At Llangwm Uchaf, what remains of the gloomy inscription on this crumbling gravestone has a great example of the archaic use of 'ye' (the) which we tweeted about recently, but you can also spot two lovely examples of another extinct letterform: ſ - known as the 'long s'.
At a glance, ſ looks a bit like an f (especially in typefaces that give it a little nub on its left hand side - like in this edition of Paradise Lost).
But what looks like 'fpend' on the headstone is actually 'spend'.
Long s and short s were both in use, so the epitaph also tells us that if all goes well on earth we can look forward to a 'life of Bliſs' (Bliss).
But why were there two ways of writing the lower case (miniscule) letter s?
Both forms originated in the Roman period and their use and shape has changed multiple times over the centuries. Ninth century monks writing in the standardised Carolingian script would only use the long s.
But by the 12th century it had become a convention to use the long s at the beginning and in the middle of a word and the short s (which at that time looked like our letter r) at the end. The s we use today was around too but mostly used as the shape for a capital S.
By the 17th century, the rules of when to use a long or short s had become more complex, and weren't always followed consistently. However, one common convention was to use a long and short s for a double s - as in Miſs, congreſs, or Miſsiſsippi.
Thankfully, by the early 19th century, English language printers had almost entirely stopped using the long s, so today we are the Friends of Friendless ... not Friendleſs ... Churches.
However, the long s stuck around (ſtuck around?) for a bit longer in writing made by hand — whether with a pen or a chisel.
That was meant to be the end of our thread but we just couldn’t resist sharing a couple more examples of the long s from our churches. Like this elegant wall monument from Skeffling in the East Riding of Yorks
And this stern commandment board from Papworth St Agnes in Cambridgeshire
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Caring for over 60 places of worship in England and Wales means that from a few of our churchyards you can see some varied sights.
From 20th century infrastructure to cultural landmarks, the fabric and fate of our churches has been shaped by their localities.
1/6 📷 Sutterby
On the Welsh border, in the remote fields of Herefordshire stands St Peter's, Llancillo. Adjacent to the church is an 8 meter high earthen Motte, which is all the remains of Llancillo Castle. This fortification was originally constructed in the 1090s by Richard Esketot.
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Releasing plumes of steam into the sky, the cooling towers of the Drax Power Station are visible, across the flat Yorkshire’s Ouse Valley, from St Helen's, Barmby on the Marsh. While St Helen’s tower was built in the 1770s, the cooling towers were constructed in the 1970s.
Red and yellow and pink and green ... most children can tell you that rainbows contain seven colours, and many of us use 'ROYGBIV' to remember them. But people haven't always seen rainbows this way.
Rubens' 'The Rainbow Landscape' of 1636 was painted just three decades before major new scientific theories about colour and light emerged. The rainbow lights up surrounding clouds with highlights of lemony yellow and blue.
In 1664, Robert Boyle conducted experiments with prisms, and in the 'artificial rain-bow' he produced, he observed five colours: Red, Yellow, Green, Blew and Purple. ...
The church at Skeffling was built from glacial clutter and recycled masonry in the 1400s. It sits in Holderness. A landscape of mudflats and salt-marshes washed into existence by the North Sea.
Here ‘leaves unnoticed thicken, hidden weeds flower, neglected waters quicken’.
Those are the words of poet, Philip Larkin. Larkin explored this area after he moved to Hull in 1955 to take up the position of librarian at the Brynmor Jones Library at the University of Hull. He lived there and held that job for thirty years, until his death in 1985.
Of Hull, he wrote "I never thought about Hull until I was here. Having got here, it suits me in many ways. It is a little on the edge of things, I think even its natives would say that. I rather like being on the edge of things.”
If there were more than 20 sheep in the flock, he could note the first 20 when he reached Figgit by putting a pebble in his pocket, and then starting the sequence from Yan again.
(info from 'Alex's Adventures in Numberland' by Alex Bellos)
In about 1300, five massive oak legs were pushed into the soil at Boveney to raise a belltower out of the clay tile roof of the 12th-century church. Inside, in the 1800s fielded panelling was installed, hiding those hardworking legs.
Perfect as that panelling looked, it obscured the most important timbers. Noticing that the bellcote was somewhat slumped, our architect removed some panels, and we found the legs were rotten. Boveney church was *almost* without a leg to stand on.
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Many things contributed to the decay-the high water-table of the river-bank church, deathwatch beetle, fruiting bodies… The panelling concealed this until it was almost too late. The words, ‘catastrophic collapse’, were used. Panic set in. The £60,000 repair bill quadrupled.
Between 1666 and 1680, the English parliament sought to protect the wool trade, by requiring the dead to be buried in nothing but a shroud of English sheep's wool. Plague victims and the destitute were the only exceptions.
The 'Burying in Woollen Acts' required an Affidavit within 8 days of burial, proving before a JP that the law had been complied with. Those who didn't comply were fined £5, half of which went to the poor. This blog has some terrific examples of affidavits:buff.ly/3YkB33B
Many wealthy families preferred to simply pay the fine and bury their loved ones in clothing or shrouds of finer materials, such as linen.