CDV, 1870s, around 1873-75

Photographer: A. F. Czihak (1840 - 1883)

Wien (Vienna)

I. Bezirk (district)

Graben 22.

Activity: 1860s-1883

Gift from a dear Flickr-friend

de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Lewinsky

"Joseph Lewinsky, born Sept. 20, 1835, in Vienna; died there Feb. 27, 1907. Austrian actor.

Lewinsky began acting in 1855 in Austrian provincial theaters and made his debut in 1858 in the role of Franz Moor (The Robbers by Schiller) at the Vienna Burgtheater, where he worked for the rest of his career. He brought a philosophical approach to the villains and hypocrites he usually played, men who embodied the destructive force of evil—for example, Wurm in Cabal and Love by Schiller; Iago, Richard III, Polonius, and Shylock in Shakespeare’s Othello, Richard III, Hamlet, and The Merchant of Venice; Mephistopheles in Faust by Goethe; and Bishop Nicholas in The Pretenders by Ibsen.

Lewinsky stressed the importance of harmony between external and inner expressiveness and of speech patterns as part of precise and individualized characterizations. He toured Russia in 1895 and 1898 (St. Petersburg and Moscow) and praised the realistic art of the Malyi Theater.

References: Richter, H. J. Lewinsky. Vienna, 1926."

‪Don’t be a hypocrite spiritualcrusade.com/2019/01/dont-be-a-hypocrite.html via @spiritualcrusade ‪#lds #Gospel #spiritualcrusade #quote #quotes #quoteoftheday #mormon #christian #christ #jesus #mormonquotes #becauseofhim #jesuschrist #faith‬‬

Italian postcard by B.F.F. Edit. (Ballerini & Fratini, Firenze), no. 42440 bis. Photo: Scalera Film.

 

Paola Barbara (1912-1989) was an Italian actress who acted in over 60 films but also worked on stage and for television. She is best known for the film La peccatrice (1940) by Amleto Palermi.

 

Paola Barbara was born Paola Proto in Rome, in 1912. From the late 1930s to the late 1940s she was one the most popular and prolific actresses in Italy. Barbara’s career started with a small part in Campo di maggio (Giovacchino Forzano, 1935) and quickly became successful, as in the comedy Ammazzoni bianche (Gennaro Righelli, 1936), in which Barbara had the lead, opposite Sandro Ruffini, Enrico Viarisio, Doris Duranti, and Luisa Ferida. In the late 1930s, Barbara also founded her own stage company Gizzi-Barbara-Annicelli. In the mid-1930s Barbara was active at the Pisorno studios at Tirrenia, near Livorno, from the late 1930s on she mainly worked in Rome, e.g. at the Scalera studios. Barbara acted in many comedies by Guido Brignone, Mario Mattoli, Amleto Palermi, Giacomo Gentilomo, but also in dramas by Marco Elter, Raffaele Matarazzo, the adventure and spy story Lotte nell’ombra (Domenico Gambino, 1939), co-starring Antonio Centa, Silvana Jachino, and Renato Cialente, and the remake of the period piece, set in Venice: Il ponte dei sospiri (Mario Bonnard, 1940), with Barbara as the courtesan Imperiale, who out of jealousy falsely accuses her ex-lover Rolando Candiano (Otello Toso) of having murdered her husband. Already in 1921, a silent version of Il ponte dei sospiri (Domenico Gaido, 1924) had been made, with Luciano Albertini as Rolando and Antonietta Calderari as his jealous and vengeful ex.

 

Paola Barbara’s best and most acclaimed part was the lead in Amleto Palermi’s film La peccatrice (1940), about a naive provincial town girl whose hypocrite lover (Gino Cervi) has promised to marry her but dumps her when she is pregnant. Out of shame she runs away from home, loses her child, and becomes the nanny to a farmer’s family in another provincial town. There a new lover (Vittorio De Sica) treats her meanly, when he knows of her past, so runs away again. Moved to the city she is forced to become a prostitute. The death of another prostitute from the same brothel makes her realize the low depths of her life, so she returns to her mother in the countryside. There she meets the man who started all her misery, menaces him with a knife and expresses all her bitterness. Relieved, she leaves the inn. La peccatrice was already shot in 1938 but only released in Italy in September 1940, after being shown at the Venice film festival. Afterward it has been interpreted as a first, modest step towards Italian neorealism. The film was shot at the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, the Roman film academy, with sets by Antonio Valente, who taught scenography at the academy (1936-1968) and had also been the architect of the new building (opened 1940).

 

Barbara married director Primo Zeglio, who directed her in nine films. In 1943 they fled to Spain because of the war in Italy and stayed there until c. 1947. In Madrid, Zeglio first directed Barbara in Febbre (1943), and Accadde a Damasco (1943), but Barbara afterward also acted in various films by Spanish directors, such as Luis Marquina, Carlos Arevalos, Juan de Orduna, Rafael Gil, and Florian Rey. During their stay in Madrid, Barbara had the possibility to work on dubbing American films by 20th Century Fox, destined for the Italian market once the war would be over. She collaborated on the dubbing with Italian actors who were in Spain as well to act in Italo-Spanish productions, such as Emilio Cigoli, Anita Farra, Felice Romano, Nerio Bernardi, and Franco Coop. Films she helped dubbing were How Green Was My Valley, Charley’s Aunt, Suspect, The Sign of Zorro and The Shadow of a Doubt. Until 1949, Barbara alternated acting in Italy with films shot in Spain. Zeglio continued to direct her in several Italian productions, such as the epic Nerone e Messalina (1953), in which she played Nero’s mother Agrippina opposite Gino Cervi as Nero and Yvonne Sanson as Messalina.

 

While Paola Barbara's parts were still substantial in the 1950s, slowly they become less prominent in the 1960s, even in the films by her husband, such as the Western I quattri inesorabili/The Relentless Four (1965), starring Adam West. She also returned to the stage in the 1950s with her company Barbara-Tamberlani-Villa, and was successful in plays such as '...poi venne l'alba' (1956) and 'Processo di secondo instanza' (1967). Last film parts of Barbara were e.g. in Sidney Lumet’s psychological drama The Appointment (1969) starring Omar Sharif, the Western A Man Called Sledge (Vic Morrow 1971) starring James Garner, and Irene, Irene (Peter Del Monte 1975), starring Alain Cuny. Paola Barbara died in Anguillara Sabazia, in 1989.

 

Sources: Wikipedia (Italian, German and Italian), and IMDb.

 

And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

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Tagged by Aki. :)

 

1) 90% of my crew are named after anime characters that I adore. Only by doing this, can I bond or relate to them. They need not carry the same character traits but just the ‘feel’. And the names do not necessarily come before the character development. Sometimes, I buy a doll knowing what character I want and I search for names to suit that particular character. And their names must be Japanese. –roll eyes-

 

2) I totally dig short wigs on boys! The shorter the better! Whenever I see really nice trimmed wigs that show the ears, my brain goes on high alert! I dun really fancy long wigs on boys unless it suits the look. In fact, the MAIN reason I got Hijikata was his default wig. I just couldn’t get that wig out of my head the moment I saw him.

 

3) I can’t dress girls to save my butt. I always look on in envy at the lovely dresses, head gears and accessories that fellow doll collectors put on their girls. I can only appreciate the end results but I can’t visualize the process of the mix and match. It’s like I can never see a lone item or accessory and realize that this item can go well with another.

 

4) I get real satisfaction only from owning SD sized dolls. I luv how cute and adorable Yo-sds can be but I get bored of them after a while. I think it’s because my main draw of BJDs is an outlet of my fangirlism and I just do not have any crush or infatuation on any anime/manga kids. Haha. The same applies to girls. I get a lot lesser satisfaction from owning girls than boys. Kana is here because I really like Ami and I think It is kinda cool for Kaname to have a sister to protect while Megumi happens to be still in stock when I was queuing at the Sumika. She is still character-less.

–baps head-

 

5) Even after 3 yrs in the hobby, I am still self-conscious when I attend doll meets. I still try to avoid the very public areas in case I bump into other familiar faces who are not into BJDs. But it’s getting a lot better now! I think I developed a slightly more ‘heck-care’ attitude.

 

6) My crew must all be connected to one another. They can be siblings, step-siblings, colleagues, school-mates, ex-lovers or childhood friends etc. Somehow, one will be connected to the other by virtue of someone else. My crew is now categorized into 3 groups: Mafia, Models, Students. (maybe a possible Rockband in the near future).

 

7) I always dreamed of an international doll meet. How cool is that??!!! We can all meet up from all over the world and drool over the dolls and have lotsa fun! Imagine meeting the owners of the dolls you idolize??

 

8) I believe in being nice in this hobby. Hobbies are meant to be fun and enjoyable. It may come across as hypocritical to some but I strongly believe if you have nothing good to say, just shut it. This is my personal motto but it doesn’t mean I judge people for doing otherwise.

 

9) I am not a big fan of fantasy dolls and I do not see myself collecting them at all. But I do enjoy looking at pics of them.

 

10) I do not enjoy changing outfits for my crew nor do I change them frequently. Namely so because my crew are mainly character figures and hence, I do not have the ‘freedom’ to dress them in whatever I like. I am picky in the sense the outfits must match their characters. And since most of my crew are angsty characters, they are normally in black. –roll eyes- How lame can I get? Lol.

 

Thunder Alley became one of the main illegal street racing tracks in all of Chicago. It began with hot rods and muscle cars, on a straight circuit with very few turns. There are three shortcuts to the finish line: The dock yards, the train tracks (for muscle cars, the hypercars are too low to run on them.) and the train dockings.

 

Thirty years later, when America started making hypercars, they also joined in much to the disappointment of the muscle enthusiasts and fans of the tougher, bigger, less sleek and more powerful hunks of metal. However, they seemed to be grudgingly accepted, and now almost a third of the racers there are hypercars. It's still mostly muscle, though.

 

Appaloosa founders race here sometimes. The government doesn't know about it... except for a few trusty friends who happen to be cops. Good cops, though. Not the hypocritical kind who will park badly and give you a ticket for the same thing. ;P

 

enjoy! :)

John F Kennedy quotation, 26 February 1962.

 

*JFK advises Joe Biden to allow Assange to publish the truth. Although if anyone reads Patrick J. Sloyan's "The Politicis of Deception: JFK's Secret Decisions on Vietnam, Civil Rights and Cuba," they might feel the late president's words and advice to be a little hypocritical.

 

On Monday 20 May 2024, Julian Assange attended the Royal Courts of Justice in central London to face a crucial appeal hearing against his extradition to the United States where he faces up to 175 years in prison for the crime of reporting the truth about US government crimes, particularly war crimes during Washington's so-called war on terror. The two judges did not appear to be convinced by United States assurances that Assange would be allowed First Amendment protections nor assurances that he would not face discrimination as a non-US citizen, and he was granted leave to appeal the extradition.

 

truthout.org/articles/in-a-victory-for-assange-and-first-...

 

After the hearing Assange was taken back to Belmarsh prison in South East London, sometimes referred to as " "Britain's Guantanamo Bay." He has been held there since April 2019.

 

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Hang in there Kim, you're getting a ride straight to heaven. Billy Graham may not make it, but you will.

Would a Perry v. Obama Contest Be a Confederacy v. Union Rematch?, By Adele M. Stan

 

The history books tell us that the U.S. Civil War ended in 1865, with the surrender of the Confederacy at Appomattox. But underlying the present dynamics of American politics is an uneasy sense that the war never really ended -- and the Confederacy never quite surrendered.

 

President Barack Obama often looks to the presidency of Abraham Lincoln for inspiration; Texas Gov. Rick Perry, frontrunner for the Republican presidential nomination, once named Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee as one of the historical personages he'd like to include at a fantasy dinner party. At Perry's 2007 gubernatorial inauguration celebration, rocker Ted Nugent performed wearing a shirt emblazoned with the Confederate flag emblem.

 

Should Perry win the GOP presidential nomination, an obvious subtext of the presidential contest will be "Confederacy v. Union -- The Rematch." And, at the visual level, the theme will be conveniently reinforced by each man's respective race.

 

Earlier this week, Perry delivered a speech from the stage of the 10,000-seat amphitheater at Liberty University, the evangelical institution founded by the late Rev. Jerry Falwell, one of the early leaders of the religious right and an opponent of school desegregation. "When God has drawn a line of distinction, we should not attempt to cross that line," Falwell told his flock in 1958, according to a report by Sarah Posner for AlterNet.

 

In introducing Perry to the Liberty U audience this week, Falwell's son, Jerry Jr., lauded the Texas governor "for having the guts to say things that weren't exactly politically correct, like when Gov. Perry said Texas might secede one day from the union."

 

Indeed, Perry made such intimations more than once during the rancorous debate over the president's health-care reform legislation. At the time, Tea Party leaders were vociferously talking up the 10th Amendment to the Constitution, which reserves to the states all powers not enumerated within the document, as the means for challenging the health-care bill's mandate for individual purchase of health insurance. The impetus for all the 10th Amendment love comes from states' rights advocates, often known as Tenthers, many of whom view the Civil War as the result of unlawful usurpation of power from the states by the federal government.

 

. . . Conservative culture in the South, unlike the conservative culture of the Big Sky West, is deeply rooted in the Civil War and its aftermath. Deep resentment courses through the veins of conservative Southerners for feeling that the pooh-bahs of the North, wearing a mantle of moral superiority on the matters of slavery and civil rights for African Americans, hypocritically shame Southerners for their history.

 

It's not as if the North is exactly clean on these matters. One only need summon up the history of school desegregation in Boston, or the memory of the 1967 riots in Newark, N.J., to know that. Nor was the cause of abolition one universally shared in the North prior to the Civil War. Northern industrialists and retailers relied on the commodities delivered by the hands of slaves -- cotton, rice, tobacco -- to fuel their factories and marketplaces.

 

With economic power concentrated in the Northeast, the states of the old Confederacy felt themselves pushed around by a power that would deprive it even of its hagiographic history of the glories of its war heroes -- heroes who fought, of course, to preserve the institution of slavery, and the preservation of a less-than-human status for African Americans.

