This morning, come with us as we watch one little church make its daily spin around the Earth’s axis.
Arriving at dawn through farmland on the edge of the river Usk, the autumn sun rises over St Mary the Virgin, Llanfair Cilgedin, its pale light catching the bell-cote.
The church and bell-cote, designed by J.P. Seddon, were completed in 1876, but inside, St Mary's ancient foundations make their presence known in the stone of its two fonts - one Norman, one medieval –
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... and in the hodgepodge fragments of stained glass, salvaged from the medieval church, where ancient faces look out at us from the past.
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Outside, the day breaks into an azure sky, echoed indoors in the symphony of sgraffiti panels illustrating the Benedicite. These were created by archaeologist and Pre-Raphaelite artist Heywood Sumner.
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On the church walls, Biblical figures tell stories, celestial beings herald the seasons, ordinary folk live out their industrious lives, and everywhere we look, there are animals - on land, in air and in water. Some are dynamic and spirited, others reflective and still.
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Warmed by the beauty and brightness of this Arts & Crafts celebration of the Creation, and our natural world, we step outside once more. This time the Earth has spun round, and we look up into the vast and bottomless starlit sky.
Just 10 weeks after Guy Fawkes and other English Catholics were discovered in the act of attempting to assassinate King James I by blowing up the House of Lords, a bill was introduced in England for a public, annual thanksgiving for the failure of the plot.
Although ostensibly a day of celebration, the wording of the ‘Thanksgiving Act’, which pointed a finger at 'malignant and devilish Papists', also sent a clear anti-Catholic message and served as a new focus for anti-Catholic sentiment and continued oppression.
England has about 3,000 'lost' or deserted medieval villages. We have churches in a fair few of them. Like St Mary Magdalene, Caldecote: a weather-beaten majesty with embattled parapets, cinquefoil tracery and a rather regal porch. Hinting at grandeur within…
Entering through the south porch visitors are met by an extraordinary, floor-to-(almost) ceiling stoup. Dated to the 15th century, the shaft is carved with rows of quatrefoils, while acanthus clambers up the canopy. The proportions are so great, it feels very out of place.
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Step beyond this to see the font: an octagonal affair from the same century encrusted with cusped panels, heraldry and foliage. The simple moulded pews also date to the 1400s, as do the glittering fragments of stained glass...
Keeping time, saving time. On time, in time. Lost time, out of time...
The hand of the clock guides us from dawn to dusk and back round again. The ticking heart of our existence, time has preoccupied people... since, well, the beginning of time...
In England, time began to become part of our day-to-day lives when the Saxons brought us scratch dials. These were a method of dividing their days and nights into eight divisions known as ‘tides’.
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Later, during the Middle Ages, this model was adapted for ecclesiastical purposes to herald prayer recitals at specific times of the day, known as the Divine Offices. These etchings became known as mass dials and were cut into south-facing walls in order to catch the sun.
Rafters in floors. Doors cut into pews. Pews worked into screens. Screens becoming vestries.
Churches have a long history of assimilating themselves. At Llanfaglan, 14th-century cusped chancel roof timbers were cut out c.1800, shortened, and worked into a distinctive porch.
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Similarly, at Sutterby, Lincolnshire, the doorway to the porch is framed with some rather fancy mouchettes. While the porch dates to the 19th century, this carving is much earlier – five hundred years earlier, in fact, and we believe was originally a window arch in the church. 2/
Llanbeulan church on Anglesey sits in a sea of bobbing gravestones. They’re everywhere. So many in fact, that they are built into the walls and thresholds of the church… and one has even become a step on the stone stile into the churchyard…
The Gloucester Candlestick is an extraordinary survival. Dating from 1104-13, it’s a masterpiece of English metalwork, a gilt tangle of beasts clambering, clawing through fleshy foliage, struggling “to reach the light or sink into the darkness below”...
Incredibly, an inscription on the stem of candlestick clearly indicates its provenance: ‘The devotion of Abbot Peter and his gentle flock gave me to the Church of St Peter of Gloucester’. Peter was the abbot of the Benedictine Abbey in Gloucester in the early 12th century.
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However, somehow, Abbot Peter’s candlestick ended up in the treasury of Le Mans Cathedral, France. There are several points when it could’ve made its journey: the Abbey was destroyed by fire in 1122, was the candlestick stolen?
Today, we venture deep into the Black Mountains. Back to the 5th century when a princess called Ellyw lived. And to the ancient church of Llanelieu, close to the spot where Ellyw was murdered.
Ellyw was the grand-daughter of Brychan, Prince of Brycheiniog, and early in life, she took a vow of chastity, dedicating her life to Jesus. But her family did not accept this and forced her to marry.
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Ellyw fled the kingdom – and her family. She wandered over the hills... villagers feared her
grand-father and refused to help her. Eventually, Ellyw found a small hut in Brecon and lived there in isolation.