a gasket upon entering and seeing so many dinner jackets, until he realised it was the musical society chorus. I did not choose where to sit so cannot be held responsible for the man who made grrr noises all the time, on MrH's left.

I love baroque music and was not disappointed by the first two offerings, then there was a tea break, during which a homeless man who lives in the graveyard came in for a brew. It was a bitter night and I'm sure he was glad of it. I think the heating was turned off at this point as it got colder and colder. I was hallucinating about thermal vests.

Because the St. Cecelia mass is, to be charitable, repetitive. And 70 minutes long. The soloists were excellent, as was the chorus. The music was good. But it was boring, he could have got it done and dusted in a good twenty minutes. No pep for Haydyn, but I suppose it being a mass...

As we prepared to leave I felt a certain looseness about the left ankle. I was wearing a new pair of knee length boots, and while the calf part of the zip was fine the lower part was gaping open. A draughty walk home, hoping the rest didn't give way. Went back to the shoe shop yesterday where they offered to exchange them as the zip was pronounced faulty. Not until the manager had graunged* at it for some time, all the while insisting it just needed a bit of re-aligning.

On with the new ones, after the assistant had suspiciously insisted I try them. They wouldn't even meet. 'Ahh' says she 'the second batch of these are not as generous as the originals.' Indeed they are not. Money back, then. Receipt? Er, no. Credit note. No thanks. So have spent ages rootling about to find the bank statement, and against all odds I have it. Another trip tomorrow to get a refund, which is good, but I am bootless. And I liked them.

*Graunged is another dialect word, pronounced gr-orn-g'd. It means to wrestle with or twist something. As in 'I've graunged my knee.' I bet you're glad you know that.

John the Baptist, Chelmorton

The spire is being repaired, but it reminds me of a pagoda. We drive through this village a lot and I used to have a good friend who lived there until her husband died and she moved away.

The church is tucked away at the end of the village, surrounded by trees and the spire pokes out above them.

We didn't go inside, just wandered around outside. The little vestibule is interesting, it seems to be made up of reclaimed stone from older church buildings, like a patchwork.

As we walked around we could hear a woman nearby laughing. We couldn't see her and didn't ever see her, but she had the most infectious laugh that by the time we got back into the car we were grinning and laughing as well.

We were also speculating as to what was making her so merry. I maintained that she was in a hot tub in the woods, drinking champagne and getting tipsy. The odd thing is that no-one else seemed to be with her, or they were very quiet, or she was bonkers.

I don't know how they're funding the restoration of the spire, but was most disappointed they didn't have one of those thermometer-style appeals. Surely, next to the church roof, the spire must be the most collected for cliche.

But we didn't see Russell Crowe...

 

On Saturday we went to Hathersage, a village a few miles out of town. It is the 'Norton' of Jane Eyre fame, Charlotte Bronte visited in 1845 and used it as inspiration. The local gentry were called Eyre. So she pinched that as well.

The church is on top of the hill and well worth the climb.

We did go inside but I didn't take any pictures as there were people having a quiet moment and sometimes it doesn't feel right.

As it's on top of a hill the views are great. The silence was only interrupted by a robin chattering angrily at us from his perch in the big tree in the circular car park. It's a dead end so there's only one reason to be visiting.

I say one reason. The church is interesting in itself, but everyone goes for the other reason.

The grave was opened in 1792 and was found to contain the skeleton of a man who had been over seven feet tall. So who knows...

The Great South Window.

You can't go to Canterbury without going to the cathedral can you now? History positively oozes out of every block of stone and the atmosphere is amazing. But it's not all perfect, read this if you don't believe me.

The Great South Window was falling to pieces, chunks of stone coming away and endangering the glass itself. Now, I'm particularly interested in the stained glass as I have an old friend who is a senior conservator at the cathedral, and he's currently working on it.

He happened to be there on the day we visited and he was more than happy to show us what conservation is happening at the moment. Lots of the windows have had part of or all the glass removed in order to do repairs, the sheer scale and height are mind numbing. I imagine the techniques used are little different from a thousand odd years ago when most of them were originally fitted.

This is the oldest window there...

  Anyway, D does not just work on someone else's designs, he does his own. Churches still commission windows for various reasons, maybe a special anniversary. He took us to the workroom, a rare privilege, and showed us the window he's making at the moment.

The church gives the designer a theme and details of any special requirements, in this case it's the story of Abraham, and small ink sketches are made...

Then a full size sketch is done...

And after that the glass cutting begins, with the lead work as the last stage...

The last picture shows the glass in place and the writing having been fired on, but the fine detail of the hands hasn't yet been added, nor the lead.

D's own two sons were the models for Abraham's son Isaac, and he expalined that traditional windows show Isaac bound ready to be sacrificed. He felt he couldn't do this and chose instead to show hope- Isaac holding out his hand to his Father. I can see his point.

