Shobdon Arches

Before I forget the post about Shobdon Arches, here we go.  There were lovely views across the Herefordshire countryside by the Arches, but that position is their downfall as all the Welsh weather tears across and weathers them.  I would have thought a weatherbreak to the West of them might have been sensible but obviously they weren't valued - just thought of as a curiosity, and the font not even that.

The original church must have been quite something, and one wonders about the facades which were totally destroyed and any fascinating "Kilpeckian" carvings used as a spiritual warning to those who were illiterate (probably rubble beneath the current church).

Above and below - one of the Tympanums, incredibly weathered now so that only the leftmost figure is recognizable as such. This would have been the Harrowing of Hell. The central figure was Christ thrusting his staff into the mouth of the Devil, whilst his left hand pulls Adam from hell.  The two other figures are women, the taller of the two probably being Eve.  The bearded figure is probably St John the Baptist.

SUCH a shame that such amazing craftsmanship  has been destroyed.  Such a superb example of the work of the Herefordshire School of Romanesque Sculpture did NOT deserve such treatment.

Above and below, the other Tympanum which shows Christ enthroned, His right hand raised in blessing and the other clasping a closed book.  He is surrounded by a huge beaded mandorla which in turn is held by four elongated Angels.  There are two theories about this - one is that it is Christ's Ascension into Heaven (whereby it balances the Harrowing of Hell Tympanum), or alternatively Christ in Majesty.  There is much similarity between this and a capital in Hereford cathedral in that the Christ figure is seated in the same stance.

This is a plaster cast of the right arch and tympanum at Shobdon, and thank heavens it was recorded.  However, this was lost in 1936 when the Crystal Palace, where it was presumably on display, was burned down. 

Historically Hugh  de Mortimer, who held this land, chose "a wise, prudent and conscientious man named Oliver de Merlimond, and made him chief steward of all his land and manager of all his property."  He gave Oliver the vill of Shobdon on his appointment, where there was only a humble chapel made of wood.  The new steward was very keen to have a new church built to replace it.  However, he was set upon making a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella and entrusted a Knight, Bernard, to oversee the work, although the actual construction did not begin until Oliver's return.  This would have been around the mid-1140s.  His journey home through France via Paris took him through Poitou and Saintonge where doorways are commonly carved with radiating wedge-shaped stones (voussoirs) which obviously influenced designs at Shobdon.

My wonderful birthday book.  I foresee LOTS more journeys to remote Welsh churches.  Below one of the two pans which were a really super-duper pressie.  They are much lighter than the Le Creuset ones I have.  I struggle to hold the largest one and spoon out the contents (since falling over Little Whale and permanently damaging my thumb ligament).

Today I am grateful for it feeling warmer (and a good Easter weekend in prospect with sunshine).

For doing "just 3 minutes' " weeding up on the Bank extending rather and some chunks of grass being rehomed.

Finding my young deep purple Magnolia beneath large clumps of grass!

Having a visit from friend P, with some home-baking as a Birthday gift.

Hearing that Swallows have arrived at the stables of someone I know in Herefordshire.

Being asked by some crafting friends to meet up at Wonderwool on the Showground here later this month.

From somewhere finding a Determination I had quite forgotten I ever had to help me  NOT snack between meals or reach for Comfort Food (that has been essential for mental support in recent months).

Getting Keith an appt. with the GP and further tests being pursued.  Plus whilst he was having his bloods done, seeing a Long Tailed Tit on a branch outside, and then a couple of times it landed right on the window frame.

Birthday celebrations

 This was that variety of birthday that had a nought on the end.  The offspring all came to stay the weekend and we had a lovely time.  I was spoilt absolutely rotten and didn't lift a finger all day on The Day.  I had some lovely gifts - roses of course, to make the garden even more to my liking; a really good bottle of organic red wine; a book with my name running through it like Blackpool Rock as it was called Painted Temple and is all about painted plaster walls and wonderful rood screens in Welsh Churches; and middle daughter knocked me sideways with a pair of super duper cook pans from Our Place (what makes you think she's after my Le Creuset set!?!  Keith had bought my present months ago when he bought me Heritage fruit trees.

This beautiful bouquet was a total surprise too, sent by my Hampshire cousins.  I really wasn't expecting anything more than a card! They came in a huge M&S box.

    Yesterday Tam and I had to pick up a Microwave she had bought for her new flat and it was in a beautiful spot near Aberedw.  I'll do a post for that later in the week.

