23 July 2007

These details are from the panels of the ‘Pricke of Conscience’ window in the church of All Saints, North Street. Dating from around 1410, it’s an apocalyptic vision of rising seas and sea monsters, the earth on fire, fruit trees burning. A man and woman lie in bed as the figure of death – a loathsome-looking skeleton with a spear – stands beside them.

In the bottom panels, kneeling figures with bewildered and fearful expressions look on, as the window’s scenes depict the last fifteen days of the world.

I knew this was a famous stained glass window, but to me that wasn’t a guarantee – I’ve seen many generally admired things and been left wondering why they’re generally admired. Not in this case.

The window includes a condensed and paraphrased version of the text of ‘The Pricke of Conscience’ – a Middle English poem – as captions to the panels.

Despite studying English Literature – including Middle English – I have to confess I wasn’t familiar with this text. Later, I found a copy of the poem (see links below). It is of course intended as a moralistic work, a call to repentance, and is clearly an illustration of medieval terrors. Yet more than any other stained glass I’ve seen, it seems in many ways a moving illustration of terrors that are timeless, and indeed strangely reflects our own, more recent concerns, about the fate of the world, climate change and rising seas: ‘The se sal ryse, als the bukes says’.

Rather more cheerful, indeed heartwarming, is the ‘Corporal Acts of Mercy’ window nearby. Another medieval work, it illustrates part of St Matthew’s Gospel. The Acts of Mercy include feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and relieving those in prison. Here the kind bearded gentleman on the left is visiting prisoners in the stocks. Compared to the ornate, more sophisticated Victorian stained glass we’re probably all more used to seeing, there’s something very touching in the way these medieval windows reflect common humanity – like here in the hands and bare feet of the prisoners.

In another panel, the same gentleman is visiting a poorly chap who is lying in bed under a flowery cover. It’s all rather homely and reassuring and comforting, after the apocalyptic ‘Pricke of Conscience’.

Modern glass here, in the lobby to the church, beautifully decorated but in a rather less colourful, more restrained and stylish modern way. I didn’t notice this until I left, being so curious about the medieval interior I could see through these glass doors.

All Saints, North Street is the only church – apart from our Minster – that I remember visiting as a teenager, just out of curiousity. I can’t remember, all these years on, why I was curious, perhaps it was just that the door was open and I was passing.

It really does feel like a medieval church, and it has an atmosphere I can’t quite find the words for. I remember finding it atmospheric and moving all those years back, and though I’m older and more cynical now, it still felt like a special place. You don’t have to be a believer to see that when people believe, have faith, have commitment, they make beautiful things.

More information – links

The church’s own website All Saints Church, North Street, York includes pages on the history of the church and its stained glass

‘The rising of the sea’ in The Pricke of Conscience, on Google Books

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18 July 2007

This was my second visit to this church, the first being a brief glimpse just before it closed one evening. Here, in the morning, the sun shines through the east windows of the church, casting coloured light through the stained glass onto the old stone, and the church organ alongside.

This window is one of four in the church by the Victorian stained glass artist Charles E Kempe.

I’ve noticed the church door open many times, but it’s only this year that I’ve wandered in. It’s a beautiful church. This Victorian stained glass is very handsome, all along its east end, and these windows, and the blue-painted roof, and the clerestory windows, make it bright and welcoming.

The church is mentioned in the Domesday Book. The present building dates from the 14th century, with additions over the centuries.

The church’s position in the middle of much-used roads led to it losing its original chancel for street-widening – in 1782 – proving that traffic problems and road-widening needs aren’t exclusively concerns of the modern age.

These photos show details of gilded woodwork I noticed as I was wandering happily about. The image on the far left is from the font cover – (which was quite tall, so I didn’t try to reach up to dust off the cobweb which is just visible in the photo).

These details are from the east window, a Victorian window also by Kempe, showing a host of saints.

