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Gym: EMF Performance and Recovery Centre
Location:Nerang, Australia
Supplier:Fitspro
Product:
Custom Turf
Colour: fresh green
Don't forget to "like" Support EWU's Red Turf on facebook for all the latest updates on our beautiful new field!
Keystone College Giants Men's Lacrosse Practice. Taken February 10, 2022 at the Turf Field Athletics Complex with a Nikon D500 using a Sigma 120-300 f/2.8.
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
Sadler’s Wells and West Ham United Foundation present the World Premiere of Home Turf, a dance production inspired by football, on the main stage at Sadler’s Wells on Saturday 24 September 2016.
Home Turf is a compelling collaboration between West Ham United Foundation, Sadler’s Wells and a team of over 100 professional and non-professional dancers, including Foundation participants, Company of Elders and alumni of the National Youth Dance Company.
Choreographers: Pascal Merighi, Michela Meazza, Lee Griffiths, Joseph Toonga.
Composer: Murray Gold
photo - © Foteini Christofilopoulou | All rights reserved | For all usage/licensing enquiries please contact www.foteini.com
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
Typical turf roofed house in Gasadalur. Many house in the Faroes use the traditional turf roof. Even quite modern ones.
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Product: Turf (Brick)
Gym: Re.Formatas 2 Club Location: Vilnius, Lithuania
Distributor: Gfitness
Installation including: Endurance Black Marble + Endurance S&S Black + Endurance Wenge + Turf
The White Turf is an annual horse race, the only one in the world set on snow, held on the frozen lake of St. Moritz. The races are run at a gallop or at a canter plus skikjöring.
Saffron Walden, UK. The turf maze on The Common is the largest of its type in the world and dates back to the 1600s.
Turf Wars, Los Angeles, USA, May 2010
We are staying with our mate Jacko in LA this week and we all had a chuckle about this email he received today from a prankster pretending to be a representative of MEGATOYS???:
Congratulations Jackpot Vetti on achieving the status of Stardom!
MEGATOYS have been acclaimed for having the acute ability to recognize talent and then garner the best opportunity to exploit that talent. With some annual salaries over $20 million, bonuses over $25 million, and personal services fees over $10 million each, every Pro Artist must have professional management, representation in contract negotiations and certainly investments. Through their integrity and innovation in the field of contract negotiations, business and personal management, financial and estate planning, MEGATOYS create Arts Based Business Empires. These empires generate additional revenue through publishing, licensing, commercial advertisements, product endorsements, TV, motion picture, personal appearances and other off street activities that spawn new opportunities for professional and financial growth. This in turn promotes greater rewards from the art in which you excel.
As a ”Superstar Artist” you are now entering into a period of your life which may be unlike anything that you have experienced before in terms of notoriety and income. During this period it is often difficult to concern oneself with anything more than the negotiations of a lucrative professional service contract with a professional art franchise, conglomerate or entertainment group.
MEGATOYS, as a founding management and art marketing firm, is world renowned for management and the negotiation of lucrative and unprecedented contracts in the realms of dollar value as well as structural design in the arts field. MEGATOYS have negotiated contracts that represented the highest paid street artists, as well as the unique and unusual. All with integrity, foresight, and innovation. The result has been a history of success characterized by our far reaching vision, ability to identify those opportunities, create a precise plan, and with superior performance, successfully accomplish them. Our contracts are not only multi-million dollar types, but also legally brick clad. MEGATOYS stresses essential contractual rights in negotiation and assures their compliance. Most artists do not have the time or skill to manage both a career and the many businesses, commercial, legal and financial affairs that are so prevalent in the art world today. Our goal is to allow you to realize your full professional potential in order to ensure your financial security with long term prosperity. To this end, we derive a comprehensive personal financial planning service with the aforementioned vision and performance to move you forward with sustained financial growth as the objective. MEGATOYS assumes many important responsibilities for you to allow you to fully pursue your professional goals. Some of those responsibilities that we assume for you are; providing the services of budgeting, accounting, scheduling, tax planning, and bill payment. We can even help with your legal negotiations, if you are foolish enough to get caught by the police.
MEGATOYS emphasizes the full development and exploitation of your professional and commercial opportunities through personal services contracts, licensing and merchandising, endorsements, personal appearances, broadcasting, publishing, and corporate affiliations. We actively pursue these opportunities on an international plane to secure contracts for you in these areas. Once you have developed that “special” persona that transcends art into real life, there are major endorsement dollars and corporate affiliations that can easily triple your salary as your image is synonymous with excellence and consistency worldwide.