 

. . . For some, Rick Perry represents a different dream than America as a "shining city on a hill." For them, Perry victorious would mean nothing less than the South as a phoenix in the form of an eagle, rising from the ashes of a short-lived and fallen nation. Tomorrow, after all, is another day.

Company E, 13th Kentucky Infantry

Independence Daily Reporter, Monday, November 29, 1915:

     

DEATH CALLS E. P. ALLEN

Prominent Banker Dies Suddenly Saturday Evening

 

SICK ONLY FEW DAYS

 

An Old Resident of County and Prominent in Business Life Over 40 Years

     

Tribute of Respect

 

Mr. Editor: I deem it indeed a privilege, as your request, to pay a tribute to our common friend, Edward P. Allen, with whom I have been daily associated for so long a time.

 

It is not my purpose to pronounce an extended eulogy upon the character, life and services of the man whose death we so profoundly regret. No words of praise, no arch of victory, no monumental pile is needed to endear him to the people of his time. The story of his useful and honorable career illumines our brightest ideals of success and the well-earned fruits of his incessant labors give luster to his name and worth and will perpetuate his memory.

 

Mr. Allen was a man of activity and industry unsurpassed in public, professional or private life. The secret of his success lay in willing work and tireless toil. In the councils of his fellowmen, he earned and kept the leading part. He easily became a distinguished figure in his county’s history. Alike above corruption and suspicion, he bore himself with that dignity and uprightness which command attention and respect. The shafts of malice and of envy fell idle against his impenetrable armor. Sincere in his convictions, he despised shams, false pretenses and hypocritical professions. He thought for himself and spoke what he thought. He was loyal to his own convictions. Friendship could not swerve him from the path of duty. Enemies did not daunt him. He was an open, honorable, manly foe; he knew his enemies—his enemies knew him; yet he was a loyal, true and constant friend.

 

Mr. Allen was a marked financial success – the sole architect of his own fortune. Yet to his beloved wife and family he has left more than his splendid estate—he has left them with a legacy, greater, better and grander far than any earthly treasure—the legacy of a good name, a reputation untarnished, an integrity unimpaired. R. S. Litchfield.

     

E. P. Allen, one of the oldest residents and most highly respected citizens of this city, who has for more that forty years been identified with the business, official and social life of this community, suddenly passed away at his home, 301 South Fourth street, Saturday evening at 5:00 o’clock.

 

White it has been apparent the past few months to Mr. Allen’s intimate friends that his health was failing it was not until a week ago when he was suddenly attacked with what was considered acute indigestion at his office in the First National Bank that any symptoms of a sudden breakdown were apparent. Even though at this time his suffering was intense and there was some evidence of something more serious than indigestion, he rallied from the effects of the attack after he was taken to his home, and during the last week he became so much better that on Saturday he told President Litchfield of the bank that he would be found in his accustomed place at the bank Monday morning. He seemed very much better Saturday. A few minutes before he died he stepped out onto the porch. On returning to the room where his wife and his sister, Mrs. Ella M. Reed, were sitting, he sank down in to a chair and his head suddenly dropped forward. Mrs. Allen spoke to him and hastened to his side. He made no answer, the power of speech was gone forever. In the twinkling of an eye the last spark of life has gone out from the body of this active man, after an eventful career, marked by patient test, pronounced achievement and exemplary performance of all the duties of life, as citizen, husband, father, and friend.

 

Edward Payson Allen was born in Green county, Ky., January 3, 1843, and at the time of his death was 72 years, 10 months and 24 days old. He was the son of William B and Huldah (Wilcox) Allen. The Allens came orginally from the north of Ireland; they emigrated from the old country about 1630, and finally settled in Rockridge county, Va., establishing the American branch of the family. Edward’s great grandfather, John Allen, and his oldest parental great uncle, Robert Allen, were soldiers in the Revolutionary war, and at the close of the struggle for American Independence left Virginia, crossed the mountains and became pioneers of Kentucky. David Allen, grandfather of the deceased, settled in Kentucky in 1784. During the war of 1812 he served in the American army against England. Mr. Allen’s father, William B., was a native of Kentucky and by profession a lawyer, and for many years successfully practiced law at Greensburg, Ky., where he pasted his life. He was a Royal Arch Mason and was once a Grand Master of the grand lodge of Kentucky. Huldah Wilcox, Edward’s mother, was a descendant of old Puritan stock. She was born in Kentucky and was the mother of six children who reached maturity.

 

Mr. Allen obtained a good, practical education in the private schools of Greensburg, Ky., which he attended until 18 years old, when, although a lad he responded to the call for volunteers at the beginning of the Civil war and enlisted in the Thirteenth Kentucky Infantry, Company E, as first sergeant. The regiment saw its first service in Kentucky and participated in the battles of Mill Springs, Shiloh, Perryville, Stone River and many minor engagements and skirmishes.

 

Mr. Allen was promoted three months after his enlistment to lieutenant and was discharged as such at Louisville, Ky., at the expiration of three years. Soon after the close of the war he was engaged in the mercantile business at Matoon, Illinois, where he remained until 1867. That year he returned to Greenburg, Ky., where he conducted a store for two years and then returned to Matoon, Illinois, from which place he started overland on his journey to Kansas, as there were few railroads west of the Mississippi, arriving in this county with his wife and oldest child in 1870. On October 16 of that year he took up a claim near Clear creek, in section 31-33-16, where as a farmer he began his career in Kansas. On this claim he built a rude house which still stands. He experienced all the trials and hardships of the early pioneer farmers.

 

In 1873 he located in Independence and accepted a clerkship in one of the stores and was connected with the mercantile establishments of the city until October 5, 1877, when he was nominated for register of deeds on the Democratic ticket and notwithstanding that his political party was in the minority the following month he was elected by several hundred majority. Mr. Allen’s personal popularity won him this election and a re-election in 1879. His four years service in this office was marked by efficiency and a faithful performance of duty, and he retired with credit in 1882.

 

Then for two years he engaged in the insurance and brokerage business. In 1885 he became a director of the First National Bank, and the following year he bought the interest of the cashier of the institution. The management reorganized and Mr. Allen was the unanimous choice for president. He served as the efficient executive of the bank until 1905, when he resigned the presidency but remained on the board of directors. For nearly a score of years Mr. Allen served as president of the bank, and largely due to his conservative, comprehensive business methods is the solid foundation on which rests this big banking institution which is today one of the largest and most substantial banks in the state. Mr. Allen was succeeded by R. S. Litchfield as president of the bank but he never lost his keen interest in its welfare and it was a source of considerable satisfaction to hem when he saw the bank’s business expand and grow, year after year, the deposits of less than $100,000 when he assumed personal management growing to more than $2,500,000.

 

In addition to his banking business in this city Mr. Allen was vice president of the Caney Valley National bank of Caney, Kan., and a director of the Home National bank of Longton, Kan. He also invested largely in good farm land and had other commercial interests of a sound character.

 

E. P. Allen’s death will be deeply deplored in Masonic circles where his activities have evoked countless testimonials to his splendid character and his devotion to fraternal duty. He was past master of Fortitude Lodge No. 107, A. F. & M., past high priest of Keystone Chapter No. 22, Royal Arch Masons, and had officiated for a quarter of a century as recorder of St. Bernard Commandery No. 10, Knights Templar, of which he was past eminent commander.

 

Mr. Allen was to have presided tonight at a meeting of matrons and patrons of Eva Chapter No. 18, Order of Eastern Star, of which he was worthy patron.

 

On May 2, 1865, Mr. Allen was united in marriage with Mary F. Vansant, in Cole county, Illinois, and the happily united couple this year celebrated their golden wedding, surrounded by their family and intimate friends. Mr. Allen is survived by his wife and four daughters; Mrs. James F. Blackledge of Caney, Mrs. R. W. Cates of this city, Mrs. H. H. Kahn of Coffeyville, and Mrs. Glen H. Amsbury of Longton, and two sisters, Mrs. Ella M. Reed of Rock Island, Illinois, and Mrs. C. B. Johnson of Louisville, Kentucky. The former was a guest at his home when the last sad summons came so suddenly. He had ten grandchildren, in whom he took a great interest and a pardonable pride.

 

Mr. Allen was in the largest sense a self made man. He forged ahead by his own ability and determination and held an enviable position in popular esteem and respect. He was an affable gentleman and an interesting companion. A man of sound judgment and clear thinking his advice was largely sought and his opinion on a business proposition high valued. As a soldier his services to his country were early recognized by promotion; as a pioneer he met the vicissitudes of frontier life with courage and fortitude and contributed his share to laying the foundation for the great social and civic structure that is now the pride of the people of this section; as a public official he was accommodating and served the people in a manner that he retired with their confidence and esteem; as the successful businessman and banker he was the same plain, straightforward man and honest citizen and pleasant gentleman, performing the larger duties that came with wealth and station with that high regard for right and justice and clear comprehension of essentials and details and fidelity to trust that marked his whole career. He achieved success by frugality, economy and wise investment. His intimate friends have heard him relate how he always managed to live with his income and save a little when he was living on a salary of $35 a month. It was no accidental turn in the wheel of fortune that brought him business success but the result of industrious effort, economy and a strict adherence to sound business principles and upright and honorable living. He gave freely of his time and means to promote these things he believed of benefit to society.

 

His death came as a great shock to his family and the community. For more than forty years he has mingled daily with the people of this community in the business circles, society and the lodge and church, being an active and influential member of the Presbyterian church of this city. He has left an honored name and an example that young men starting out in life can study with profit and emulate with advantage.

 

The funeral will take place from the family residence at 301 South Fourth street at 2 o’clock Tuesday afternoon. The services will be in charge of ST. Bernard Commandary, Knights Templar. The funeral address will by made by Dr. S. S. Katey of Topeka, former pastor of the Presbyterian church of this city. All friends are invited.

 

The body will lie in state at the family residence from 10 to 12 o’clock Tuesday and all who desire to do so can call during those hours and view the remains.

   

The Evening Star, Monday, November 29, 1915, Pg. 1:

   

THE HAND OF DEATH SUDDENLY FALLS UPON E. P. ALLEN, VETERAN BANKER AND PIONEER CITIZEN

 

End Came Saturday Evening Following a Brief Illness

WAS THOUGHT TO BE CONVALESCING—CAME TO MONTGOMERY COUNTY IN 1870 AND SETTLED ON CLAIM—PROMINENT CHURCH MAN, INFLUENTIAL MASON AND ONE OF COUNTY’S ABLEST FINANCIERS.

   

E. P. Allen, vice president of the First National Bank, and for 45 years an active and influential figure in the affairs of Independence and Montgomery county, died suddenly about 5 o’clock Saturday evening at the family residence, 301 South Fourth street. His death was wholly unexpected and was a shock to the entire city. The happy Saturday night crowds were saddened by the intelligence as it filtered through various channels to the public, for Mr. Allen was a genial, modest, neighborly gentleman who was a friend t6o all, and who, in the 45 years of his identification with Montgomery county affairs, had been the personal adviser and helper of thousands.

 

Mr. Allen, a week ago Saturday, while at work at his bank, was stricken with an attack of indigestion. He was subject to such attacks and had apparently rallied, so that no particular uneasiness was felt by his family. Saturday afternoon he had been up and about the house and yard. A few minutes before his death he had picked up a newspaper and gone to the porch. After a few minutes outside he came into the house, sat down, gasped a few times and died. Mrs. Ella Reed, his sister, saw that the was desperately ill and summoned Dr. J. T. Davis, but although the doctor was close at hand and promptly responded the veteran baker was beyond earthly aid when he arrived. R. S. Litchfield, president of the First National Bank, and long time associate in business of Mr. Allen, also reached the side of his comrade soon after the alarm was sent out, but too late to see him alive.

 

Mr. Allen is survived by his wife and four daughters, Mrs. J. F. Blackledge of Caney, Mrs. R. W. Cates of this city, Mrs. H. H. Kahn of Coffeyville, and Mrs. Glen Amabury of Longton, Kas., and a sister, Mrs. Ella Reed of Rock Island, Ill.

 

The deceased had long been a pillar of the Presbyterian church, an influential figure in politics, one of the strongest financial figures in the county, and a very prominent member of the Masonic order. He was born in Green county, KY., January 3, 1843, the son of Attorney and Mrs. William B. Allen, also natives of Kentucky. Mr. Allen gained an education in the schools of Greenburg, Ky., and when the war between the north and the south came on he listed in 1861 in Company E, Thirteenth Kentucky Infantry, as first sergeant. He rose to the rank of lieutenant and served three years in the army, being in many notable battles. It has given him great pleasure in later years to foregather with the old boys who wore the blue and recount the bitter struggles of that period.

 

After the close of the war Mr. Allen went to Mattoon, Ill., and engaged in the mercantile business, but soon became infected with the Kansas fever and came to this state Oct. 16, 1870. He located in Montgomery county and settled upon a claim on Clear creek, which he farmed for two years, abandoning farming to take up the mercantile business in Independence, then a frontier trading post. In 1877 he was elected register of deeds on the democratic ticket, for though he had fought for the union he was always a stanch adherent of the principle of the democratic party. He drew a heavy vote outside of party lines, however, and so efficiently did he serve that he was re-elected in 1879. Leaving the office at the end of his second term Mr. Allen took advantage of the extensive acquaintance he had formed to embark in the insurance and loan business, and that brought him into contact with the officers of the First National Bank, whose stockholders made him a director in 1885. The next year they made him president and for seventeen years he piloted that institution through good times and bad, by his strength of character, probity and business sagacity, adding to the strength of the banking house. Feeling the need for a lightening of the burdens bearing upon his shoulders Mr. Allen in 1904 sold a controlling interest in the bank to Royal S. Litchfield of New York, who had been attracted to Independence because of its relation to the oil field and its promise as an industrial and financial center. Mr. Allen, however, continued as a director of the bank and was in harness almost to the day of his death. He had the pleasure of seeing the deposits of the institution rise from the modest trust of a country bank to more than two and a half million dollars.