Though there are many stained glass windows in this church from more recent centuries, grabbing the attention with their brightness, the west window is late 14th century glass, carefully reassembled here. The glass was originally from the nearby St Saviour’s, now a "redundant" church no longer used for worship. It took two years of work by the Minster glaziers to relocate and reconstruct the window here in All Saints. It depicts scenes from the Passion.

The church’s pulpit is a tall, imposing, ornate structure, by Nicholas Hall, dating from 1634, with a tester or sounding board above it, designed to amplify the voice. John Wesley, co-founder of Methodism, preached from here several times.

Details from the carved and painted biblical texts decorating its sides are pictured.

On the ends of the pews are wooden shields of the city’s Guilds.

The church’s stained glass includes a window in honour of the armed services, as All Saints is the regimental church of the Royal Dragoon Guards.

Previously I’ve often admired this church from the outside, and these photos of the exterior were taken last July, during an early morning walk.

The knocker on the church door shows a lion swallowing a bearded head. This is a replica of the original, dating from the 12th-13th century, which is now in the Minster treasury.

The octagonal lantern tower of All Saints is one of the finest in England. Apparently, in the old days, when all the land beyond was wild and dangerous, a light in the tower used to guide travellers in from the Forest of Galtres.

Sources and links

Background information came from – Yorkshire: York and the East Riding (Pevsner Buildings of England), by Nikolaus Pevsner and David Neave; from York (Bartholomew City Guides) by J Hutchinson and D M Palliser (apparently no longer in print); and from the leaflet available within the church.

More information on the Royal Dragoon Guards window.

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26 April 2007

I’ve visited Holy Trinity on occasions before, mainly just to sit in the churchyard, when needing a break from the crowded shopping streets. I’ve had a quick look inside before too, and found it very charming. But this time I visited with the intention of taking some photographs and looking at it all properly, and it spoke to me like places do sometimes, when you catch them at the right time of day.

Certain churches make me ‘come over all T S Eliot’, as I think I’m going to refer to the way certain lines from that poet come into mind. Particularly Little Gidding, from Four Quartets. So here, ‘Now and in England’, a very special church, just off one of York’s busy shopping streets.

Late in the afternoon, the light falls through old windows onto worn stone floors. This stone glows, its surface smoothed by the centuries.

All around the church are beautifully handwritten signs – discreet enough not to be intrusive – giving helpful information on the church’s features. The sign here publicises the Annual Report, on sale for £5. Trusting us not to steal it, the sign says ‘Please put the money into the Offertory Box’. As many of us might be standing there wondering what an offertory box looks like, slightly to the left, helpfully, next to an easy-to-miss slot in the wall, another handwritten sign says ‘IT’S HERE!’.

It’s a wonderfully wonky kind of place, with uneven floors and box pews all in a mad jumble. This was the only York church to escape major restoration in the Victorian period.

Another useful handwritten sign highlights the piscina. For people like me who have only just begun to understand churches and their significant elements, these pointers are very useful. The piscina, the sign tells us, is "for washing the Sacred Vessels after Mass. The drain delivers into Consecrated Ground." Nearby is the squint, in the wall of the south chapel, a hole in the wall at an angle to allow those in the chapel to see the altar.

And behind the altar is this reredos, painted in 1721. It displays, in gold lettering, the fundamentals of Christian doctrine. Another handwritten sign nearby explains its significance. And notes that it is "what is now termed a ‘Visual Aid’." Among the commandments is the one about not coveting your neighbour’s house. There’s a lot of house coveting these days, as so few people can afford to buy one.

The stained glass here is much admired. The east window – just a detail of it is shown here (left) – is "a fine example" of late 15th century glass, dating from the 1470s – a rare date for York glass, apparently.

The photo on the right shows another stained glass window of 14th and 15th century fragments. These faded, greenish, brownish hues were particularly pleasing, I thought, with the startling blue in the centre.

