I've got the Early English blues: medieval stained glass in Aldermaston church, Berks, and Worplesdon, Surrey

Worplesdon church, 14th century stained glass

Last week I had an hour to spare in Surrey (a county I've mostly overlooked), and decided to pick a church at random to visit. The map revealed that Worplesdon was just a few miles away, so Worplesdon it was. I knew nothing about it, though when I arrived the tower, visible from the road, revealed that the church was an at least partly medieval structure, and thus that there was a reasonably good chance of finding interesting things inside. Entry is by the west door, and before I'd gone more than a few paces down the nave I noticed that the easternmost window of the north aisle contained what looked like 14th century glass - an exciting discovery.

It's the verdant green* of the figure on the left (at the top of the page) that is the first and most obvious clue to its date. The figure on the right is posed in an S-shaped curve, another very typical feature of the 14th century, related to the S-curves, known as ogees, found in the coeval Decorated style of Gothic architecture. The abundance of yellow glass, unknown before the early years of the century, is another aid to dating. This glass is undoubtedly both decorative and Decorated.

The figures are protected by imposing canopies, which also exhibit ogees and are complete with fictive windows, and are surrounded by a jumble of fragments. 

What or who do the figures represent? They have no attributes, except haloes (definite on the left, only probable on the right), and a book. Cowen calls them saints; the Shell Guide and Pevsner fail to commit themselves and describe them simply as figures. Osborne,** on the other hand, says that the scene is an Annunciation (in which the angel Gabriel tells Mary that she is to be the mother of Jesus), and I agree that this is the likeliest interpretation, as Mary is generally portrayed with a book to underline her serious, scholarly nature. She seems to shrink a little from the news, and clutch her gown protectively.

Osborne also says that this glass was originally in the east window, but was removed in 1887 to make way for the current Clayton and Bell glass. Some more medieval glass survives in another north aisle window, including: 

A monk or priest kneeling on a chequered tiled floor. Note the complete lack of perspective; when, a century or so later (in Italy), artists started to use geometrical perspective they often used tiled floors to demonstrate their skill and give a sense of depth to their pictures. English artists took until the 16th century to adopt this technique.

A bishop.

Two shields. The technical terminology for the first one is Argent three gimel bars gules impaling azure a cross argent. I've got only a rough idea what that means, but nevertheless I can savour the language.

The south aisle has two more windows with shields, and the date 1802, which was when they were put in their present positions:

The arms of England quartered with France, probably early 16th century.

The arms of Eton College; the three flowers are lilies. The pulpit and font in the church were brought from Eton.

The arms, dated 1633, of Robert Bennet, Bishop of Hereford 1602-17.

The arms of Henry VIII impaling those of Ann Boleyn, which must date from their short marriage (1532-36).

The east window was made by the distinguished Victorian company Clayton and Bell in 1887. It shows Christ in Majesty; the top half is the most successful part of the composition.

There are several other worthwhile Victorian windows, including this one from 1858 by James Hardman & Co, showing Christ with St Peter.

I started this post with thoughts about how to identify 14th century glass. Back in the early summer I revisited a church I hadn't been to for many years, Aldermaston, Berks, which had stuck in my mind for decades largely because it's the home of some gorgeous glass from the previous century. (The floriated grisaille glass surrounding the roundels is of course Victorian.)

The first one shows the Annunciation. Unlike the Worplesdon example, Mary greets Gabriel with composure. The Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, looking like an amateurishly stuffed specimen, whispers the glad news in her ear.

The Coronation of the Virgin. The faces are badly decayed, but the figures still have dignity.

The most obvious difference between these 13th century roundels and the 14th century figures in Worpleson is the colours. Blue predominates, and this is the defining colour of glass corresponding to the Early English style of architecture. The technology necessary to create yellow glass didn't yet exist, but there are strong reds and greens. There are no canopies. The poses of the figures are stiffer in the earlier period, more theatrical and hieratic. Objects are drawn as if a symbol rather than a direct visual representation was intended (as in the depiction of the dove). The designs are generally more linear, geometric and two-dimensional, less realistic. Even when they tell a story, as they often do, they're static.

Some of this might sound as if I'm being critical of 13th century glass, but I think that it is often supremely beautiful, deep blue backgrounds and all. Stained glass, because it's generally viewed from a distance, works best in large, even extravagant gestures, and as symbolism rather than detailed realism. It's possible to argue that stained glass design reached its peak in the 13th century, and a long slow decline followed.

I've got the Early English blues, and I trust that I'll never lose them.

* I should point out that I'm among the one in twelve men who are colour blind. (Only one in two hundred women are similarly afflicted.) Although this obviously doesn't mean I can't see colours, my comments on the subject should always be taken with a pinch of rainbow.

** Painton Cowen, A Guide to Stained Glass in Britain; June Osborne, Stained Glass in England. These two books are indispensable to anyone with a more than passing interest in the subject.