 

As heretofore stated Mr. Allen was prominently identified with the Masonic order, and was to have presided as past patron at a special meeting of the Order of the Eastern Star at the Masonic temple this evening. He was past master of Fortitude Lodge No. 107, A. F. & A. M., past high priest of Keystone chapter, No. 22, Royal Arch Masons, and had officiated for a quarter of a century as recorder of St. Bernard commandery, No. 10, Knights Templar.

 

The deceased has always been in the forefront of every moment calculated to advance the interests of the community, morally or financially, and though always unassuming no man’s counsel was more highly valued. For many years he was an officer of the Presbyterian church; there, too, he was a stanch and true adviser and worker.

 

In addition to the First National Bank, he was interested in a bank at Caney and had other large financial interests, as well as one of the best farms in the Verdigris bottoms. At heart Mr. Allen was a good deal of a farmer and this Verdigris valley land was a source of pride and pleasure. Though an able and successful business man Mr. Allen was essentially domestic in his tastes and noting gave him greater pleasure than the annual gatherings of his children and grandchildren under the family roof tree.

 

To those who will know his cheering presence no more in this life the sincere sympathy of the community, county wide, is extended.

 

The funeral will be held tomorrow afternoon from the Allen residence, 301 South Fourth street, under the auspices of the Knights Templar and Grand Army of the Republic, with Rev. S. S. Estey, of Topeka, in charge of the services.

 

Contributed by Mrs. Maryann Johnson a Civil war researcher and a volunteer in the Kansas Room of the Independence Public Library, Independence, Kansas.

 

A Standard History of Kansas and Kansans, written and compiled by William E. Connelley, Secretary of the Kansas State Historical Society, Topeka. Chicago: Lewis Publishing Company, copyright 1918; transcribed October, 1997.

 

EDWARD PAYSON ALLEN. One of the most conspicuous figures in the financial and civic life of Southern Kansas was removed with the death of Edward Payson Allen at his home in Independence, November 27, 1915. He had already passed the age of three score and ten and with many ripe achievements to his credit and with the honorable associations of a long and useful life he went to his reward. He was a Civil war veteran, a pioneer in Montgomery County, Kansas, had filled public offices and had long borne the responsibilities of managing one of the largest banks in the state.

 

His worthy ancestry no doubt was a contributing factor to his own life and character. His great-grandfather and another member of the family had fought as Revolutionary soldiers, in the struggle for independence. After the close of the war this great-grandfather and some of his brothers emigrated out of Virginia and established homes on the western frontier in Kentucky. The Allens were originally from the north of Ireland and had settled in Rockbridge County, Virginia, as early as 1630. David Allen, grandfather of the late Independence banker, was born in Rockbridge County, Virginia, October 16 1773, and went to Kentucky with his father about 1783. He served with the Kentucky troops in the War of 1812, and died in Green County, Kentucky, in 1816. Thus members of the Allen family participated in practically every war in which this nation has been engaged.

 

The father of Edward P. Allen was William B. Allen, who was born in Green County, Kentucky, in 1803 and spent his life at Greensburg, Kentucky. He was a lawyer by profession, being a graduate of a seminary at Nashville, Tennessee, and of a law school. He was very prominent in Masonry, at one time served as grand master of the grand lodge of Kentucky. William B. Allen married Huldah Wilcox. She was born in Massachusetts of Puritan ancestry. Her forefathers had settled in New England during the seventeenth century. Her father Eli Wilcox possessed all the sturdy traits of the typical New Englander. William B. Allen and wife had the following children: Martha; Jennie, who married A. B. Nibbs; Harriet B., who married John Cunningham of Coles County, Illinois; Edward P.; Mary, who married William Hunter; and Ella M., who is the only one of the children still living and is the widow of George W. Reed, her home being at Rock Island, Illinois.

 

Edward Payson Allen was born in Green County, Kentucky, January 3, 1843. He received all the advantages of the schools at Greensburg, Kentucky, but at the age of eighteen in 1861 enlisted for service in the Union army as a member of Company E of the Thirteenth Kentucky Infantry, under Colonel Hobson. He was made first sergeant, and after three months was promoted to a lieutenancy, and bore that rank when he received his honorable discharge after three years at Louisville, Kentucky. He fought in some of the great campaigns of the war, was at Mills Springs, at Shiloh, Perryville, Stone River and many minor engagements and skirmishes. In later years he enjoyed the associations of his old comrades in the war and took a very prominent part in Grand Army affairs. After the war Mr. Allen went to Illinois and was engaged in merchandising at Mattoon until 1867. Then returning to his native town in Kentucky he opened a store and was in business there for two years following this he again went to Coles County, Illinois, and was a merchant at Mattoon until the fall of 1870. On the 16th of October of that year he arrived in Montgomery County, Kansas. This county was then on the frontier and the only activities to attract a man were homesteading and reclaiming a portion of the wilderness for farming purposes. He took a claim on Section 31, Township 33, Range 16, and long after he had attained a high position in financial affairs the little cabin he erected there was standing as a memorial of his days of poverty and hardship. He bore adversities unflinching and struggled for two years in order to make a living out of his land. In 1873 he gave up his farm and moved to the new Town of Independence, where he again resumed the business which was more to his liking, merchandising

 

Throughout his career Mr. Allen was a Kentucky democrat. He was always loyal to that party, and in Montgomery County his personal popularity always exceeded the party strength. In 1877 he was elected register of deeds of the county. It was a special tribute to his personality and ability since there were several hundred more republicans in the county than democrats. In 1879 he was re-elected and gave an administration which satisfied democrats and republicans alike. During these two terms he bore the burdens of the office almost alone, and set a standard of official performance that few of his successors have equaled. In the meantime he had acquired an extensive acquaintance over the county, and with this prestige he set up in the insurance and brokerage business with an office at the corner of Main and Sixth streets.

 

The late Mr. Allen was essentially a financier. He had the rare ability and judgment which make the true banker. He was conservative in temper, and was always strictly business, though a sympathetic personality always mingled with his financial transactions. He was first a patron and afterwards a stockholder in the First National Bank of Independence, and in 1885 was elected a director. In 1886 he bought the interests of the cashier of the bank and with the reorganization of the institution was elected its president, an office he filled with exceptional ability until June 1, 1904, a period of about eighteen years. In that time his judgment and ability were impressed upon the bank so as to make it one of the safest and most conservative institutions in Southern Kansas. In 1904 he sold a controlling interest to the late R. S. Litchfield; but continued as a director of the bank and looked after its loans and also his private interests until his death. During more than thirty years of connection with the institution he saw its deposits rise to more than $2,500,000.

 

His position as a banker and citizen is well summarized in the following brief quotation from a former publication: "The First National Bank of Independence was fortunate in having for eighteen years for its executive head a man of such wide and varied experience, of such unerring judgment and a gentleman of such popular personal traits as Mr. Allen. He came to Montgomery County almost with the earliest, and embodied in his career as a citizen here experience as a farmer, merchant, public official and financier, all of which stations he honored and in all of which he displayed a rational aptitude and adaptation, passing from one to another as a reward of industry and indicating the favor and confidence of his fellow citizens."

 

Mr. Allen was also interested in a bank at Caney and had extensive financial interests in other directions. He owned one of the best farms in the Verdigris bottoms, and took a great deal of pride and pleasure in the management of his farm lands. He was also identified with every movement calculated to advance the welfare of his community, was active in the Commercial Club, an officer and worker in the Presbyterian Church, and was one of the oldest and most prominent members of the Masonic order in Southern Kansas. He took his first degrees in Masonry in 1864, and was long associated with Fortitude Lodge No. 107, Ancient Free and Accepted Masons, at Independence, with Keystone Chapter No. 22, Royal Arch Masons, and for a quarter of a century was recorder of St. Bernard Commandery No. 10, Knights Templar. He was past patron of the Order of Eastern Star and a charter member of the Grand Army of the Republic. The Knights Templar and Grand Army of the Republic were both represented at his funeral, and as a tribute to his financial leadership all the banks of the city were closed on the afternoon of his burial.

 

On May 2, 1865, a little more than half a century before his death, Mr. Allen married Mary F. Vansant. Mr. Allen was always thoroughly a home man, and found his greatest pleasure with his wife and children and in the recurring annual occasions when both children and grandchildren gathered at his home. Mr. and Mrs. Allen were married in Coles County, Illinois. Mrs. Allen, who still occupies the fine old family home on South Fourth Street in Independence, was born August 27, 1846, in Fleming County, Kentucky. Her father, Isaiah Vansant, was born at Flemingsburg, Kentucky, December 9, 1815, and died there April 17, 1854. His business was that of farmer and stock man, he was a whig in politics, and an active member of the Presbyterian Church. Isaiah Vansant married Martha Jane Darnall, who was born in Flemingsburg, Kentucky, December 17, 1820, and died at Independence, Kansas, May 9, 1905. Mrs. Allen was the fourth among their five children, the others being: Cynthia, who resides at Hutchinson, Kansas, the wife of J. W. Brady, who is now retired and was formerly a bookkeeper and collector, and for many years connected with the banking institutions; Margaret, who died in Covington, Kentucky, was the wife of A. L. Scudder, who is an express messenger and lives at Covington; Amanda, who resides at Mrs. Allen's home in Independence; and Elizabeth, who died at Natick, Massachusetts, the wife of H. L. Balcom, a hardware merchant, who is also deceased.

 

Mrs. Allen's grandfather Aaron Vansant, was born in Pennsylvania, was reared and was married there to Margaret Keith, who was also a native of that state, and they settled early in Kentucky, where both of them died. The Vansants were originally from Holland and settled in Pennsylvania in colonial days. Mrs. Allen is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and all her daughters belong to that order, the latter having acquired two bars in that organization, and when the records are complete they will have six bars. The daughters received admission through Francis Barrett on their father's side. Francis Barrett was a Revolutionary soldier, a native of Virginia, and served with the Virginia troops in the war. He was born in 1762, was a farmer after the war, a member of the Baptist Church, and died at Greensburg, Kentucky, July 6, 1833. Francis Barrett married Elizabeth Lowry, and they lived both in Virginia and Kentucky.

 

Mrs. Allen's Revolutionary ancestor was her great-great-grandfather Alexander Givens, who came from Ireland to America, served in the Revolution, and afterwards spent his remaining years in Nicholas County, Kentucky. Mrs. Allen's maternal grandfather was William Givens, a native of Pennsylvania, and a farmer in Fleming County, Kentucky, where he died in 1846. William Givens married Mary Shields.

 

Mrs. Allen's children and grandchildren are as follows: Mattie H. was graduated in the classical course from Oswego College, and is now the wife of James F. Blackledge, a banker at Caney, Kansas; their children are: Ralph, who died young; Pauline, wife of Dr. Fillis of Chicago, Illinois; Gwynne, in the automobile and electrical supply business at Caney; and Mercedes, a student in the high school at Caney. Edith the second daughter, graduated from Baird's School at Clinton, Missouri, with the degree A. B, and took post graduate work in the Kansas State University and is now the wife of R. W. Cates, who is cashier of the First National Bank of Independence, their children are Catherine and Allen, both attending school. Lillian, the third daughter, graduated from the Montgomery County High School and is now the wife of H. H. Kahn, an oil operator living at Coffeyville; their two children, both in school, are Irene and Margaret. Annie, the fourth and youngest daughter, graduated from the Montgomery County High School and married Glen Amesbury, who is a banker at Longton, Kansas they also have two children, George Allen and Clifton, both now in school.

 

Mrs. Allen besides her beautiful residence at 301 South Fourth Street owns several other improved properties and has two fine farms in Montgomery County.

Wake me up, wake me up!

I can't remember when enough was enough.

I used to be so in love

with this life I live before it was corrupt.

 

Take me back to the me that wanted this more than anything,

the me that said I would give up everything

just to live one night in the life I'm questioning.

 

Where is the inspiration I need?

How could I hate this? I used to crave this!

I tell my stories as a form of release.

I need them just as much as they need me.

 

I always said I'd never waste a single second of this,

but sometimes I find myself slipping through the cracks.

How could I be such a hypocrite?

 

I think about it all so far;

what we've been through,

who we were, who we are.

These days the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

I never thought it would be this hard.

 

They come to me

to show them how they're supposed to be.

I don't want to let them down.

Lord give me the answers they seek,

The strength to give to the weak.

Give me the desire to plant the seed.

This is so much bigger than me.

I think I'm in over my head.

This sexy beast is available in Malaysia and Singapore according to this Eurobricks thread. This was the one major mech missing from the initial wave, and the one I was looking forward to getting the most. I realize that sounds incredibly hypocritical considering I’m trying to liquidate my...

 

www.fbtb.net/the-lego-ninjago-movie/2017/10/30/coles-quak...

Visit this location in Second Life

"The world turned upside down" depicts life in a typical village it is an illustration of the folly of mankind. I have put a note on a few of the nearly 100 proverbs that are known to be depicted in this complex work. Some do not translate exactly, but one can get an idea of what's going on. It strikes me that very little has changed in four hundred years. This is a copy by Brueghel the younger of his father's work which was in Berlin.

so many associations with the words "fan" and "cool" . . .

depending on the circumstances and the weather, I presume!

 

My sister from Greece is in the states, and soon will be coming for a visit.

We're not fans of oysters, but she is, so we'll take her to a few specialty oyster spots!

Thus, the following quotation brought smiles!

 

“If you don't love life you can't enjoy an oyster;

there is a shock of freshness to it

and intimations of the ages of man,

some piercing intuition of the sea

and all its weeds and breezes.

[They] shiver you for a split second.”

~ Eleanor Clark ~

 

“A smile is the lighting system of the face,

the cooling system of the head

and the heating system of the heart.”

~ anon ~

 

“I'm from Iowa, we don't know what cool is!”

~ Ashton Kutcher ~

 

Petrov was right.

[13:39] TRACKER v2.2: mastersinn is offline.