This window (far left) boasts no stained glass, but through its clear glass you can see the greenery of the churchyard, just as beautiful in its own way. And the light is falling through the west window at this time of the day, and casting coloured patterns on the wall.

Details from different times – above left, a Roll of Honour from the First World War; above right, an architectural fragment, a waterleaf capital, dating from circa 1180, and probably from the Minster.

The churchyard is as wonderful as ever, a quiet retreat tucked away behind the shops. Another sign here advises keeping to the paths, to avoid damage to the "host of golden daffodils". At the time I visited, the daffodils had faded and the bluebells were out.

Since I was last here, the view from the churchyard has changed. New buildings thrust themselves forward into view. The photo far left shows how they look from the "back" of the church. Straight on like this they look handsome enough.

From the viewpoint of the main gate – as shown above right – they stick out – maybe too intrusively? – into what was a rather nice view of the Minster and Holy Trinity together.

Sources and links

For more photos of the churchyard and exterior of this church see an earlier visit: Holy Trinity, Goodgramgate (York Walks /3, summer 2004).

Holy Trinity is one of the many churches cared for by the Churches Conservation Trust.

Background information came from – Yorkshire: York and the East Riding (Pevsner Buildings of England), by Nikolaus Pevsner and David Neave, and from York (Bartholomew City Guides) by J Hutchinson and D M Palliser (apparently no longer in print). And also, as mentioned, from the information provided in those very helpful signs in the church itself.

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24 July 2007

This remnant of the medieval St Lawrence’s church, with its reset Norman doorway, stands in the churchyard alongside its Victorian replacement.

This area of York was badly damaged during the siege of York in 1644, hence the lack of obviously historic buildings in the area outside Walmgate bar, but this surviving section of the old church has been retained, and is now in the care of the Churches Conservation Trust.

I passed by on one of my summer evening wanders, and noticed restoration work was in progress on the carved stone of the doorway. So much work goes in to maintaining these ancient structures we have in our care.

Indeed, I’ve been unable to find any information on the web, while compiling this page, about the replacement stonework on this lovely old structure. But someone somewhere is carving stone to replace crumbling stone in the doorway of old St Lawrence.

The official English Heritage description of this doorway, from Images of England, reads: "the doorway has a semicircular arch of 4 orders: the inner order has plain voussoirs springing from moulded imposts over scalloped capitals; the second order has an interlace above 2 monsters springing from capitals also carved with monsters; the 2 outer orders are carved with formalised foliage."

I can’t tell you if the details shown below – the new carving inserted into sections of this doorway – faithfully copy what was there before in the crumbling stone, though I imagine they do. My Pevsner guide mentions a carving of Sagittarius – the newly carved replacement is shown here. I can’t imagine the skill it takes to carve stone into shapes that convey so much. And just like the craftsmen who carved the original doorway, this talented person, or persons, will remain unknown to most of us.

In the churchyard of St Lawrence’s, close to this old church tower, is the Rigg family monument.

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3 July 2006

I knew little about this church – though I’d probably seen it more times than any other. Thinking about it, it would be the first church I ever saw, as it was visible from the garden of the house where I was born.

This is a personal appreciation of a church rediscovered – the familiar seen as if for the first time.

I grew up in Acomb, in a new house built in one of the new streets which made up part of this rapidly expanding area. St Stephen’s Church, built on a hill, was the focal point on the horizon from our back garden, as it was for many streets around.

It never looked particularly interesting to me. It was just there, on the hill, and we could see it when we were in the garden, and from various points in Acomb, and I passed it on my way to school.

These photos were taken in the early evening in July 2006, after I’d visited my family. Before leaving Acomb I thought I’d take some photos of these places that were so familiar to me in my youth. A long wander around Acomb ensued – with this visit to St Stephen’s a part of it.

