A sunny morning woke our sleep lockdown spirits today, and after a brisk local walk and restorative bacon baguettes (and a bit of magic in the kitchen to set up a salad for tonight) we sallied forth church-crawling again. Thanks to the Churches Conservation Trust we have not just active churches to visit locally but sleeping ones as well, and St Cuthbert's, Holm Lacy, just a few miles south-east of Hereford is in their care, and is where generations of the locally famous Scudamore family sleep. You can sleep yourself there in style (champing) in safer times, but our mission today was to meet John (d.1571 who lies beside his wife decked out in full armour) and James (d.1668, now wearing Roman costume in heaven [I presume]) and more. It's makes for quite a display of both sculpture and heraldry (the S's show off their connections with royalty and the Howards in it: good for them). A sleeping church is perhaps rather a good place for monuments to sleeping ancestors in these questioning times: nothing is claimed for themes it were, and there is room for interpretative display. I haven's chased up the Scudamores' record, but the internet tells me that one Peter S., quite probably no close relation to this lot, was, "surgeon on a pirate vessel, encouraged a slave rebellion, insisting that he could sail the ship himself." Good for him too. The church as we meet it is the usual mélange of medieval periods - a few 13th century survivals given a major makeover in the 14th century ending with a very substantial tower which kay be as late as the 15th, but then a 17th century porch reflecting the ongoing investment in the church by the Scudamores throughout the 16th-18th centuries. There was then a lot of remedial work in the 1920s (presumably led by new estate owners the Lucas-Tooths) from which the church now benefits: despite its sleeping status it is in good shape, and the CCT continue to keep it that way. In the end what caught my eye most were the rounded-up fragments of medieval stained glass in a window in the north window of the chancel. It was moved there during the 20th century restorations, and the Woolhope Club much regretted the alterations when it visited in 1918. It may be archaeological heresy to like member disjecta out of context like this, but actually I liked the grouped effect and of course they were easier to see too. It's a typical "fruit salad" and most of the glass is not in great condition, but out of it peer some striking faces, the sort of ones that make you wonder whether a particular person inspired them, though I've seen enough to recognise that like most others they probably follow the workshop style. Still, in what is still a consecrated building there is room for a moment of ora pro nobis. Which is the sentiment I'll leave you with rather than that of anonymous sonnet displayed near the entrance which is decent poetry but slightly defeatedly, in my opinion, chooses to end with an invitation to find not faith but joy. In these troubled times joy may not be so easy to find, but faith remains our rock for ever. David Thomson | July 17, 2020 at 2:28 pm | Categories: Uncategorized | URL: https://wp.me/poSLL-3Rj |