[13:39] TRACKER v2.2: kirimia is online

 

Don't be a hypocrite to acusse others to be an alt...

 

Visit this location at Helder in Second Life

"Unzeitgemäße Zeitgenossen” ("Untimely Contemporaries"), by Bernd Göbel. Five caricatures on a bar on a pillar representing hypocritical Communist East Germany figures.

So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality’s house for help: but, behold, when he was got now hard by the hill, it seemed so high, and also that side of it that was next the way-side did hang so much over, that Christian was afraid to venture further, lest the hill should fall on his head; wherefore there he stood still, and wotted not what to do. Also his burden now seemed heavier to him than while he was in his way. There came also flashes of fire, Ex. 19:16, 18, out of the hill, that made Christian afraid that he should be burnt: here therefore he did sweat and quake for fear. Heb. 12:21. And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr. Worldly Wiseman’s counsel; and with that he saw Evangelist coming to meet him, at the sight also of whom he began to blush for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer and nearer; and coming up to him, he looked upon him, with a severe and dreadful countenance, and thus began to reason with Christian.

Evangelist: What doest thou here, Christian? said he: at which words Christian knew not what to answer; wherefore at present he stood speechless before him. Then said Evangelist farther, Art not thou the man that I found crying without the walls of the city of Destruction?

Christian: Yes, dear sir, I am the man.

Evangelist: Did not I direct thee the way to the little wicket-gate?

Christian: Yes, dear sir, said Christian.

Evangelist: How is it then thou art so quickly turned aside? For thou art now out of the way.

Christian: I met with a gentleman so soon as I had got over the Slough of Despond, who persuaded me that I might, in the village before me, find a man that could take off my burden.

Evangelist: What was he?

Christian: He looked like a gentleman, and talked much to me, and got me at last to yield: so I came hither; but when I beheld this hill, and how it hangs over the way, I suddenly made a stand, lest it should fall on my head.

Evangelist: What said that gentleman to you?

Christian: Why, he asked me whither I was going; and I told him.

Evangelist: And what said he then?

Christian: He asked me if I had a family; and I told him. But, said I, I am so laden with the burden that is on my back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as formerly.

Evangelist: And what said he then?

Christian: He bid me with speed get rid of my burden; and I told him it was ease that I sought. And, said I, I am therefore going to yonder gate, to receive farther direction how I may get to the place of deliverance. So he said that he would show me a better way, and short, not so attended with difficulties as the way, sir, that you set me in; which way, said he, will direct you to a gentleman’s house that hath skill to take off these burdens: so I believed him, and turned out of that way into this, if haply I might be soon eased of my burden. But when I came to this place, and beheld things as they are, I stopped, for fear (as I said) of danger: but I now know not what to do.

Evangelist: Then said Evangelist, Stand still a little, that I show thee the words of God. So he stood trembling. Then said Evangelist, “See that ye refuse not Him that speaketh; for if they escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn away from Him that speaketh from heaven.” Heb. 12:25. He said, moreover, “Now the just shall live by faith; but if any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him.” Heb. 10:38. He also did thus apply them: Thou art the man that art running into this misery; thou hast begun to reject the counsel of the Most High, and to draw back thy foot from the way of peace, even almost to the hazarding of thy perdition.

Then Christian fell down at his feet as dead, crying, Woe is me, for I am undone! At the sight of which Evangelist caught him by the right hand, saying, “All manner of sin and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto men.” Matt. 12:31. “Be not faithless, but believing.” John 20:27. Then did Christian again a little revive, and stood up trembling, as at first, before Evangelist.

Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more earnest heed to the things that I shall tell thee of. I will now show thee who it was that deluded thee, and who it was also to whom he sent thee. The man that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is he so called; partly because he savoreth only the doctrine of this world, 1 John 4:5, (therefore he always goes to the town of Morality to church;) and partly because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth him best from the cross, Gal. 6:12: and because he is of this carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to pervert my ways, though right. Now there are three things in this man’s counsel that thou must utterly abhor.

1. His turning thee out of the way.

2. His laboring to render the cross odious to thee.

3. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth unto the administration of death.

First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the way; yea, and thine own consenting thereto; because this is to reject the counsel of God for the sake of the counsel of a Worldly Wiseman. The Lord says, “Strive to enter in at the straight gate,” Luke 13:24, the gate to which I send thee; “for strait is the gate that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” Matt. 7:13,14. From this little wicket-gate, and from the way thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to the bringing of thee almost to destruction: hate, therefore, his turning thee out of the way, and abhor thyself for hearkening to him.

Secondly, Thou must abhor his laboring to render the cross odious unto thee; for thou art to prefer it before the treasures of Egypt. Heb. 11:25,26. Besides, the King of glory hath told thee, that he that will save his life shall lose it. And he that comes after him, and hates not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be his disciple. Mark 8:38; John 12:25; Matt. 10:39; Luke 14:26. I say, therefore, for a man to labor to persuade thee that that shall be thy death, without which, the truth hath said, thou canst not have eternal life, this doctrine thou must abhor.

Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the way that leadeth to the ministration of death. And for this thou must consider to whom he sent thee, and also how unable that person was to deliver thee from thy burden.

He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name Legality, is the son of the bond-woman which now is, and is in bondage with her children, Gal. 4:21-27, and is, in a mystery, this Mount Sinai, which thou hast feared will fall on thy head. Now if she with her children are in bondage, how canst thou expect by them to be made free? This Legality, therefore, is not able to set thee free from thy burden. No man was as yet ever rid of his burden by him; no, nor ever is like to be: ye cannot be justified by the works of the law; for by the deeds of the law no man living can be rid of his burden: Therefore Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an alien, and Mr. Legality is a cheat; and for his son Civility, notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but a hypocrite, and cannot help thee. Believe me, there is nothing in all this noise that thou hast heard of these sottish men, but a design to beguile thee of thy salvation, by turning thee from the way in which I had set thee. After this, Evangelist called aloud to the heavens for confirmation of what he had said; and with that there came words and fire out of the mountain under which poor Christian stood, which made the hair of his flesh stand up. The words were pronounced: “As many as are of the works of the law, are under the curse; for it is written, Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them.” Gal. 3:10.

Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and began to cry out lamentably; even cursing the time in which he met with Mr. Worldly Wiseman; still calling himself a thousand fools for hearkening to his counsel. He also was greatly ashamed to think that this gentleman’s arguments, flowing only from the flesh, should have the prevalency with him so far as to cause him to forsake the right way. This done, he applied himself again to Evangelist in words and sense as follows.

Christian: Sir, what think you? Is there any hope? May I now go back, and go up to the wicket-gate? Shall I not be abandoned for this, and sent back from thence ashamed? I am sorry I have hearkened to this man’s counsel; but may my sin be forgiven?

Evangelist: Then said Evangelist to him, Thy sin is very great, for by it thou hast committed two evils: thou hast forsaken the way that is good, to tread in forbidden paths. Yet will the man at the gate receive thee, for he has good-will for men; only, said he, take heed that thou turn not aside again, lest thou “perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little.” Then did Christian address himself to go back; and Evangelist, after he had kissed him, gave him one smile, and bid him God speed; So he went on with haste, neither spake he to any man by the way; nor if any asked him, would he vouchsafe them an answer. He went like one that was all the while treading on forbidden ground, and could by no means think himself safe, till again he was got into the way which he had left to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman’s counsel.

Malden Rest Area, Doey Thruway, NEW YORK STATE...Heading North To Albany and Point further..U.S. Customers and Immigration..American Rule of Law... Border Maggots...CBSA..Depuis

 

... or a conformist, but I made a z-suit.

 

Wait for much better, and bigger, things to come.

/Waits for someone to say TWSS.

youtu.be/KcPcJ9ycEu4?t=2m22s Full Feature

Curse of the Demon / Night of the Demon

Columbia TriStar Home Entertainment

1957/58 / B&W / 1:78 anamorphic 16:9 / 82, 95 min. / Street Date August 13, 2002 / $24.95

Starring Dana Andrews, Peggy Cummins, Niall MacGinnis, Maurice Denham, Athene Seyler

Cinematography Ted Scaife

Production Designer Ken Adam

Special Effects George Blackwell, S.D. Onions, Wally Veevers

Film Editor Michael Gordon

Original Music Clifton Parker

Written by Charles Bennett and Hal E. Chester from the story Casting the Runes by Montague R. James

Produced by Frank Bevis, Hal E. Chester

Directed by Jacques Tourneur

  

Reviewed by Glenn Erickson

 

Savant champions a lot of genre movies but only infrequently does one appear like Jacques Tourneur's superlative Curse of the Demon. It's simply better than the rest -- an intelligent horror film with some very good scares. It occupies a stylistic space that sums up what's best in ghost stories and can hold its own with most any supernatural film ever made. Oh, it's also a great entertainment that never fails to put audiences at the edge of their seats.

What's more, Columbia TriStar has shown uncommon respect for their genre output by including both versions of Curse of the Demon on one disc. Savant has full coverage on the versions and their restoration below, following his thorough and analytical (read: long-winded and anal) coverage of the film itself.

 

Synopsis:

  

Dr. John Holden (Dana Andrews), a scientist and professional debunker of superstitious charlatans, arrives in England to help Professor Henry Harrington (Maurice Denham) assault the phony cult surrounding Dr. Julian Karswell (Niall McGinnis). But Harrington has mysteriously died and Holden becomes involved with his niece Joanna (Peggy Cummins), who thinks Karswell had something to do with it. Karswell's 'tricks' confuse the skeptical Holden, but he stubbornly holds on to his conviction that he's " ... not a sucker, like 90% of the human race." That is, until the evidence mounts that Harrington was indeed killed by a demon summoned from Hell, and that Holden is the next intended victim!

  

The majority of horror films are fantasies in which we accept supernatural ghosts, demons and monsters as part of a deal we've made with the authors: they dress the fantasy in an attractive guise and arrange the variables into an interesting pattern, and we agree to play along for the sake of enjoyment. When it works the movies can resonate with personal meaning. Even though Dracula and Frankenstein are unreal, they are relevant because they're aligned with ideas and themes in our subconscious.

Horror films that seriously confront the no-man's land between rational reality and supernatural belief have a tough time of it. Everyone who believes in God knows that the tug o' war between rationality and faith in our culture has become so clogged with insane belief systems it's considered impolite to dismiss people who believe in flying saucers or the powers of crystals or little glass pyramids. One of Dana Andrews' key lines in Curse of the Demon, defending his dogged skepticism against those urging him to have an open mind, is his retort, "If the world is a dark place ruled by Devils and Demons, we all might as well give up right now." Curse of the Demon balances itself between skepticism and belief with polite English manners, letting us have our fun as it lays its trap. We watch Andrews roll his eyes and scoff at the feeble séance hucksters and the dire warnings of a foolish-looking necromancer. Meanwhile, a whole dark world of horror sneaks up on him. The film's intelligent is such that we're not offended by its advocacy of dark forces or even its literal, in-your-face demon.

The remarkable Curse of the Demon was made in England for Columbia but is gloriously unaffected by that company's zero-zero track record with horror films. Producer Hal E. Chester would seem an odd choice to make a horror classic after producing Joe Palooka films and acting as a criminal punk in dozens of teen crime movies. The obvious strong cards are writer Charles Bennett, the brains behind several classic English Hitchcock pictures (who 'retired' into meaningless bliss writing for schlockmeister Irwin Allen) and Jacques Tourneur, a master stylist who put Val Lewton on the map with Cat People and I Walked With a Zombie. Tourneur made interesting Westerns (Canyon Passage, Great Day in the Morning) and perhaps the most romantic film noir, Out of the Past. By the late '50s he was on what Andrew Sarris in his American Film called 'a commercial downgrade'. The critic lumped Curse of the Demon with low budget American turkeys like The Fearmakers. 1

Put Tourneur with an intelligent script, a decent cameraman and more than a minimal budget and great things could happen. We're used to watching Corman Poe films, English Hammer films and Italian Bavas and Fredas, all the while making excuses for the shortcomings that keep them in the genre ghetto (where they all do quite well, thank you). There's even a veiled resentment against upscale shockers like The Innocents that have resources (money, time, great actors) denied our favorite toilers in the genre realm. Curse of the Demon is above all those considerations. It has name actors past their prime and reasonable production values. Its own studio (at least in America) released it like a genre quickie, double-billed with dreck like The Night the World Exploded and The Giant Claw. They cut it by 13 minutes, changed its title (to ape The Curse of Frankenstein?) and released a poster featuring a huge, slavering demon monster that some believe was originally meant to be barely glimpsed in the film itself. 2

 

Horror movies can work on more than one level but Curse of the Demon handles several levels and then some. The narrative sets up John Holden as a professional skeptic who raises a smirking eyebrow to the open minds of his colleagues. Unlike most second-banana scientists in horror films, they express divergent points of view. Holden just sees himself as having common sense but his peers are impressed by the consistency of demonological beliefs through history. Maybe they all saw Christensen's Witchcraft through the Ages, which might have served as a primer for author Charles Bennett. Smart dialogue allows Holden to score points by scoffing at the then-current "regression to past lives" scam popularized by the Bridey Murphy craze. 3 While Holden stays firmly rooted to his position, coining smart phrases and sarcastic put-downs of believers, the other scientists are at least willing to consider alternate possibilities. Indian colleague K.T. Kumar (Peter Elliott) keeps his opinion to himself. But when asked, he politely states that he believes entirely in the world of demons! 4

Holden may think he has the truth by the tail but it takes Kindergarten teacher Joanna Harrington (Peggy Cummins of Gun Crazy fame) to show him that being a skeptic doesn't mean ignoring facts in front of one's face. Always ready for a drink (a detail added to tailor the part to Andrews?), Holden spends the first couple of reels as interested in pursuing Miss Harrington, as he is the devil-worshippers. The details and coincidences pile up with alarming speed -- the disappearing ink untraceable by the lab, the visual distortions that might be induced by hypnosis, the pages torn from his date book and the parchment of runic symbols. Holden believes them to be props in a conspiracy to draw him into a vortex of doubt and fear. Is he being set up the way a Voodoo master cons his victim, by being told he will die, with fabricated clues to make it all appear real? Holden even gets a bar of sinister music stuck in his head. It's the title theme -- is this a wicked joke on movie soundtracks?