Visiting here made me realise that we take familiar places so much for granted, particularly when we’re young. St Stephen’s looked beautiful in the evening sunlight, and its churchyard too, and it was like visiting the place for the first time, because it was the first time I’d looked at the place properly, close-up.

Acomb is an ancient settlement, originally a village outside of York. Its medieval church was rebuilt in the 19th century.

As I’m no expert on architecture, I’ll leave it to Eric A Gee to describe this church: "The nave, transept and west tower and spire are superficially Early English but are grafted on to a classical plan." He also mentions the magnesian limestone, and the "intriguing battered buttresses". The Pevsner guide mentions the tall lancet windows and describes the church as "an interesting essay in pre-archaeological Gothic".

Eric Gee also suggests that the church has "perhaps the most attractive situation in York, for it is on a hill a hundred feet high and from the churchyard most of the hills round the Vale of York can be seen on a clear day." I didn’t spend much time looking outwards from here – as I was so charmed by the place itself.

The churchyard too was far more attractive and peaceful than I ever remembered it. These Victorian churchyards always look happily settled into themselves. The stone monuments are so much more attractive than the modern marble ones, and here, as in other old churchyards, monuments leaned towards each other in the rough grass.

Perhaps on a cloudy day in winter it doesn’t look so beautiful here, but on its high hill this place seems to collect the summer sunlight falling through the surrounding trees.

Sources & background information

The Architecture of York by Eric A Gee (Cerialis Press, 1979)
Yorkshire: York and the East Riding (The Buildings of England series) by Nikolaus Pevsner and David Neave (2nd edn, Yale, 2002).

Website – www.acombparish.org

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2010

One sunny summer Saturday afternoon I cycled from York to Alne and beyond. The target of the excursion was the church at Alne, and its doorway, pictured above. The Pevsner guide calls it ‘Fully Norman and typically Yorkshire’, and mentions its ‘fancy animals’. Ever since I met my first carved Norman doorway at St Mary’s church, Kirkburn, I’ve tended to seek them out.

Round the back of the church, what appears to be Victorian graffiti, scratched into the presumably soft stone, by a bricked-up doorway. It could of course be a convincing fake, but I’m sure that date says 1879, and the other carving 1870.

Inside the church, an obviously modern east window. Its modernity is explained by a sign on the wall – it was created in the 1950s to replace a window destroyed in the war. Another bomber crashed here, in Alne village, damaging the window of the church, and other properties nearby. There’s a framed memorial to the crew, who were Canadian airmen based at RAF Tholthorpe.

This stained glass, designed by S D Collins, is a memorial window to Dr J A Kay. It’s even more modern, dating from 2002. It is a particularly beautiful piece of work. I’m beginning to appreciate modern stained glass.

Centuries older, this worn and damaged effigy in the Lady Chapel. It dates from the early 14th century, and according to the helpful information provided in the church, is believed to be a memorial to a member of the Ellerker family from nearby Youlton Hall.

Grand monuments to aristocratic people can sometimes make us working-class folks feel a bit distanced, but this one is so worn and somehow touching it didn’t have that effect. Particularly because the information on the wall points out the (rather lost) detail: ‘The broken figures at her head are angels waiting to catch her soul in a veil and take it to heaven’.

The photos on this page were taken in July 2009, but because I was involved with writing a book, this website was neglected for a time, and this page has been added to the website a year later. Inbetween times, I lost a dear friend, who took me in when I left home at sixteen. She was a true Christian, not just in word but in deed. Some people change your life, and pick you up and in some ways save you, and you don’t always get to tell them. I was lucky this time that I did get chance. Over the years I shared many joys and enthusiasms with her, and she always responded with equal enthusiasm. The last joyful thing I told her about was cycling to Alne.

I’m an agnostic, but would still like to believe that good people do have angels waiting to catch their souls and take them to heaven. There would I think have been a queue of angels around Rene’s shoulders.

So, this page was compiled in memory of Rene Parker, whose spirit I hope will be with me, on all my journeys.

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