However, that’s only a small fraction of the total number of matters with which a professional street artist should be concerned. There are matters which go beyond your career as an active participant in the professional art world. It is these matters which work toward the building of a personal business empire to secure the financial future for yourself and your family.
It is therefore essential that you plan with MEGATOYS your financial career skillfully in anticipation of the day when you will no longer be an active artist and will turn to those careers and business interests which you have been able to establish with the notoriety and substantial income MEGATOYS acquired for you from professional arts, motion pictures, television, entertainment, publishing, literary, licensing, endorsements, sponsorships, and commercial advertising.
Jacko is already becoming pretty famous in the states...will he actually need MEGATOYS?
Dave, Prank Sky Media, Los Angeles, USA
Thanks again to all the friendly photographers we met in the US including Don Hankins, M Hogan 35 and William Hook.
For those unfamiliar with Jacko Vetti's work, we suggest you see this famous piece:
Turf Paradise opened its doors January 7, 1956, making Valley history as the first organized professional sports franchise in Arizona. Hosting only five owners in 50+ years Turf Paradise was purchased by Jerry Simms, a self-made successful valley businessman.
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
One of my favorite parts about being a teacher is when students enthusiastically blurt out in class, “I have an idea!” It’s fun to watch them get excited about an idea, and see them put that idea into action. To make sure everyone is comfortable sharing their ideas, we’ve come up with a policy in class called “Home Turf.” I borrowed the idea from a book I read a few years ago, Literature Circles, by Harvey Daniels.
Our Home Turf Policy says that our classroom is an official “no put-down zone,” and that we have to be respectful and supportive of one another. The goal is to make every student feel comfortable so they are willing to share their ideas. It’s essential to create a friendly environment in all classrooms. But it’s even more important in a classroom like ours where students are expected to collaborate in groups to create short films. To create the best work possible, all group members must be willing to share their thoughts, no matter how crazy they may be. I often tell them the crazier the idea, the better!
We’ve been working on our “Home Turf ” poster for the last few weeks. Last week, we managed to have a variety of students in different classes finish coloring it all in. I hung it in the entrance to our classroom on Friday afternoon. I’m happy with the way it turned out.
Don't forget to "like" Support EWU's Red Turf on facebook for all the latest updates on our beautiful new field!
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
Don't forget to "like" Support EWU's Red Turf on facebook for all the latest updates on our beautiful new field!
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
This is in the shed on my uncle's farm in County Offaly (or Tipperary according to some, it's a touchy subject!). The trailer is used to bring in the turf seen here that is still commonly used as a fuel source in Ireland for home heating after it is cut in the bog.
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St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.
Don't forget to "like" Support EWU's Red Turf on facebook for all the latest updates on our beautiful new field!
St Michael, Barton Turf, Norfolk
Here we are in the meadows and copses to the north of Wroxham on the quieter side of the Broads, and although Barton Turf sits beside Barton Broad its church is a way off alone in the fields, and you would not know that the water was anywhere near. The tall tower is a landmark for miles around, but closer to the trees in the sprawling churchyard huddle around it and reveal tantalising glimpses of the wide aisles and chancel as you cycle or walk up the zigzagging lanes. On a winter day with the rooks cruising around them the trees can make Barton Turf church seem rather a forbidding place, but in high summer they are as glorious as the building they guard.
The long path leads up to a fortress-like north porch, which in the past was not inappropriate because when I first came here at the start of the century the church was kept locked without a keyholder notice. On that occasion I had to make phone calls and jump through hoops to be given permission to borrow the key from one of the biggest houses of which I've ever knocked on the door. But for many years now St Michael has been open every day, and I do not recall what it was like before with intent to admonish the parish for their former behaviour, but simply to point out that circumstances change and you should never give up hope, for now this is one of the most welcoming churches in the area.
A wander around the churchyard reveals the sombre memorial against the south porch which remembers four young brothers who drowned in Barton Broad on Boxing Day 1781. To the west of the church a deeply cut memorial of the 1880s tells us that eleven year old Joseph Coleman was suddenly called from time into eternity at Norwich Hospital. Then you step through that grand north porch with its triple image niches into a wide open space full of light, for there is very little coloured glass here. Brick pamment floors sprawl beneath your feet, the nave and aisles filled with low 19th Century benches which are unfortunate but not intrusive. As if to complement the width of the church the font is a wide version of one of those traceried fonts common in these parts in the second half of the 14th Century, now sitting on a low modern pedestal, and perhaps you begin to get a sense of the harmony of the interior, as if calculated to reveal the full drama of the view to the east, for beyond the benches at the east end of the nave stands Barton Turf's great glory, the late 15th Century screen.