 

Speak of the Devil...

 

This brings us to the wonderful character of Julian Karswell, the kiddie-clown turned multi-millionaire cult leader. The man who launched Alfred Hitchcock as a maker of sophisticated thrillers here creates one of the most interesting villains ever written, one surely as good as any of Hitchcock's. In the short American cut Karswell is a shrewd games-player who shows Holden too many of his cards and finally outsmarts himself. The longer UK cut retains the full depth of his character.

Karswell has tapped into the secrets of demonology to gain riches and power, yet he tragically recognizes that he is as vulnerable to the forces of Hell as are the cowering minions he controls through fear. Karswell's coven means business. It's an entirely different conception from the aesthetic salon coffee klatch of The Seventh Victim, where nothing really supernatural happens and the only menace comes from a secret society committing new crimes to hide old ones.

Karswell keeps his vast following living in fear, and supporting his extravagant lifestyle under the idea that Evil is Good, and Good Evil. At first the Hobart Farm seems to harbor religious Christian fundamentalists who have turned their backs on their son. Then we find out that they're Karswell followers, living blighted lives on cursed acreage and bled dry by their cultist "leader." Karswell's mum (Athene Seyler) is an inversion of the usual insane Hitchcock mother. She lovingly resists her son's philosophy and actively tries to help the heroes. That's in the Night version, of course. In the shorter American cut she only makes silly attempts to interest Joanna in her available son and arranges for a séance. Concerned by his "negativity", Mother confronts Julian on the stairs. He has no friends, no wife, no family. He may be a mass extortionist but he's still her baby. Karswell explains that by exploiting his occult knowledge, he's immersed himself forever in Evil. "You get nothing for nothing"

 

Karswell is like the Devil on Earth, a force with very limited powers that he can't always control. By definition he cannot trust any of his own minions. They're unreliable, weak and prone to double-cross each other, and they attract publicity that makes a secret society difficult to conceal. He can't just kill Holden, as he hasn't a single henchman on the payroll. He instead summons the demon, a magic trick he's only recently mastered. When Karswell turns Harrington away in the first scene we can sense his loneliness. The only person who can possibly understand is right before him, finally willing to admit his power and perhaps even tolerate him. Karswell has no choice but to surrender Harrington over to the un-recallable Demon. In his dealings with the cult-debunker Holden, Karswell defends his turf but is also attempting to justify himself to a peer, another man who might be a potential equal. It's more than a duel of egos between a James Bond and a Goldfinger, with arrogance and aggression masking a mutual respect; Karswell knows he's taken Lewton's "wrong turning in life," and will have to pay for it eventually.

Karswell eventually earns Holden's respect, especially after the fearful testimony of Rand Hobart. It's taken an extreme demonstration to do it, but Holden budges from his smug position. He may not buy all of the demonology hocus-pocus but it's plain enough that Karswell or his "demon" is going to somehow rub him out. Seeking to sneak the parchment back into Karswell's possession, Holden becomes a worthy hero because he's found the maturity to question his own preconceptions. Armed with his rational, cool head, he's a force that makes Karswell -- without his demon, of course -- a relative weakling. Curse of the Demon ends in a classic ghost story twist, with just desserts dished out and balance recovered. The good characters are less sure of their world than when they started, but they're still able to cope. Evil has been defeated not by love or faith, but by intellect.

 

Curse of the Demon has the Val Lewton sensibility as has often been cited in Tourneur's frequent (and very effective) use of the device called the Lewton "Bus" -- a wholly artificial jolt of fast motion and noise interrupting a tense scene. There's an ultimate "bus" at the end when a train blasts in and sets us up for the end title. It "erases" the embracing actors behind it and I've always thought it had to be an inspiration for the last shot of North by NorthWest. The ever-playful Hitchcock was reportedly a big viewer of fantastic films, from which he seems to have gotten many ideas. He's said to have dined with Lewton on more than one occasion (makes sense, they were at one time both Selznick contractees) and carried on a covert competition with William Castle, of all people.

Visually, Tourneur's film is marvelous, effortlessly conjuring menacing forests lit in the fantastic Mario Bava mode by Ted Scaife, who was not known as a genre stylist. There are more than a few perfunctory sets, with some unflattering mattes used for airport interiors, etc.. Elsewhere we see beautiful designs by Ken Adam in one of his earliest outings. Karswell's ornate floor and central staircase evoke an Escher print, especially when visible/invisible hands appear on the banister. A hypnotic, maze-like set for a hotel corridor is also tainted by Escher and evokes a sense of the uncanny even better than the horrid sounds Holden hears. The build-up of terror is so effective that one rather unconvincing episode (a fight with a Cat People - like transforming cat) does no harm. Other effects, such as the demon footprints appearing in the forest, work beautifully.

In his Encyclopedia of Horror Movies Phil Hardy very rightly relates Curse of the Demon's emphasis on the visual to the then just-beginning Euro-horror subgenre. The works of Bava, Margheriti and Freda would make the photographic texture of the screen the prime element of their films, sometimes above acting and story logic.

 

Columbia TriStar's DVD of Curse of the Demon / Night of the Demon presents both versions of this classic in one package. American viewers saw an effective but abbreviated cut-down. If you've seen Curse of the Demon on cable TV or rented a VHS or a laser anytime after 1987, you're not going to see anything different in the film. In 1987 Columbia happened to pull out the English cut when it went to re-master. When the title came up as Night of the Demon, they just slugged in the Curse main title card and let it go.

From such a happy accident (believe me, nobody in charge at Columbia at the time would have purposely given a film like this a second glance) came a restoration at least as wonderful as the earlier reversion of The Fearless Vampire Killers to its original form. Genre fans were taken by surprise and the Laserdisc became a hot item that often traded for hundreds of dollars. 6

 

Back in film school Savant had been convinced that ever seeing the long, original Night cut was a lost cause. An excellent article in the old Photon magazine in the early '70s 5, before such analytical work was common, accurately laid out the differences between the two versions, something Savant needs to do sometime with The Damned and These Are the Damned. The Photon article very accurately describes the cut scenes and what the film lost without them, and certainly inspired many of the ideas here.

Being able to see the two versions back-to-back shows exactly how they differ. Curse omits some scenes and rearranges others. Gone is some narration from the title sequence, most of the airplane ride, some dialogue on the ground with the newsmen and several scenes with Karswell talking to his mother. Most crucially missing are Karswell's mother showing Joanna the cabalistic book everyone talks so much about and Holden's entire visit to the Hobart farm to secure a release for his examination of Rand Hobart. Of course the cut film still works (we loved the cut Curse at UCLA screenings and there are people who actually think it's better) but it's nowhere near as involving as the complete UK version. Curse also reshuffles some events, moving Holden's phantom encounter in the hallway nearer the beginning, which may have been to get a spooky scene in the middle section or to better disguise the loss of whole scenes later. The chop-job should have been obvious. The newly imposed fades and dissolves look awkward. One cut very sloppily happens right in the middle of a previous dissolve.

Night places both Andrews and Cummins' credits above the title and gives McGinnis an "also starring" credit immediately afterwards. Oddly, Curse sticks Cummins afterwards and relegates McGinnis to the top of the "also with" cast list. Maybe with his role chopped down, some Columbia executive thought he didn't deserve the billing?

Technically, both versions look just fine, very sharp and free of digital funk that would spoil the film's spooky visual texture. Night of the Demon is the version to watch for both content and quality. It's not perfect but has better contrast and less dirt than the American version. Curse has more emulsion scratches and flecking white dandruff in its dark scenes, yet looks fine until one sees the improvement of Night. Both shows are widescreen enhanced (hosanna), framing the action at its original tighter aspect ratio.

It's terrific that Columbia TriStar has brought out this film so thoughtfully, even though some viewers are going to be confused when their "double feature" disc appears to be two copies of the same movie. Let 'em stew. This is Savant's favorite release so far this year.

 

On a scale of Excellent, Good, Fair, and Poor, Curse of the Demon / Night of the Demon rates:

Movie: Excellent

  

Footnotes:

Made very close to Curse of the Demon and starring Dana Andrews, The Fearmakers (great title) was a Savant must-see until he caught up with it in the UA collection at MGM. It's a pitiful no-budgeter that claims Madison Avenue was providing public relations for foreign subversives, and is negligible even in the lists of '50s anti-Commie films.

Return

 

Curse of the Demon's Demon has been the subject of debate ever since the heyday of Famous Monsters of Filmland. From what's on record it's clear that producer Chester added or maximized the shots of the creature, a literal visualization of a fiery, brimstone-smoking classical woodcut demon that some viewers think looks ridiculous. Bennett and Tourneur's original idea was to never show a demon but the producer changed that. Tourneur probably directed most of the shots, only to have Chester over-use them. To Savant's thinking, the demon looks great. It is first perceived as an ominous sound, a less strident version of the disturbing noise made by Them! Then it manifests itself visually as a strange disturbance in the sky (bubbles? sparks? early slit-scan?) followed by a billowing cloud of sulphurous smoke (a dandy effect not exploited again until Close Encounters of the Third Kind). The long-shot demon is sometimes called the bicycle demon because he's a rod puppet with legs that move on a wheel-rig. Smoke belches from all over his scaly body. Close-ups are provided by a wonderfully sculpted head 'n' shoulders demon with articulated eyes and lips, a full decade or so before Carlo Rambaldi started engineering such devices.

Most of the debate centers on how much Demon should have been shown with the general consensus that less would have been better. People who dote on Lewton-esque ambivalence say that the film's slow buildup of rationality-versus demonology is destroyed by the very real Demon's appearance in the first scene, and that's where they'd like it removed or radically reduced. The Demon is so nicely integrated into the cutting (the giant foot in the first scene is a real jolt) that it's likely that Tourneur himself filmed it all, perhaps expecting the shots to be shorter or more obscured. It is also possible that the giant head was a post-Tourneur addition - it doesn't tie in with the other shots as well (especially when it rolls forward rather stiffly) and is rather blunt. Detractors lump it in with the gawd-awful head of The Black Scorpion, which is filmed the same way and almost certainly was an afterthought - and also became a key poster image. This demon head matches the surrounding action a lot better than did the drooling Scorpion.

Savant wouldn't change Curse of the Demon but if you put a gun to my head I'd shorten most of the shots in its first appearance, perhaps eliminating all close-ups except for the final, superb shot of the the giant claw reaching for Harrington / us.

  

Kumar, played (I assume) by an Anglo actor, immediately evokes all those Indian and other Third World characters in Hammer films whose indigenous cultures invariably hold all manner of black magic and insidious horror. When Hammer films are repetitious it's because they take eighty minutes or so to convince the imagination-challenged English heroes to even consider the premise of the film as being real. In Curse of the Demon, Holden's smart-tongued dismissal of outside viewpoints seems much more pigheaded now than it did in 1957, when heroes confidently defended conformist values without being challenged. Kumar is a scientist but also probably a Hindu or a Sikh. He has no difficulty reconciling his faith with his scientific detachment. Holden is far too tactful to call Kumar a crazy third-world guru but that's probably what he's thinking. He instead politely ignores him. Good old Kumar then saves Holden's hide with some timely information. I hope Holden remembered to thank him.

There's an unstated conclusion in Curse of the Demon: Holden's rigid disbelief of the supernatural means he also does not believe in a Christian God with its fundamentally spiritual faith system of Good and Evil, saints and devils, angels and demons. Horror movies that deal directly with religious symbolism and "real faith" can be hypocritical in their exploitation and brutal in their cheap toying with what are for many people sacred personal concepts. I'm thinking of course of The Exorcist here. That movie has all the grace of a reporter who shows a serial killer's atrocity photos to a mother whose child has just been kidnapped. Curse of the Demon hasn't The Exorcist's ruthless commercial instincts but instead has the modesty not to pretend to be profound, or even "real." Yet it expresses our basic human conflict between rationality and faith very nicely.

 

Savant called Jim Wyrnoski, who was associated with Photon, in an effort to find out more about the article, namely who wrote it. It was very well done and I've never forgotten it; I unfortunately loaned my copy out to good old Jim Ursini and it disappeared. Obviously, a lot of the ideas here, I first read there. Perhaps a reader who knows better how to take care of their belongings can help me with the info? Ursini and Alain Silvers' More Things than are Dreamt Of Limelight, 1994, analyzes Curse of the Demon (and many other horror movies) in the context of its source story.

 

This is a true story: Cut to 2000. Columbia goes to re-master Curse of the Demon and finds that the fine-grain original of the English version is missing. The original long version of the movie may be lost forever. A few months later a collector appears who says he bought it from another unnamed collector and offers to trade it for a print copy of the American version, which he prefers. Luckily, an intermediary helps the collector follow up on his offer and the authorities are not contacted about what some would certainly call stolen property. The long version is now once again safe. Studios clearly need to defend their property but many collectors have "items" they personally have acquired legally. More often than you might think, such finds come about because studios throw away important elements. If the studios threaten prosecution, they will find that collectors will never approach them. They'd probably prefer to destroy irreplaceable film to avoid being criminalized.

  

I can't understand why are you american so cruel .As Christians,you are not kind at all.You should feel guilty,not only because you lead them to die,but also you think yourselves are justicial .How hypocritical you are!

I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.

 

Anyway; Woolpit.

 

I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.

 

On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.

 

And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.

 

Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.

 

The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.

 

The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.

 

But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.

Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.

 

I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.

 

2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.

 

The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.

 

A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.

 

But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.

 

It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.

 

Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.

 

Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...

 

So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.

 

Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.

 

A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.

 

You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.

 

Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...

 

I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.

 

After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.

 

Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.

 

And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.

 

Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.

 

Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?

 

The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?

 

There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.

 

But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.

 

Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!

 

Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!