    Meanwhile here are some of the Primroses I have in the garden here.  I let the ones on the Bank go uncut half the summer and they have rewarded me with a profusion of new plants. I have more Primroses in my garden than anywhere else I've seen them growing on my travels.

 

The bit below is about to have the wooden frames taken up, and it will be weeded and dug ready to have some roses and perennials put there.  I may move some of the Primroses into the shady area behind the pond.

Today I am feeling very grateful for beautiful surroundings, a caring loving family, good friends and the prospect of a new kitchen (having been to Wrens today to get my quote). Also, having been fearing the worst about a friend who I knew had been ill, I heard from her at the weekend for the first time since last summer. 

Little Whale and Alfie enjoying the sunshine.

I'm busy doing . . . Something

 I hate sitting idle and so have been going through my craft trunks looking for an antique quilt I began replacing the binding on a couple of years back.  I found it at once (amazing luck) and have been watching the Jumps racing from Aintree and diligently slip stitching the binding in place.  It has seen several generations of families using it and is worn right through to the fleece lining in places.  Any actual holes I have mended.  I even managed to find the fine muslin posset rag I had looked out just for this job - though I had to dowse for it.

It is SO soft from a hundred years of use and I can just imagine snuggling down under this - it would drape itself completely over your body. The Fuschia pink I chose for the binding really makes it pop.

Every inch of it is beautifully quilted.  It must have taken the maker an entire winter of stitching on dark evenings.  Anyway, it will be going to the next Antiques Fair I do, as I have to try and cut down on the textiles I have stowed away.

        We had another kitchen chap here today to measure everything up. He was more organized that the first one (who drew everything out on graph paper).  This chap transferred it straight onto the computer he brought with him.

        I had a walk up towards the other church yesterday but my body wasn't really in the mood for it and I came back more tired than I expected.  (Note to self: MUST lose weight!)  I'll put photos up tomorrow, but meanwhile here is a taster:

Ground Ivy.

This flat trolley must have been abandoned many years ago as trees have grown up through the rotted top planks.

Theo puss has been back to the vet (yesterday) and has new antibiotics and if those don't make him poorly, I can add on the anti-inflammatory tomorrow.  He never responded properly to the last lot of a-b's so hopefully these will do the trick.  He's been sleeping a lot and isn't so snuffly.  Fingers x'd.

St John's Church, Shobdon

 

This Grade 1 listed church at Shobdon is on the estate of the Batemans in Herefordshire. It was built by at the family's behest between 1749 - 1752 and was possibly designed by Horace Walpole.  The Hon. Richard Bateman was a friend of Walpole's and a member of his "Committee of Taste."  Inside it is an amazing froth of Strawberry Hill Gothic in white and the palest of wild Scabious blues.  Needless to say, Pevsner thinks highly of it.  Unsurprisingly it is very popular as a wedding venue.  What bride could possibly not look her best in such wonderful surroundings? 

The only fly in the ointment is that the 12th C church, with incredibly sculptured stonework of the Herefordshire School of Romanesque Sculpture, was taken down to facilitate the new building.  Whilst the doorways and tympanums (The Shobdon Arches) were "saved" from total demolition, being rebuilt as a curiosity, their situation out on an open hillside has left them at the mercy of every wind that blows and every torrent of rain which has taken a dreadful toll.  I will do a separate post on this.

These wonderful windows were designed by William Price the Younger.

I scarcely need words to describe how pretty it was.

The Pew ends.

One of the many memorial tablets.  This one NOT to a Bateman family member, but the Bramley family. Hard to write that and not think of Apples!

This is the stunning Herefordshire Romanesque font.  Believe it or not, this was chucked in the gardens, deemed unsuitable for the new church.  The four Herefordshire lions are guardians against the powers of evil.  Early in the 20th C it was brought back into the church and reinstated in place of honour.  I should think so too!

The fireplace . . .

You'd need a head for heights with this Pulpit.

Identical chairs were placed both sides of the chancel.

Sadly the sun wasn't out behind this glorious stained glass.

This was the replacement font in the church.  I know which one I prefer.

I am currently having companies out to quote for our replacement kitchen - fortunately, our carpenter is available to fit just as the kitchen can be delivered.  Now, I wonder who we'll go with.  (Possibly NOT today's chap - wasn't at all impressed).

Kilvert - a love lost (more from Llanigon church and environs)

 

From the walls of Llanigon Church - there were two others as well.

