Visiting quiet country churches has long become a staple of my holidays. I generally fit in two or more on most days. Each one is different; each reveals something about local families and local affairs; and the architecture and ornaments may well be unusual or even unique. I am always careful for the sanctity of the place: I may not be religious myself, but I am never going to be anything but solemn and serious while inside one of these buildings. Some country churches are so ancient that their very age commands silence and respect.
Ideally I hope for a one-to-one relationship with an old and hallowed place, with nobody else present. I'm not always so lucky. I have once or twice blundered in on someone else's communion with the infinite. Occasionally a churchwarden or florist will be there, and conversation ensues. Only rarely, thankfully, do I encounter the priest. I try to go when the church is most likely to be empty of other human beings, so that I can look around inside just as I please, and take whatever photos I like.
For of course there is pleasure to be had, exploring a church with a camera in hand. Few other environments are such a challenge to the photographer. The interior light is often dim, making the fine details of monuments, tombs, bench-ends, organs, floors and ceilings hard to capture. As in these shots at Morwenstow in Cornwall:
Photography requires an easy mind. If I feel inhibited in any way, then taking pictures becomes difficult, and sometimes absolutely impossible. For if someone else is there, I am turned into an intruder. My freedom to explore and record is curtailed or completely denied. Perhaps I shouldn't feel like that. But at the best of times, I know that I am, in a sense, trespassing; and I dread the potential embarrassment of being caught up in a minstrels' gallery, or belfry, or too close to the altar - even though there is never, of course, any notice that says 'Keep away, if you are not here to worship'. Even though I am certain that heavenly eyes, if any are watching, would prefer me to come in and look around, and not stay away.
Two afternoons ago I came to the church at Milton Damerel, deep in the countryside between Holsworthy and Great Torrington in Devon. It was mid-afternoon on a Friday. Unless anybody was making next-day wedding preps, I should have the place to myself.
I opened the stout oak door and had a shock.
There was a man inside, grinning at me.
Next instant, I realised he was a life-sized cardboard cut-out, offering churchgoers the chance to make a donation via PayPal. But how lifelike he seemed in the dim light!
I'm going to show a copy of your Paypal photo to our churchwarden. He's always looking for ideas, so perhaps we can scare the good parishioners of Lydney witless.
ReplyDeleteJust for fun, I scanned the QR code on the photo and I was imediately invited to make a donation to Holy Trinity Church.
It will certainly impress on them that there is a dark and frightening side to life!
ReplyDeleteLucy
Oops! It was actually the church at Milton Damerel, not Newton St Petrock. Tsk.
DeleteLucy
Thank You Lucy for sharing your travels with us. Exchanged emails with you today with regard to Shrewsbury and Cadfael and it was wonderful to read of your observations through Cadfael's eyes. Brilliant!
ReplyDelete