 

Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.

 

How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.

 

So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.

 

But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.

 

They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.

 

Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.

 

Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.

 

As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.

 

The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.

 

Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!

 

Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?

 

How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.

 

So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.

 

The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.

 

The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.

 

I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?

 

Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?

Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.

 

- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.

 

www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/woolpit.htm

World Trade Center terrorist attack - a body falls out the window of the World Trade after the attack --WORLD TRADE CENTER-EXPLOSION-BOMBING-WTC

New order

 

Lothian Buses have begun to receive their next batch of electric Volvo deckers. This is 747e (SF25YJR) and like their earlier sisters they have the silly golden fronts. I’m still not sold on this design although if it had the ‘fleet of the future’ livery with the swoops it may look better. But taste is subjective as they say.

 

Interestingly delivery of these buses has led to a bit of a political spat in Scotland. Following the issues surrounding Alexander Dennis, the Scottish Labour Party leader was at pains to point out that the Labour Mayor of Greater Manchester had ordered plenty of buses from ADL for the creation of Bee Network. Where as the Scottish Government’s own Zero Emissions Bus Scheme has seen most buses ordered outside ADL. To be fair, the Scottish Government’s scheme was more a subsidy to make up the extra cost of purchasing electric over diesel buses, so the bus companies were free to buy from who they wanted today in and whereas the Mayor bought them directly.

 

However it was the highlighted that Lothian Buses, majority owned by The City of Edinburgh Council which is Labour-run, was ordering electric buses from overseas, built in Sweden and Egypt. So it seemed a tad hypocritical. But again to be fair, all Lothian was doing was selecting its preferred manufacturer and it wasn’t Lothian’s fault that this bus was assembled where it was

In large

 

My own adventures on the back of a scooter were not too far removed from the above.

 

In my few weeks in Punjab, I saw many strange and mind boggling balancing acts on various forms of transport. Two, three, four, a whole family from the youngest to the oldest, babes in arms, all perched precariously on a scooter, seemingly without a care; these were not unusual sights.

 

I can´t recall if I saw any animals on scooters, but from what I witnessed; I could not have been surprised. I spent ages trying to take captures of such sights; usually as I was whizzing along on four wheels in he opposite direction; with a bit more cover than that the above. These made it hard to take decent shots and I never did perfect my panning technique while trying to lean out of a fast moving car; which was made doubly worse by the fact that my head was constantly jerking backwards and forwards involuntarily and voluntarily not knowing which extraordinary sight I should rest my millisecond gaze on next.

 

Little did I realize that before I left I would have my own little adventures on the back of a scooter.

 

One day, sitting in the pind (village); everyone decided that they would like some pizza and before long I set off with my cousin on his scooter to find a pizza place. We decided to head for Jalandar as there were bound to be places there.

 

Somewhat half heartedly, in an instant I was straddled at the back of the scooter, legged tucked in, arms holding on to him. This was my first time after all - hold on tight I thought. And instantly, the moment we started along GT road, ducking and weaving through the traffic, not knowing what side of the road we should be on half the time, I relaxed and let fate take control. Arms dropped by my side, my head turned smoothly and slowly from side to side. I leaned backwards, rebalanced my legs and told my self I had been born to do this.

 

The feeling was so exhilarating my head felt like it was in the clouds. Other vehicles and pedestrians seemed to drift lazily past, in a blur. In that instant, I decided that I could do this for the rest of my life, travel the world on a scooter. The wind in my face, my head in the clouds, my heart floating alongside me on its own little scooter. Mentally I settled upon Godspeed You Black Emperor as my accompaniment and reminded myself of their seering guitars and soundscapes, building to a crescendo; never had had there been a more suitable noise for such a trip.

 

Zipping along GT road, passing through the military quarters, glancing from side to side, not knowing which way to look, this was a fantastic feeling.

 

However it ended too quickly, I wanted to continue, towards the Himalayas and beyond; I wasn´t interested in pizza. I wanted my camera, a scooter and endless miles of road; when suddenly a Dominos (yes the same ones you get everywhere else) popped out of nowhere and we were off the bike and again I was looking at the stark contrast around me, beggars by the side of the road, on the steps up to the shop, arms outstretched, street kids and here I was about to buy some pizzas from an air conditioned shop. Just when did the ability to buy a pizza become mistaken as progress? Well the answer to that lies in my old unfriend (one I have an uncomfortable time with) globalization. The confusion of needs versus wants, of the have not´s and the have lots.

 

The point at which, marketing won out again. The point at which we bought into the system hook, line and deep pan pizza base.

 

And with no clear resolution in mind, we were back on the bike, five veggie pizzas situated between me and my cousin, my arms clasped around them and I was back in the clouds.

 

We returned via a slightly different route and while passing through the outskirts of Jalandar, we suddenly hit a small hump in the road and unable to see in front of me before I knew it we jolted into the air, kept our balance and landed. In the process; in extreme slow motion I watched the middle pizza of the pile flew out to the side and land in the road. I glanced back over my shoulder and could see it behind us. Shouting at my cousin to pull over, we came to a halt a way down the road.

 

Handing him the other pizzas, I turned around and there about 100 yards away was the pizza box lying in the middle of the road. And everyone, on their bikes, their three wheelers, cars and trucks, were swerving around it. I ran back up the road, for all the world like an Olympic runner, amazed at how it had not been flattened into the ground yet. Dignity from the other road users - how unusual. Reaching it I scooped it up, turned and headed back down the road. Nary a glance did I receive, maybe this was something they saw everyday and they were all highly experienced in the art (science?) of pizza lying in the road, avoidance techniques

 

At the bike, I took the other boxes, balanced the escapee on top and off we headed back again.

 

Only later did did the irony of my dramatic pizza rescue versus my earlier concerns register. What price pizza now oh hypocrite.

 

However, little did I know that my balancing tricks on the back of a scooter were in a few days going to be outdone in an even more ludicrous adventure. And I shall tell that story shortly.

R.I.P, Mom..it's been three LONG ASS years already :)

 

Sufia Sultana, Death Hepatic and Lymphnode Malignancy, 7th March, 2008.

 

In ihren Lungen wohnt ein Aal

auf meiner Stirn ein Muttermal

entferne es mit Messers Kuss

auch wenn ich verbluten muss

 

Mutter gib mir kraft.

 

Translation:

 

In her lungs ther lives an eel

On my forehead there is a birthmark

Remove it with the kiss of a knife

Even if it makes me bleed to death

 

Mother, give me strength.

 

- Rammstein, Mutter.

 

Someone I know/knew once told me, "Atunu bhai, I never take photographs of street-urchins and beggars because that is so "unprofessional"...ha ha, but I do, to me a mother despite her profession...despite being whore or a wall-street broker is at the end of the day, a "Mother". No matter how much I scowl at her gender for being dedicatedly hypocritical, she is the one who bore me in her watery underbelly while I kicked and screamed to get the fuck out...she is the one who fed me her own nutrients, smiled at me when I was being Adolf Hitler. Through my dark times in 2010, she is the one who's apparition consoled me in my forced schizophrenia (I'm not naturally schizophrenic, ladies ;D)...the reason that I've learned to speak the truth despite it's uglyness is because I witnessed her passing first hand, as her cells rebelled..one after another. Today I can say that I'm stronger than any of you because I've strength that surpasses all physical and philosophical boundaries set forth by society. I'm stronger because I'm my mum's son..and her strength, as ephemeral as it might be, resides, deeply embedded in my psyche.

 

Come, let's have a friendly joust

 

ON BLACK

www.facebook.com/AriesParcumphoto

Illustration by Andy Chen/The New York Times; Zack Seckler/Associated Press

 

May 11, 2005

 

Art, Money and Power

By MICHAEL KIMMELMAN

 

We had "Sensation" at the Brooklyn Museum, a gift to Charles Saatchi, whose collection it advertised, and shows at the Whitney of artists (Robert Rauschenberg and Agnes Martin come to mind) virtually packaged by the gallery that represents them. The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has been renting its Monets to a casino in Las Vegas, while the Guggenheim, which gave us the atrocious "Armani," an even more egregious paid advertisement, is spending resources shopping itself around the globe while canceling shows here at home.

 

Every year, in one way or another, museums test the public's faith in their integrity. When P.S. 1 unveiled "Greater New York" some weeks back, the exhibition turned out to be a shallow affair in thrall to the booming art market. No one really should have expected otherwise from an event timed to coincide with the city's big contemporary-art fair. Meanwhile, P.S. 1's institutional parent, the Museum of Modern Art, the spanking new headquarters of Modernism Inc., inaugurated its exhibition program with an appalling paean to a corporate sponsor's blue-chip collection. This gave the financial services company, UBS, an excuse to plaster the city with advertisements that made MoMA seem like its tool and minor subsidiary. You can only imagine how that went over with another of the Modern's sponsors, J. P. Morgan, UBS's rival.

 

Now comes the Met with its current Chanel-sponsored Chanel show, a fawning trifle that resembles a fancy showroom. Sparsely outfitted with white cube display boxes and a bare minimum of meaningful text, this absurdly uncritical exhibition puts Coco's designs alongside work by the current monarch of the House of Chanel, Karl Lagerfeld.

 

A few years ago, a Chanel show was put off by the Met's director, Philippe de Montebello, because Mr. Lagerfeld wanted to interfere. It makes no difference whether he had a direct hand in it this time or, as the museum keeps insisting, was kept at arm's length from the curatorial process: the impression is the same, and impressions count when it comes to the reputation of a museum.

 

Museums deal in two kinds of currency, after all: the quality of their collections and public trust. Squander one, and the other suffers. People visit MoMA or the Met to see great art; they will even consider art that they don't know or don't like as great because the museum says so. But this delicate cultural ecosystem depends on the public's perception that museums make independent judgments - that they're not just shilling for trustees or politicians or sponsors.

 

Naturally, the public wonders whose pockets are greased by what a museum shows, because there's so much money involved in art. But this question can be subordinated if the museum proves that it's acting in the public's interest, and not someone else's. In turn, museums can call on the public. The New York Public Library is auctioning some American art, including a couple of Gilbert Stuarts and an Asher B. Durand that has been a civic landmark for many decades. Some New York museum ought to end up with the picture but will have to rally public enthusiasm swiftly - it will have to bank on public trust.

 

Of course, this is the real world. Museums need trustees to cover the bills. They depend on galleries and collectors and sponsors and artists for help. Last year, the Modigliani retrospective at the Jewish Museum had a ridiculous painting that turned out to belong to a trustee who insisted it be included. No exhibition of a living artist avoids some negotiation (read: compromise) with the artist or the artist's dealer. The artist or the dealer may demand that this picture, not that one, be shown; that new work be stressed; that a certain collector's holdings be favored; or that the show's catalog be written in a certain way. It's the cost of doing business.

 

But there are degrees of compromise. Some years back, the National Gallery in Washington presented a show of the collection put together by a Swiss industrialist, Emil Bührle, with a catalog overseen by his heirs that celebrated his "inner flame" for art but made no mention of the fact that his fortune came partly from dealing arms to the Nazis, or that his son, who owned many of the works, was convicted of illegal arms sales. Only the most scrupulous reader of the fine print would have noticed that a Renoir once belonged to Hermann Göring.

 

The show was about Bührle, so the public could expect to learn who he was. The Chanel show avoids mentioning her activities during the war, when she maintained a life in Paris as the lover of an SS officer and, according to her biographer, Janet Wallach, tried to exploit Nazi laws to wrest control of her perfume business from her Jewish partners. No doubt, the Bührle show would never have happened if the National Gallery had emphasized how Bührle sold arms to the Nazis, and I suspect Chanel would not have been very happy about sponsoring this show if the Met had been more forthcoming about its founder's wartime history.

 

Is such information irrelevant to what's on view? It depends.

 

The public should decide. The Caravaggio exhibition at the National Gallery in London makes clear that he was a murderer. His violent personality explains something about his later work. It would have been irresponsible for the exhibition not to mention it.

 

Trust us, museums say: the rules need to bend, and we know how much bending is enough and how much is too much. In a curious way, commercial galleries are in a better position. We see where they're coming from. Frank Lloyd Wright had a saying. At an early age he made a choice between "honest arrogance and hypocritical humility." He picked arrogance. Galleries are honest about wanting to sell you something. Museums often traffic in moral hypocrisy - and are then exploited for their presumptive lofty independence. Chanel couldn't have bought better publicity.

 

As for the Met, it says something that it would allow itself to play this role, just as it says something about the Modern that its first big exhibition seemed like a corporate payoff.

 

At least MoMA gets something. The museum will get art from UBS. Mr. Saatchi made millions recently selling Damien Hirst's shark, whose value was enhanced by the notoriety of "Sensation." All Brooklyn got was grief.

 

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The Harrisburg Telegraph newspaper in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, printed this amusing essay on an undated postcard sometime before it ceased publication in 1948. The humorous piece itself has circulated in newspapers and magazines since at least 1903.

 

So What's the Use?

 

Did it ever occur to you that a man's life is full of crosses and temptations? He comes into this world without his consent and goes out against his will, and the trip between is exceedingly rocky. The rule of contraries is one of the features of this trip.

 

When he is little the big girls kiss him; and when he is big the little girls kiss him. If he is poor he is a bad manager; if he is rich he is dishonest. If he needs credit he can't get it; if he is prosperous everyone wants to do him a favor.

 

If he is in politics it is for graft, if he is out of politics you can't find a place for him and he is no good to the country. If he doesn't give to charity he is a stingy cuss; if he does, it's for show. If he is actively religious he is a hypocrite; if he takes no interest in religion, he is a hardened sinner.

 

If he gives affection, he is a soft specimen; if he cares for no one he is cold blooded. If he dies young there was a great future for him; if he lives to be an old man, he missed his calling.

 

If you save money you're a grouch. If you spend it you're a loafer. If you get it, you're a grafter. If you don't get it you're a bum--So What's The Use?