This window, which is maybe six feet high will take around two months to complete. I am in complete awe of his talent. He has created this from start to finish, all the artwork and the glasswork, and he'll fit it as well. He has repaired glass in churches all over the world, and has new work in a fair few as well. He is a very quiet and amusing man who has changed little in the 20 plus years we've known him.

How wonderful it is to know people who can do this sort of thing for a living, how wonderful would it be if, like him, you could work somewhere like that every day...

Monumental.

These are some of the memorials I mentioned yesterday. The first is a lifesize Carrara marble figure of Penelope Boothby who died aged almost six in 1793. There are inscriptions in four languages on the tomb.

It says... 'To Penelope, only child of Sir Brooke and Dame Susanna Boothby. She was in form and intellect most exquisite. The unfortunate parents ventured their all on this frail bark and the wreck was total.

                I was not in safety neither had I rest and the trouble came.'

It is extremely beautiful and very moving. There are much more ancient tombs as well, with the earliest alabaster example being Sir John Cockayne (d. 1372) and his son Edmund (d.1403) who died fighting for Henry IV at the battle of Shrewsbury.

Another Sir John Cockayne (d.1447) with his (probably second, but records seem scant) wife Margaret. She is wearing a cockleshell necklace.

The next two are Sir John Bradbourne (d.1483) and his missus Anne (d.1499). I like these particularly as they've both had nose jobs. The repairs are in alabaster but of a very different colour and texture!

All the carvings are excellent and in great detail. I particularly like looking at the clothing and what extra has been added; animals, jewellery and such.

I find it incredible that they have been around for so many hundreds of years and I may reach out and touch them as others did in the 15th century.

There are more than these and each has a biography written out beside it. Some are more highly decorated with painting and gilding. but I like these, made as they are of local stone.

St Oswald's is a completely absorbing place to visit. History oozes out of every stone. I go there regularly and see something new each time. If you get the chance it's well worth a visit, or a detour.

St Oswald's, Ashbourne.

George Eliot, no less, referred to the 212ft spire as 'the finest single spire in England' and indeed it is fine.

This church, which is more on the scale of a cathedral, was built (completed) around 1340 after the knocking down of previous efforts by the Normans and Saxons pre 1160. So it has a bit of age to it.

This was a place the landed gentry came to make worship and there are several extremely interesting memorial tombs inside, I'll show you these tomorrow. We'll stick to the ordinary folk today.

Inside it has stained glass, a beautiful organ and an impressive peal of 8 bells  rung from the church floor. There are plaques on the wall commemorating campanological feats...

The interior is fittingly gloomy and impressive.

Outside there is a large graveyard, with stones dating back to the early 1700s. Some are tiny, just poking out of the ground with initials and a date, sometimes just initials.

There are a number of stones with special notices on deeming them unsafe to be near. I don't know if this means they'll be restored or laid flat eventually.

And one of the best bits...

It's so nice to be welcomed in.         

St Michael and All Angels, Sheldon.

This dinky little church was built in 1865, and this is a view of the back. The front is pleasant enough but there were several people aimlessly standing around. I don't like people in my photos unless they have purpose. I'm funny like that. Loiterers are not tolerated.

 

I like the simplicity of the place as a whole, just what a village church should be- without pretensions.

No organ pipes here, just a piano. What you can't see from the picture of the pews is that there was confetti on the floor from a recent wedding. Think of that, a minister who allows guests to actually throw confetti inside the church, never mind outside. It's banned in most churches round here. I'm not entirely sure why.

The flowers were absolutely gorgeous, these were displayed in an old and rusty milk churn. A nice touch, I thought.

The headstone for one of the Gyte families, still a well known farming name around here. They were rather an unimaginitive bunch I think, not going in for a wide range of forenames.

More Gytes, this one bearing the name of 19 year old Anthony who died in 1917 in Belgium where his body is buried.

There is a War memorial in the church...

These young men probably represent a whole generation from this tiny hamlet.  Not long ago here we had the funeral of a 21 year old local lad, a Marine, who was killed in Afghanistan. There are few places left untouched by conflict but it becomes infinitely more personal when it's right on your doorstep.

St. Thomas Becket

This is the church in Chapel-en-le Frith where I was christened. A couple of weeks ago, at the same time as I visited my old school, I took a wander around. It was a beautiful sunny day, the last we've had for a while now.

It was originally a Norman chapel (and we always called it Thomas a Becket, the 'a' seems to have been dropped now), hence the name of the village which means chapel in the forest. What stands now is almost all from the 18th century. The churchyard contains the remains of soldiers who marched with the Scottish army of the Duke of Hamilton in support of Charles I in 1648. After their defeat at Preston they were marched to the church and imprisoned in such terrible conditions that fory of them died.