Marching mushrooms, Cambridge

A farrago of faces and figures in Finchingfield church, Essex

Finchingfield, Essex, is an extravagantly, even absurdly pretty village. Alas, its picturesqueness is its downfall, as it attracts visitors from far afield and is consequently crammed with a clutter of cars parked bumper to bumper (a desecration to which I hypocritically contributed). I'd been to the church several times before, and found it enjoyable enough without being really excited by it. On today's visit, however, I spotted numerous little details that I'd previously overlooked, and I think they're worth sharing.

I'm increasingly finding that such minutiae - corbels, label stops, graffiti, miscellaneous carvings - are what attract and intrigue me. Finchingfield has an imposing 14th century Decorated north arcade, but I barely looked at it; for one thing, it's not unlike a dozen, a hundred similar arcades, and for another it's 'official' and 'approved'. The masons who made it were essentially following orders and doing a job, albeit a job worth doing, and doing it well. On the other hand, the many incidental figures, usually hidden away in plain sight, are (presumably, though we can't be certain) unofficial expressions of their individual makers' thoughts and feelings, folk art that gives us, perhaps, the closest thing we have to a window into the minds of 'ordinary' medieval people.

On approaching the church, this commanding 12th century Norman west doorway is the first thing you see. If you look closely, you notice that there are carvings of heads on either side of the top of the door. Those on the north (left) can be seen at the top of the page, a figure with a human face, a lopsided grin and the ears and horns of a goat. Was this intended to be symbolic of the part divine, part animal nature of mankind, or was it just a humorous whim of the sculptor? We can only guess. He is flanked by two badly weathered heads.

Those on the south (right) are even more badly decayed, but the central head seems to have a droopy moustache, and has horns but lacks ears.

Entry is via the south door, which is original (c.1370) and lavishly decorated (and, unfortunately, very much showing its age). The main motifs are based on elaborate window tracery.

The following photos show a selection of corbels and label stops, all from the 14th and 15th centuries:

A finely carved, self-assured bearded man.

A wide-eyed, very troubled figure, wearing a helmet-like hat. It looks as if he's just been struck by the utter emptiness and meaninglessness of life.

A lively carving of a defiant tongue-sticker-outer.

A moon-faced figure, perhaps unfinished; he or she seems to have their eyes shut.

A rather aristocratic figure with fashionably flowing locks; he (or she?) also looks as if he's made a dreadful discovery.

A sour-faced, long haired individual.

Something has startled this chap.

Two bedesmen (or beadsmen) from the tomb of John and Elizabeth Berners; she died in 1523, while his date of death is given simply as 15__ (i.e. the last two digits were never filled in). Bedesmen were employed to pray for the souls of their benefactors, and these figures carry rosaries. Presumably their faces have been deliberately targeted by iconoclasts.

The early 15th century chancel screen is, according to Pevsner, one of the most elaborate in the county, and includes amongst the frothy carving this head of a king (or, more likely, Christ the King).

I think my favourite object in the church is the screen in the south aisle, which dates from the mid 14th century. The tracery at the top of each division is a delight of curving shapes flowing one into another. But I particularly love the seven little carvings on the bressummer beam that runs across the top. They are, from left to right:

A medieval musician goes all Rahsaan Roland Kirk. He has snazzy pointed shoes and a bag slung over his shoulder; something is poking out of the bag, but it's impossible to tell what. He is sitting down and playing a double pipe, opening his mouth cavernously to accommodate it (them?). Double pipes are characteristic of the music of early cultures; they can be reed instruments (like clarinets) or reedless (like recorders). Sometimes one of the pipes provides a drone while the other plays a tune, but in this carving each pipe clearly has several finger holes, enabling the musician to play a duet with himself. There are plenty of examples of double pipes being played on Youtube; see here, for example.

This looks like a fantastic beast with human feet (and shoes like those of the double pipe player). I think that it depicts a man dressed as a dragon for a procession or festival. There's a rare survival of such a costume in Norwich Castle Museum (read a blog about it here). Probably the central purpose of the costume was to re-enact St George's battle with the dragon, but no doubt the actor had plenty of fun mock-terrifying the crowds.

A bearded mouth-puller, i.e. someone using his hand to make an amusingly ugly face. It has to be said that his effort is tame compared to that of many of his fellow gurners found in medieval churches.

A small figure of a lady with a square headdress, very characteristic of its period. She looks as if she's inadvertently got her head stuck in a box.

This chap has just seen something comically absurd, and he claps his hands to his forehead in disbelief. I wonder what aspect of human behaviour has struck him so forcefully as he looks down the aisle and watches with such incredulity the churchgoers and visitors come through the main entrance. He's been laughing at them for the best part of seven centuries. This figure, though only a few inches across, is full of character.

Another fantastic beast, though this one clearly isn't a man in a funny costume. It's a griffin, with the body of a lion and the head, legs and wings of an eagle. However, its head looks more like that of a chicken, which isn't quite so imperial.

Another musician, seated facing his colleague, playing the bagpipes. Bagpipes are, in the minds of many 21st century people, associated almost exclusively with Scots, but this is of course wrong; numerous cultures have their own tradition of the instrument, including the English. Wouldn't it be fun to be able to hear the music the double pipes and bagpipes are making together.

Finchingfield church has always been open whenever I've visited. If you visit, try to be less invasive than me and go on foot or by bus or bike.