 

Harrisburg Telegraph

Harrisburg's First Paper

This is my first of a few Barbara Kruger inspired photographs. I decided to do this project through the lens of lyrics that I have listened to over time. I wanted to apply both music and photography to complete this project.

The lyric "Liar, lawyer, mirror show me, what's the difference" is from the song entitled "The Pot" from rock band Tool's 2006 album 10,000 days.

This project was intended to highlight some sort of societal and/or personal issue, which I believe this does, but in a way that is completely up to interpretation, just like how music is up to complete interpretation. No two people view music in the same way. I have looked up countless interpretations of this song to find second opinions, and each and every response varied vastly. I interpret the song in terms of hypocrisy, in particular, hypocrisy of both the government and the justice system. What defines guilt? What makes the convicted less of a man than the judge? I think of it in terms of substance use. A man gets convicted for possession of "the pot" whist the judge is doing the same (or worse) on his own terms, and can do so, because of the power dynamic that has been granted to him.

"The pot calling the kettle black" is a proverbial idiom of Spanish origin. In English, it means "to not criticise one for a fault that you have yourself." Again, bringing us back to the main concept of hypocrisy.

Really, the entirety of the song is able to back up my point on this subject. In particular, here are a few lines that I believe to hold the most value to my topic:

(1) "When you [expletive] all over my black kettle, you must've been (high)"

(2) "Who are you to wave your finger, so full of it, eyeballs deep in muddy waters, [expletive] hypocrite"

(3) "Kangaroo done hung the guilty with the innocent" (references to kangaroo/mock courts)

On a final note, the song repeatedly says the lyric "you mustve ben high" when referring to "[expletive] on the black kettle" referencing back to the idea that this hypothetical judge is convicting a man of a minor offence, in this case, the use of "the pot" while, he "must have been high" himself.

 

Pictured: Reece Rosa

In 1968 the “Sexual Revolution” was at its peak

In 1968 the “Second Wave” of the feminist movement was at its peak

In 1968 the “Cultural Revolution” headed by Dr. Martin Luther King

was working on making all black people in America free from bigotry and persecution….

 

And ….

All that back of the bus…….. bullshit……..

 

...........Dr. King was assassinated on April 4 1968............

  

Harper Valley PTA…1968

youtu.be/HOefY-wjA7U

  

I want to tell you all a story 'bout a

Harper Valley widowed wife

Who had a teenage daughter who

attended Harper Valley Junior High

 

Well, her daughter came home one

afternoon and didn't even stop to play

And she said,

"Mom, I got a note here

from the Harper Valley PTA"

 

Well, the note said, "Mrs. Johnson,

you're wearin' your dresses way too high

 

It's reported you've been drinkin' and

a-runnin' 'round with men and goin' wild

 

And we don't believe you ought to be

a-bringin' up your little girl this way"

And it was signed by the secretary,

Harper Valley PTA

 

Well, it happened that the PTA was

gonna meet that very afternoon

 

And they were sure surprised when Mrs.

Johnson wore her mini-skirt into the room

 

And as she walked up to the blackboard,

I still recall the words she had to say

She said, "I'd like to address this meeting

of the Harper Valley PTA

 

Well, there's Bobby Taylor sittin' there and

seven times he's asked me for a date

 

And Mrs. Taylor sure seems to use a lot

of ice whenever he's away

 

And Mr. Baker, can you tell us why your

secretary had to leave this town ?

 

And shouldn't widow Jones be told to

keep her window shades all pulled

completely down ?

 

Well, Mr. Harper couldn't be here 'cause

he stayed too long at Kelly's Bar again

 

And if you'll smell Shirley Thompson's

breath, you'll find she's had a little nip of gin

 

And then you have the nerve to tell me you

think that as a mother I'm not fit

Well, this is just a little Peyton Place and

you're all Harper Valley hypocrites"

 

No, I wouldn't put you on because it really

did, it happened just this way

 

The day my Mama socked it to the

Harper Valley PTA

 

The day my Mama socked it to the

Harper Valley PTA

 

Continued from:

www.flickr.com/photos/42093313@N00/52652388955/in/datepos...

 

The Belly of the Whale

 

فَنَادَىٰ فِى ٱلظُّلُمَتِ

أَن لَّآ إِلَهَ إِلَّآ أَنتَ سُبْحَنَكَ إِنِّى كُنتُ مِنَ ٱلظَّلِمِينَ ‎

‏

Then he, the Prophet Yunus (as), called in the darkness of the whale,

“There is no god except You, Glory be to You!

Indeed, I, I am of the wrongdoers.”

Surah Al Anbiya, Verse 87-88

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Fa nada: Then he invoked his Lord and prayed silently and humbly, scared, covered…

 

Fi dulumaat: in darkness which concealed him in layers because he was in the belly of the whale and the night was dark.

 

An: Indeed, He…

 

La ilaha: There is no God worthy of worship but Allah and deserving of worship which is the Right of His Essence and His Attribute…

 

Illa anta: except You, O Who in front of Whom necks bend and bow before the Veils of Your Majesty, the necks of the ones who are of intellect and reason…

 

Subhanaka: Glory is to You, O my Lord, I think of You as free of all flaws which are not mentionable with Your Essence and (all flaws) which are not worthy of mention with Your Grace.

 

Inni: Indeed, I am, due to my departure from my people without Your Permission and Revelation, while you had sent me to them and raised me among them in appearance as a Prophet, as a preacher and as a guide…

 

Kuntu min ad-daalimeen: I am of the transgressors of boundaries, the ones who departed from Your Orders and Your Commands so that’s why You made the matter one of distress for me and You imprisoned me and there is no one who can rescue me from this suffering except Your Forgiveness and Your Mercy.

 

One day, after meeting someone dear to me who seemed deeply unhappy, I wondered how people who had been living in a state of paranoia and doubt for too long would ever emerge from it. I asked Qari Sahib.

 

“There is only one way out,” he said. “Zikr Allah, remembering Him, being aware of Him, returning to Him again and again.”

Then he pointed me to a verse that blew my mind. For the verse was sent for a Prophet and the Prophets were ma’soom, innocent. They did not possess free will so everything that happened to them was out of their hands. Yet the words of the verse were saying, to teach us the ordinary, that the punishment for not returning to Him in regret praising Him was staying in that darkness forever.

 

Life would become like a grave and we would be like the dead!

 

فَلَوۡلَاۤ أَنَّهُۥ كَانَ مِنَ ٱلۡمُسَبِّحِینَ

لَلَبِثَ فِی بَطۡنِهِۦۤ إِلَىٰ یَوۡمِ یُبۡعَثُونَ

 

And if he was not of those who glorify,

certainly, he (would have) remained in its belly until the Day they are resurrected.

Surah As Saffat, Verse 143-144

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

And overall:

 

Fa lau la annahu kana min al Mussabiheena: And if he was, indeed, not of the ones who glorify the Glory of Allah, Al Munkashifeena, the ones for whom is unveiled the One-ness of Allah Al Haqq and the one who thinks Allah Subhanahu is pure in totality from the several names and aspects assigned to Him…

 

La-labitha: then he would have remained and stayed in…

 

Fi batinihi: in the belly of the whale…

 

Ila youm-I yubathoon: till the Day of Resurrection and it would be for him, the belly, like a grave the way a grave is for the dead and overall there would be no deliverance from it ever.

I became scared. Even though I hardly ever saw such people, I became scared for them. Till death they would be like that?

 

“But why won’t someone, especially someone who does believe in God, remember Allah Subhanahu, if that is all that is needed to emerge from that belly? Why would someone want to be like that forever? The lack of happiness or joy or peace of mind or even feeling alive? That anxiety and restlessness? Why won’t someone seek a way out of it?”

 

“Because,” my young teacher said knowingly, “Satan has made them forget that remembrance.”

 

My eyes widened as I read the verse he asked me to look up.

 

ٱسۡتَحۡوَذَ عَلَیۡهِمُ ٱلشَّیۡطَـٰنُ فَأَنسَىٰهُمۡ ذِكۡرَ ٱللَّهِۚ أُو۟لَـٰۤىِٕكَ حِزۡبُ ٱلشَّیۡطَـٰنِۚ

أَلَاۤ إِنَّ حِزۡبَ ٱلشَّیۡطَـٰنِ هُمُ ٱلۡخَـٰسِرُونَ

 

Shaitaan has overcome them so he made them forget the Remembrance (of) Allah.

Those are the party (of) Shaitaan.

No doubt! Indeed, (the) party (of) the Shaitaan, they (will be) the losers.

Surah Al Mujadilah, Verse 19

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

When…

 

Istahwada: he overcame, prevailed and took power…

 

Alaihimu Shaitaan: of them, Shaitaan, Al Mudill, the one who misleads, Al Maghwi, the tempter…

 

Fa ansaahum dikr Allah: so he made them forget the remembrance of Allah, Al Munqad, The Only Deliverer from deviation from the straight path, Al Murshid, The Only Guide towards guidance.

 

And overall…

 

Ulaika: they are the misfortunate, the miserable, the Al Matrodoona, the expelled…

 

Hizbo Shaitaan: the party of Shaitaan i.e. his army and his followers.

 

Ala inna hizba Shaitaan hum ul khasiroon: Are they not, the party of Shaitaan, the ones who are doomed, confined upon loss that has no end and humiliation everlasting, without the gain of Ma’rifat, Recognition of Allah and Yaqeen, certainty.

 

Ghaus Pak (ra) prays: May Allah give us refuge and his ordinary worshippers from the following of Shaitaan, the one who misleads, the one who is the seducer, the tempter. Ameen!

 

At first my focus just went to the words; the misfortunate, the miserable, the expelled, confinement to loss without end, an eternal humiliation, no knowing Allah, no certainty. Basically hell!

 

It didn’t take me too long to realize that I was also firmly ensconced in the belly of the whale. After all the verse descended for a believer. I thought I was in a state of remembrance. That was a delusion. My praying and the fasting and ticking the boxes of rituals, giving charity above what was obligatory, going to Medina and Mecca to perform countless pilgrimages, visiting other countries for the shrines of the Friends of God, none of it rendered me in a state of deliverance.

 

Then realize I was worse than all those others who I was inadvertently judging. The ones whose states I was so worried about.

  

The Façade of My Obedience

 

رَبَّنَا فَٱغۡفِرۡ لَنَا ذُنُوبَنَا وَكَفِّرۡ عَنَّا سَیِّءَاتِنَا وَتَوَفَّنَا مَعَ ٱلۡأَبۡرَارِ

Our Lord so forgive for us our sins and remove from us our evil deeds, and cause us to die with the righteous

Surah Aal e Imran, Verse 193

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Rabbana: O Our Lord, we became certain by his instruction (Nabi Kareem (saw)) in the rank of certainty of Recognition of the Essence of Your One-ness and after we became stable in it…

 

Faghfir: forgive us and cover…

 

Lana dunubuna: for us our sins of our ego which made us of those who were deprived of the court of Your Presence until we became steadfast by Your Lutf, Kindness and Your Taufeeq, granted ability in the rank of certainty of Witnessing Your Essence…

 

Wa: and after we became stable in that…

 

Kaffir: erase and purify…

 

An-na sayyi’atina: from us our sins, our characteristics which make us feel duality at all times until we become certain by Your Fazl, Favour and Your Jood, Generosity in the rank of the Truth of Your Essence…

 

Wa: and after that…

 

Tawaffana: make us die in the Realm of Your Dissolution…

 

Ma’a al ibraar: with the righteous, Al Faneena, the ones who dissolve in Allah, Al Baqeena, the ones who remain in His Remaining.

 

The person is particular who was creating a lot of angst and confusion in my life was lingering. Everything about their nature that was creating distress for me was identified yet I would keep forgetting it. Finally enough sense prevailed that I cut off all ties with them. I didn’t answer calls. I stayed away from occasions where we might meet.

 

That went against the grain of my nature. I consider myself a polite person. At least as far as communication in the modern age is concerned. I call people back promptly. I return their messages immediately. That combined with my being sensitive as well as finicky, made this a first.

 

The reason I was able to even execute this going against my nafs was that I had been told to do it. In the preceding weeks when I had been visiting the shrines and reading a page of the Quran at random, not once or twice but over and over, I had been told the state of these people. I had been told how to react to them.

 

The message had been clear. Turn away and let them be.

 

Allah Subhanahu would take care of it in the time He chose.

 

وَتَوَلَّ عَنۡهُمۡ حَتَّىٰ حِینࣲ

 

So turn away from them for a time.

وَأَبۡصِرۡ فَسَوۡفَ یُبۡصِرُونَ

 

And see, so soon they will see (what they don’t see now.)

Surah As Saffat, Verse 178-179

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Wa: And after that they are in a prolonged state of ghaflat, forgetfulness and state of being oppressive, tughyaan, and when they crossed the heights in conceit and desire for admiration of their personal attainments and (the heights of) disobedience…

 

Tawalla anhum: turn away from them, O Akmal Ar Rusul (greetings and salutations are sent upon you continuously by your Lord), The Messenger who completes Messenger-hood…

 

Hatta heen: for a time i.e. till the time of the completion of the promise of punishment.

 

Wa absir: And watch them after the descent of pain (upon them)…

 

Fasaufa yubsiroon: and they will soon watch i.e. what is it that will be the results of their opposing and their denial on the Day of Resurrection and they, who are of the misguided, will also see.

 

The Mukhaatib, the addressee, of the verse and the Quran was always Nabi Kareem (salutations and greetings upon the softest heart and his blessed family that pour mercy upon the Universe as gifted to them by their Lord). The Quran, minus a handful of verses, is a dialogue between only the two.

 

Through his person it then speaks to the rest of us. The word that struck me most when I first read the verse was “prolonged.”

 

Being in a state of forgetfulness, cruel, crossing the heights of self-importance and desire for admiration of their own selves, not even others, being disobedient for too long.

 

Other verses were even more severe. One thing was common in all in terms of an open declaration. If someone was unkind to Allah’s Beloved (salutations and greetings upon him and his family by Al Muhayman, The One who protects him), Subhanahu stepped in Himself and the Jalali Attributes of His Awe and Wrath manifested.