If you have read Kilvert's Diaries you will know that the poor man fell hook, line and sinker for "Daisy" (known as Fanny in her family), one of the daughters of the Rev. Thomas, Llanthomas, who had the living here.  Unfortunately, when he declared his love for her to her father, he was found wanting - apparently both in social status and lineage as well as in prospects - and was easily bullied:

"As I crossed the bridge over the Digedi, I wondered with what feelings I should cross the bridge an hour later.  The whole family at home came into the drawing room to see me and I was wondering how I could get Mr Thomas away for a private talk, when he said suddenly, 'Come out into the garden .'  Daisy came into the room.  I thought she coloured and looked conscious.  I delivered up to her the basket she had lent me to take the grapes in to Alice Davies and gave her Alice's message of thanks.  Then we went out into the garden, her father and I.  I said, 'You will be very much surprised but I hope not displeased at what I am going to say to you.'  'What is it?' he said eagerly, 'have you got the living of Glasbury?'  'No, something much nearer to you than that.'  'What is it?'  I was silent a minute.  I was frightfully nervous.  'I-am-attached-to-one-of-your-daughters,' I said.

        Just as I made this avowal we came suddenly round a corner upon a gardener cutting a hedge.  I feared he had heard my confession, but I was much relieved by being assured that he was deaf.  Mr Thomas said I had done quite right in coming to him, though he seemed a great deal taken aback.

        He said also a great many complimentary things about my 'honourable high-minded conduct,' asked what my prospects were and shook his head over them.  He could not allow an engagement under the circumstances, he said, and I must not destroy his daughter's peace of mind by speaking to her or showing her in any way that I was attached to her.

    The course of true love never does run smooth.  What has happened only makes me long for her more and cling more closely to her, and feel more determined to win her.

        On this day when I proposed for the girl who will I trust one day be my wife I had only one sovereign in the world, and I owed that."

        This conversation was followed up by a letter from the Rev. Thomas, asking Kilvert NOT to pursue the matter any further.  Nor did he, even when he finally got a living of his own, although St Harmon's had no house for the curate and he had to lodge. Daisy never married, yet she was only 34 when her father died in 1886.  Of course, by then, Kilvert himself was dead too.

Below: Fanny's ("Daisy's") memorial. She died December 18th 1928 aged 76.

The Rev. William Jones Thomas had a very fruitful marriage and his poor wife Annie Elizabeth was little more than a brood mare, producing 6 sons and 5 daughters down the years, and indeed most of these are buried in Llanigon churchyard.  None of the daughters married, or perhaps that should read, were allowed to marry.

In John Toman's "Kilvert The Homeless Heart", he mentions that the same fate was also meted out to a further two of Daisy's sisters.  Morgan, curate of nearby Glasbury, sought to marry Charlotte, but was considered "socially below par".  Their sister Grace must have been very much in love with her suitor as once again, he was dismissed by her father and apparently she had a break-down, being sent to a private asylum, where she may have died.  She is not buried in the churchyard at Llanigon.  

Memorial to Mary Elizabeth, the eldest daughter. She died at Llanthomas June 1st 1886, aged 42.

A further side of Daisy's memorial is to her elder sister Edith Burnham Thomas, who died December 12th 1920 aged 71.

In Toman's book, he has turned to extracts from The Kilvert Society newletter, where a housekeeper there in 1920s told of the luxuriousness of the house, the sumptuous meals and the many servants, and how its occupants lived in style.  It was said that Thomas used his daughters' dowries to "pay for substantial additions he made to Llanthomas". To no avail, since it was demolished in 1949.  

Finally, and no relation whatsoever, near the gate was this sad little memorial to William Jenkins, of Trebarried, who was only 5 years old when he died.

        The snow has all gone now but it is still chilly out there, but sunny.  Have a good weekend all.

Snow and primroses to start April

 

As you can see, the flurries of snow persisted and whilst we slept, a paintbrush of white daubed the landscape. All the trees are outlined in white and the hedgerows have lace caps too.  I couldn't resist a walk up the hill to photograph the landscape before the sun melts it (quite warm out there, now that bitterly cold belligerent wind has dropped.  The Primroses on the Bank are covered in snow.  Those at the side of the house bank, below, had more shelter. 

Even the quarry and the newly-felled land to the left of it look prettier with snow. Clear blue skies here and I am torn between another walk or making some much-needed cushion covers, having thrown 90% of the old ones out.

Keith, having had two good days with much-improved walking when his legs did as they were told, may rest up today.  

Not much to report, but I shall do the Kilvert in Love post over the weekend.