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82 year old Anne rode up Mt Ventoux yesterday as a fundraiser for the children of #Gaza. Yep, 82 and not on an electric, an incredible effort and achievement. We had such challenging conditions, rain, hail, snow, and a glimmer of sunshine.
Berners Roding Church (dedication unknown but believed to be All Saints) is situated within the small hamlet of Berners Roding approximately 6 miles NE of Chipping Ongar. The church is adjacent to Berners Hall and surrounded by arable fields to be east and north, Berners Hall farm to the west and is accessed via a narrow track leading from the road to the south.
Whilst the exact origins of the church are unknown, elements of the building appear to date from the 14th century. The nave and chancel are of an unknown date but the east and west walls are believed to be 16th century. The church once had a weather-boarded belfry that housed a single bell dated 1594 (cast by John Dyer – bell foundry Chelmsford). A survey of the church by Nikolaus Pevsner for his book “The Buildings of England – Essex” published in 1954 shows the belfry was present and it was therefore removed after this date. The whereabouts of the bell is unknown.
The church was deconsecrated in 1985 and is now in a very sorry state.
Please visit www.flickr.com/photos/birchphotography/sets/7215762597178... for more photo's.
Nikon D300s || 10-20mm @ 20mm || ISO 640 || f/5.6 || 1/40s
St Mary, Aythorpe Roding, Essex
It was May 2014, the most beautiful spring of the century. I had taken my bike on the train from Ipswich to Bishops Stortford before heading off away from the hell of Stansted airport into the wilds of Essex. Now I veered eastwards from the forest, entering the emptiest and most remote area of the county. No villages for miles, just hamlets, fields and the occasional farmstead. The road to my next target would have meant a five mile ride, but I spotted a half-mile bridleway, of which there are lots in this part of Essex. It would cut three miles off the journey, so I took it. It was a farm track, deeply rutted, and it took me down the side of a barley field to copses in the distance, the hysterical yellow of acres of rapeseed in full flower beyond.
At first, it was just about cycleable, but then it wasn't, so I pushed my bike for about ten minutes or so. As I approached the country lane at the far end of it I thought there seemed something vaguely familiar about it, and then I realised what it was. Ah, I thought to myself, I'm entering East Anglia again. Now I was on hedged lanes through rolling fields of barley and rapeseed. Profound green, intense yellow. The road climbed, and over the rise I saw a spire. I headed down a track for half a mile or so and came to one of the most remote churches in all Essex.
It was locked, there was no keyholder notice. An inexpressibly lonely place. The church itself is a poor little thing, its wooden spire shot through with woodpecker holes. There were no notices of service in the porch, and so I expect it has fallen into disuse. Redundancy beckons, and perhaps it will be left to go quietly back to nature. It might just as well be left open, in which case it would at least serve some purpose to passing walkers, pilgrims and strangers.
And yet there was something very special about just standing in the churchyard, in the silence. It felt like nothing had happened here for a very long time. I looked down at the inscription on a memorial cross to Our Dear Son, Bertie George Emberson, who died at the Military Hospital, Caterham, Surrey, September 7th 1918 aged 19 years. How awful. And yet, I thought, the churchyard they stood in to watch him put into the earth has not changed. The one they knew is the one there now.
Simon Knott, April 2018
Sant Pere de Rodes appearing and disappearing in the mist. The monastery was built in the 10th and 11 century and dominates the valley. At the top of the hill you can just see Verdera Castle.
Heading between McClure and Whitehouse. I have got to clean that speck of dust off the inside of my lens.
Fantastic Negrito at the Interstellar Rodeo in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. ©Eric Kozakiewicz/Interstellar Rodeo
On Day # 9 of our Alaska cruise tour we rode to Denali National Park and boarded a tour bus for the 90 mile round trip into the park. We got splendid views of Denali (Mount McKinley), as the clouds parted several times as we rode in. Herds of Caribou and Dall Sheep were visible on the hillsides, and we saw a Brown Bear with her two cubs grazing about 1/4 mile from the road. Visit rosy-finch.blogspot.com
two days till christmas, kerst 2015, kerstvakantie 2015, wat te doen in de kerstvakantie, all you need is love, kerstavond, openluchtmuseum arnhem, trui pailletten, rok a-symmetrisch, bullboxer, sandalen hak, rode lipstick, & other stories, wollen sjaal, zwarte sjaal, kerstverlichting, primark
St Mary, Aythorpe Roding, Essex
It was May 2014, the most beautiful spring of the century. I had taken my bike on the train from Ipswich to Bishops Stortford before heading off away from the hell of Stansted airport into the wilds of Essex. Now I veered eastwards from the forest, entering the emptiest and most remote area of the county. No villages for miles, just hamlets, fields and the occasional farmstead. The road to my next target would have meant a five mile ride, but I spotted a half-mile bridleway, of which there are lots in this part of Essex. It would cut three miles off the journey, so I took it. It was a farm track, deeply rutted, and it took me down the side of a barley field to copses in the distance, the hysterical yellow of acres of rapeseed in full flower beyond.
At first, it was just about cycleable, but then it wasn't, so I pushed my bike for about ten minutes or so. As I approached the country lane at the far end of it I thought there seemed something vaguely familiar about it, and then I realised what it was. Ah, I thought to myself, I'm entering East Anglia again. Now I was on hedged lanes through rolling fields of barley and rapeseed. Profound green, intense yellow. The road climbed, and over the rise I saw a spire. I headed down a track for half a mile or so and came to one of the most remote churches in all Essex.
It was locked, there was no keyholder notice. An inexpressibly lonely place. The church itself is a poor little thing, its wooden spire shot through with woodpecker holes. There were no notices of service in the porch, and so I expect it has fallen into disuse. Redundancy beckons, and perhaps it will be left to go quietly back to nature. It might just as well be left open, in which case it would at least serve some purpose to passing walkers, pilgrims and strangers.
And yet there was something very special about just standing in the churchyard, in the silence. It felt like nothing had happened here for a very long time. I looked down at the inscription on a memorial cross to Our Dear Son, Bertie George Emberson, who died at the Military Hospital, Caterham, Surrey, September 7th 1918 aged 19 years. How awful. And yet, I thought, the churchyard they stood in to watch him put into the earth has not changed. The one they knew is the one there now.
Simon Knott, April 2018
Sant Pere de Rodes appearing and disappearing in the mist. The monastery was built in the 10th and 11 century and dominates the valley. At the top of the hill you can just see Verdera Castle.
Minimalist display tucked away in a courtyard recess undergoing restoration [ - taken using my wife's compact ]
Hij wordt weer uitgerold voor de deur van het nieuwe Luxor Theater voor de première van CIRQUE STILETTO!