There are a lot of well preserved, and very touching, gravestones...

I feel very in touch with the past when I look at the headstones, and I suppose this is one reason they are there in the first place. As a testament to lives that were important, to people that were loved.

The inside is how I think a church should look, gloomy for a start (hence the grainy photos), with the original box pews...

While I was there I got talking to the Church warden, who turned out to have known my family in the past. I went to school with the youngest of his six children. Small world. He had lots of anecdotes to share and we talked for quite a long time.

These two stained glass windows were made and fitted at the same time in the 18th century. The one on the left was made in Germany, the right in England. 

The German window has faded very badly and the church wanted to have it restored. The Churches Conservation Trust wouldn't allow it. They said it had to be preserved as an example of some of the poorest workmanship seen from that period. 

This is also the church where the Guide troop I was in used to go for services, usually following a parade in the cold and wet. I don't remember a parade when it was good weather. We also used to go for Remembrance Sunday and a friend of mine always played the last post on a bugle at the back of the pews. Very atmospheric.

We went there from school for Christingles and nativity plays, for Harvest festivals and Easter. There is a great organ and there were always old fashioned rousing hymns. One Christmas I sang the solo (The Angel Gabriel) in front of the choir near the altar. I love that song still.

All of these things came rushing back as I stood in there, partly triggered by that particular smell old stone churches give off. It's a very long time since I was last there, but it was just the same. If not better, more welcoming while still being very peaceful. And lovely and cool on a warm day...

St John the Baptist, Buxton.

St John's was built in 1811 by the 5th and 6th Dukes of Devonshire, mainly as a place to worship for all those visiting Buxton to take the waters. The architect was John White and it's in the Tuscan style.

Yesterday afternoon I met with the churchwarden to have an interesting discussion as to whether children from the school could become involved with a major planned overhaul of the grounds.

It's very overgrown. And as there haven't been any burials for a very long time there's  no-one to maintain individual graves, and not enough money for the church to get to grips with it all. Burials ceased as the water table isn't far below the cemetary and there were concerns bodies may float to the surface...shudder. Very Gothic.

None of that would concern us, as we'd be more involved with the setting up of a wildlife meadow, putting up birdboxes and that kind of thing. The grounds are quite large and there's a lovely space they have in mind on the other side of the church.

I found the idea quite exciting, and a really interesting way to use the church grounds, which are unfenced and well visited.

Renovations to the graves are planned, but even after eleventy ten risk assessments we wouldn't be able to wield more than a pair of nail scissors, so that will be for professionals.

It's my job to get the kids enthused and giving up ideas for things to make and do. I've already bombarded the churchwarden with about a hundred ideas, she's also a very enthusiastic woman who has a vision for the future.

Nothing will happen this year, which is good, because the grounds are chock full of brambles..and I did mention to her that I like making jam and may be around to forage. Oh, why have I only just found out about them as their destruction warrant is about to be signed?
 



 

St Anne's

This is St Anne's church in Buxton. It is a truly tiny building, I went to a wedding there some years ago...it's very intimate and has a lovely feel to it.

It's also one of the oldest buildings here...

This is the font, right behind the door. The door which wouldn't stay open and so the interior pictures are a bit grainy. 1625, the year when James I (VI of Scotland) died and Charles I began his reign. Tumultuous times.

These pews are a little newer than a lot of the interior, probably Victorian, but most of the original fixtures remain, blackened with age and use...as you can see in the next picture. What with the low light and darkness of these original pews, you can hardly see them! I find it a bit thrilling to be so in touch with history. To imagine what marvellous scenes must have been played out here. The clothes that have swished against the door, the shoes that have trodden the stone steps leading down and in, everything.

When I went in, on Monday afternoon ,the door was unlocked and no-one was around. All the candlesticks, jugs, altar ware etc. were out and this was a refreshing change-to find at least a bit of trust. There had been a lunchtime service, so maybe that has something to do with it. I felt a little guilty for some reason, a bit like walking round a clothes shop where there's a security guard looking for shop-lifters.

I have never stolen a thing in my life, but I always feely guilty and imagine I look shifty. I'm going to qualify that statement. I have never stolen something that belonged to someone, however I know I've done a bit of passive theft...pens from workplaces and such.

I've also never taken things from hotels but I know someone who has. Big time. We have a friend whose business takes him to certain far flung places in the world. One hotel, in one city, uses a very famous and iconic range of tableware both in the dining areas and for room service.

MrX always has at least one meal from room service during his stay. He varies the dishes according to which piece of crockery is on the list to go into the extensive collection he and MrsX are building up at home. All courtesy of the same hotel.

I couldn't enjoy eating off stolen plates, but that's me and my old-fashioned ideas for you...