The structure sits beneath the chancel arch, its drama heightened by the way both aisles continue up to flank the chancel beyond. It is perhaps not as magnificent as the famous screen not far off at Ranworth, but the painting of the figures on the dado panels is generally considered amongst the finest in England. There are twelve figures, six on each side, and they depict three saints and nine of the Orders of Angels. It is these angels which almost stop the heart in wonder, for they are remarkable.
The north range features I: St Apollonia with her pincers and tooth, II: St Sitha with her household keys, and then four of the orders of angels: III: Powers, IV: Virtues, V: Dominations and VI: Seraphim. Partnering this last, the south range begins with VII: Cherubim, and then continues VIII: Principalities, IX: Thrones, X: Archangels and XI: Angels, before finishing with XII: St Barbara holding her tower. The orders of angels can also be found over the border in Suffolk at Southwold, Hitcham and Blundeston, but nothing like as good in quality. The exquisite beauty of the angels' faces is accentuated by the fact that two of them, Dominations (V) and Seraphim (VI), have their faces unrestored, and remain as they were when fundamentalist members of the congregation here scratched them out in response to the Injunctions against Images of the 1540s. Memorable too are the monstrous creature at the feet of Powers (III), the urine flask held by Principalities (VIII) and the naked sinners cosying up to Angels (XI).
The entrance to the south chancel aisle also has a screen, and it is curious. It features four kings, all easily recognisable. From the left they are Henry VI (considered a Saint by many in the late Middle Ages, but the Reformation intervened before his canonisation) St Edmund, St Edward the Confessor, and St Olaf of Norway. The quality is primitive compared with that of the roodscreen, and you might think it earlier if it were not for the inclusion of Henry VI, which gives us a terminus ante quem of 1471, suggesting that it is roughly contemporary with the roodscreen, and indeed we might think it later still, perhaps an early 16th Century attempt by locals to add to the glory of the adjacent screen. Of course, it is not impossible that it was placed elsewhere originally.
Collected fragments of 15th Century glass now reset as a panel in the south aisle include that popular late medieval image of angels peeling back the roof of the stable to see the Christ child, a fragment of a now-lost nativity scene. Perhaps it was broken up by the same enthusiastic 16th Century parishioners who defaced the screen. The fragments also include the triple-crowned head of St Gregory.
A not-wholly attractive cherub leans with an upturned torch, weeping beside a broken pillar on the 1787 memorial to Sarah Norris who lies, we are told, in the same vault which contains the bodies of her husband and son. It goes on to say that when she was deprived of an only son eminent for his virtues and abilities, her orphan nieces became the objects of her care and bounty. A broken pillar often represents a life cut short, but Sarah lived her full three score years and ten so perhaps in this case it was intended merely as a compliment.
A curiously undated, but obviously late 19th Century plaque at the west end records the gift by John Francis of the interest of £1100 in three percent consols to be expended in the purchase of clothing, bread and coals to be distributed during the winter of each year amongst the deserving poor of this parish who attend this church. Three per cent consols were a form of government borrowing that had been offered in 1855 providing a form of annuity for investors. Surprisingly, they were finally paid off as recently as 2015 by the coalition government.
John Francis's inscription goes on to tell us that he also in his lifetime inserted a beautiful stained glass window over the west door of this church in memory of the members of his family. This glass, by Ward & Hughes, is there today, and although we might wish it away so that clear light might play across the woodwork on a bright summer evening or a winter afternoon, it is by no means the worst work of that sometimes unfortunate workshop, and tucked away beneath the tower does not intrude too much.
On the day of the National Census of Religious Worship of 1851, the registrar John Dix gave a figure of 70 people who had made the journey across the fields to attend morning worship at Barton Turf, 30 of whom were scholars and thus for them attendance would have been compulsory. Dix added the note that I certify the foregoing return to be the best estimation I can make, so we might judge that it would not have been higher than this. Out of a parish population of 429 this is barely one in six, even if we include the scholars, which is rather low for east Norfolk. Meanwhile, 36 people stayed in the village to attend morning service at the Methodist chapel. It is likely that rather more than either of these two congregations were attending non-conformist services elsewhere, and were probably among the several hundred congregants at William Spurgeon's Baptist church a few miles off at Neatishead, for these were heady times for non-conformist worship, and the 19th Century Anglican revival in East Anglia was only just beginning.