 

Verses like the above starting appearing again and again. To show me eventually that my suffering was caused by own self. That it was because of false gods of hopes and expectations in my heart.

 

Nabi Kareem (salutations and greetings upon him and his blessed family by His Lord who is his only Guardian), on the other hand, was different from everyone in all of Creation. His sadness bore out of a yearning as the Mercy of the Universe that they, the wicked, the stubborn, the selfish, the refusers, the deniers, the ungrateful, the hypocrites, the worst of all of Mankind, would somehow become believers.

 

The distress that he placed himself in in that longing brought the descent of such verses in the Quran.

 

فَلَعَلَّكَ بَـٰخِعࣱ نَّفۡسَكَ عَلَىٰۤ ءَاثَـٰرِهِمۡ إِن لَّمۡ یُؤۡمِنُوا۟ بِهَـٰذَا ٱلۡحَدِیثِ أَسَفًا

 

Then perhaps you would be the one who kills yourself over their denial in grief, if they don’t believe in this Message.

Surah Al Kahf, Verse 6

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

After that their states in deception and disputing upon this course of action and the intensity of their anger and their enemity with Allah like this:

 

Falallaka: So perhaps you, O Akmal Ar Rusul (your Lord sends greetings and salutations upon you and your blessed family lovingly), O Messenger who completes Messenger-hood, with your love, unconditional, for their imaan, faith and their compliance and your hopes and your sympathy towards their pledge and their following…

 

Bakhi’un nafsaka: will kill yourself and devastate yourself…

 

Ala aasaarihim: because of them when they turn away from you and go…

 

Il-lam yu’minu: if they don’t believe and they don’t affirm…

 

Bi hadal hadith: in this Word of Allah i.e. the Quran…

 

Asafa: (in) traumatic grief i.e. destroy your self by excessive sadness and grief upon their leaving and their turning away from you and the absence of faith and obedience to you.

Even though He urges you (to love) their faith and their obedience and their richness and their kingdom and their elevation and their ranking and their wealth and their leadership among the people. So know that indeed, they don’t have any preparation nor do they have any certainty upon what is happening to them (as a result of your preaching).

 

The only words applicable for me were “will you kill yourself and devastate yourself because they turn away and go.” I couldn’t help but notice the end in particular. When Allah Subhanahu acknowledges, “Yes, I am The One who indeed sent you to possess this desire for them to be of the faithful and be obedient and have ranking and riches, but they are not of the ones who can respond.”

 

After that Subhanahu described to His Beloved (salutations and greetings upon his most kind soul) why they could never respond.

 

فَإِنَّكَ لَا تُسۡمِعُ ٱلۡمَوۡتَىٰ وَلَا تُسۡمِعُ ٱلصُّمَّ ٱلدُّعَاۤءَ إِذَا وَلَّوۡا۟ مُدۡبِرِینَ

 

So indeed, you cannot make the dead hear and cannot make the deaf hear the call when they turn, retreating.

Surah Ar Rum, Verse 52

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

And overall: The ones who desire to harm people because of their in-born nature and are stone-like in their in-born character due to their being dead in reality and conceptually although they look like they are alive in form, do not care about them O Akmal Ar Rusul (peace and salutations upon you by your Lord with love) and (do not care about) their affairs and do not toil yourself over their guidance or their perfection.

 

Fa innaka la tusmi’ul mauta: So indeed you cannot make the dead hear, it is not in your power and your control to make the dead hear, but upon you is the conveyance and the inviting.

 

Wa la tusmi’u summa: And you cannot make the deaf hear, those who are deaf by nature…

 

Ad dua’a: the call and the invitation, especially…

 

Ida wal-lau: when they turn away and avoid you…

 

Mudbireen: turning their backs to you, evading you, denying you, rejecting your Messenger-hood and your invitation.

And again I just stared at the words, “When they turn away and avoid you, turning their backs to you, evading you…”

 

كَذَلِكَ یَطۡبَعُ ٱللَّهُ عَلَىٰ قُلُوبِ ٱلَّذِینَ لَا یَعۡلَمُونَ

 

Thus seals Allah the hearts of those who do not know.

Surah Ar Rum, Verse 59

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Kadalika: Like their natures and their seals, which you witness, Ya Akmal Ar Rusul, (peace and salutation upon you by your Muhibb, The One who loves you and your family), of the ones in jahla, ignorance…

 

Yatba’ullah: Allah Al Hakim, The Wise One, Al Muttaqin, The Possessor of All Certainty, has branded in their actions and has then sealed…

 

Ala qulubi: their hearts, all the Kafir, the deniers of truth and stubborn…

 

Alladina la ya’lamoona: they are the ones who do not know the truth and they do not believe in it because they are setup upon the stubborn-ness in their nature and the ignorance is such that it is kneaded which will not go by proofs and witnessing at all.

 

وَمَن لَّمۡ یَجۡعَلِ ٱللَّهُ لَهُۥ نُورࣰا فَمَا لَهُۥ مِن نُّورٍ

 

And (for) whom (has) not made Allah a light, then for him (is) not any light.

Surah An Nur, Verse 40

 

The words got me thinking of the nature of the crazy people I had come across in life. In the breadth of my experience they were mainly of two types; one was deceitful, the other honest, if perhaps only because they couldn’t hide their feelings because of lack of control. Superficially one appeared mild, the other cruel. The first was more dangerous, deadly. Their façade was calm. The other was a lunatic admittedly so, often proud of it. One was hidden, the other declared. One was passive, the other defiant. Both were stubborn and ignorant, insistent and persistent about their nature.

 

The truth is I was more like the former. My madness was hidden till it emerged. Anger used to instigate it. The only redeeming quality that I had been bestowed was that I felt regret. I expressed remorse. When I was not forgiven and my entreaties were rejected, I had breakdowns. It was related to abandonment issues which seemed universal but my reaction was at least consistent. I was always dying to be forgiven. Perhaps that is what saved me from that “prolonged” state.

Either way, they were in a prison and I was in a prison. More appeared in commonality than difference.

  

The Shirrk in My Heart

 

إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ لَا یَغۡفِرُ أَن یُشۡرَكَ بِهِۦ

وَیَغۡفِرُ مَا دُونَ ذَٰلِكَ لِمَن یَشَاۤءُۚ وَمَن یُشۡرِكۡ بِٱللَّهِ فَقَدۡ ضَلَّ ضَلَـٰلَۢا بَعِیدً

 

Indeed, Allah does not forgive that partners be associated with Him, but He forgives [what] other than that for whom He wills. And whoever associates partners with Allah then surely he lost (the) way, straying far away.

Surah An-Nisa, Verse 116

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Then said Subhanahu, entertaining the idea of sinners and drawing them towards remorse and returning (to Him)...

 

Inallaha: Indeed, Allah Al Mutalli’u, The One Perfectly Informed of the secrets of His Servants…

 

La yaghfir: does not forgive and does not pardon…

 

Ayy yushraka bihi: the partners that are associated with Him by anything from His Creation, (he does not pardon) that it be made worthy of worship and (he does not pardon) that the happenings of things are associated with that which is manufactured…

 

Wa yaghfir ma doona dalika la may-yasha’u: and He forgives everything else (other sins) for whom He chooses if, he, the sinner, may have felt compelled to do the other sin and he may have disliked it (like lying or stealing) and he was remorseful for it and he was not insistent upon it…

 

Wa mayy yushrik billahi: and the one who associates partners with Allah with the association of happenings in the world to others than Him…

 

Faqad dallah: so he is astray from the Place of Tauheed…

 

Dalalan ba’eeda: a waywardness distant, with no hope of guidance for him

 

In addition to the verses in the Quran I kept being given explicit signs by my blessed Master, Ghaus Pak (ra), that even my state of staying away, cutting off ties, a source of pride for me, was as fickle as a house of cards.

 

He revealed to me in minute details why it was a lie, why it was superficial.

 

Once Shaan had been admitted into the institute. I left for my village for a much needed reprieve. I was tired. I wanted to be alone. There I was informed of my state that I was completely unaware of.

 

Al Fath Ar Rabbani

 

…When this opening and closing (of the doors of others) is correct for the Servant, then the burden leaves him and he acquires seclusion. The honour comes to his heart and is dispersed upon him. Keys come to him and separated are for him the skins (useless things) and the marrow remains.

 

The path of lusts forbidden is closed and broken and he prevails upon it and the way to Al Haqq Azzo Jal is opened and the road appears which is the road of His desire, the road of the ones before you from the Prophets and the Messengers and the Friends of God.

 

What is this way? It is the road of purification without impurity, the road of Tauheed, One-ness, without shirrk, the road of surrender without dispute, the road of truth without lies, the road of Al Haqq Azzo Jal without Creation, the road of Al Musabbib, the Granter of Means, without the means.

 

This is the road which the elite of the religion and the Sultans of Ma’rifat, the Recognition of Allah, and the Kings were upon, who were the men of Allah Al Haqq Azzo Jal and the cleansed ones and the selected ones, the helpers of the religion, those who hold enemity (only) for Allah and love (only) because of Him.

 

Woe upon you! How can you be the one who claims to be on the way of such people when you are a mushrik, associate others, with Him and make others from Creation like Him?

 

There is no imaan, faith, in you upon the Earth while you fear someone or have hopes associated with someone.

 

There is no zuhd, detachment, for you while in this world there is a thing you desire.

 

There is no Tauheed, One-ness, for you while you look at anyone else in your way towards Him…

 

Then Ghaus Pak (ra) says: O hypocrite, Allah Azzo Jal makes appear who He wants from His Servants. He is Al Munaadi, The One who gives fame, for them. He is Al Jami’, The Gatherer, of the hearts of creation to love who He wants from among His Servants. He is Al Mussakhir, He makes subservient what He wants.

 

You want that with your hypocrisy you collect the hearts of people so that they incline towards you. This will achieve nothing.”

 

Every word was like an arrow but that line particular revealed my pathetic state to me. I did still want their hearts to incline towards me. It was horrifying and disgusting at the same time.

 

Then my Master explained the concept of maqsoom, that which has been apportioned for each person in their destiny. Why running after something that was not in it was the cause of humiliation.

 

Al Fath Ar Rabbani (cont’d): “O Listener! Leave your lusts under your feet and turn away from them with all of your heart. If there is anything in them that is destined for you in the Knowledge of Allah, it will come to you in its own time because in matters of destiny, zuhd, detachment is not correct and the Knowledge of Allah, it cannot be changed and altered.

 

Your share will come to you in its time, happily, in abundance, pure so you will receive it with the hand of honour rather than humiliation. And with that, you will, indeed, receive the reward of being a zahid in front of Al Haqq Azzo Jal and He will look at you with the eyes of respect because you were not greedy and there was no insistence on your desire being met.

 

Then however much you run from the share of your destiny, it will become attached to you and run after you and in this, detachment is not correct but it is an absolute must to turn away from it before it comes.

 

Learn from me zuhd, detachment, and giving and taking. Don’t sit in your isolation with your ignorance. Learn the faith, then isolate yourself. Learn the Commands of Allah, and practice them in deed, then turn away from everyone except the few from the scholars of Allah Azzo Jal. So meeting them and hearing them is better than being separate.

 

If you see one of them, then it is compulsory to grab onto him and learn from him the understanding of Allah’s Ilm,

 

Knowledge and Mari’fat, Recognition. Gain learning by hearing the words of knowledge from their mouth, which comes from the tongues of men who these men are who are the scholars of Allah.

 

When this state of yours becomes correct, then become alone without the nafs, your self that prompts towards wrongdoing and Shaitaan and desires and tabyat, your acquired secondary nature and aadat, habits and seeing of anything in Creation except Him...

 

Ghaus Pak (ra) then says: I am shafeeq, kind, for you for I lift your burdens and sew your ripped deeds and implore Allah Subhanahu to accepts your good deeds and forgive your mistakes. What is the reason you have no love for me even though I care for you, for your sake, not mine.

 

I want your benefit and to save you from this murderous and cunning world. How long will you run after it. Soon it will turn around and face you and it will kill you…

 

…So when your state becomes correct (of learning from them), then adopt seclusion without your nafs and without Shaitaan and without lusts and habits and seeing Creation. Once this state of seclusion becomes right, then the angels and the souls of the Saliheen, the ones who reformed themselves, their powers will surround you.

 

If your seclusion from Creation is not based on this principle, without it your seclusion is hypocrisy plus a waste of your precious time. You will gain nothing from it. Instead, you will be in fire in the world and in the Hereafter. In the world, the fire is of misfortune and in the Hereafter, it is the fire prepared for the hypocrites and the deniers of truth, the ungrateful.”

 

Then he prays: “O Allah! Forgive us again and again and forgive us and hide for us and overlook for us and (accept) our repentance. Don’t shred our veils that cover us and don’t hold us accountable on our sins, O Allah, O Kareem, who said:

 

وَهُوَ ٱلَّذِی یَقۡبَلُ ٱلتَّوۡبَةَ عَنۡ عِبَادِهِۦ وَیَعۡفُوا۟ عَنِ ٱلسَّیِّءَاتِ

 

And He (is) the One Who accepts the repentance of His slaves and pardons [of] the evil, and He knows what you do.

Surah Ash Shura, Verse 25

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Wa: And how can He, Subhanahu, not know of the hidden in their breasts…

 

Huwalladi yaqbalu tauba-tan: who is The One who accepts repentance which is happening solely because of regret and sincerity, (how can He not know of) which are the actions of the heart…

 

An ibadihi: of His Servants, Al Mustarji’eena, those who want to return towards Him with perfect khashiya, humility and khudu’, submission.

 

Wa: And after the acceptance of their tauba, repentance, from them…

 

Ya’fu: He forgives and He overlooks…

An: in totality…

 

Assiyaat: the sins happening from them upon the path of ghaflat, forgetfulness.

 

Wa: And overall…

 

Ya’lamu: He knows from you all of…

 

Ma tafaloon: what you do with your overt and inner (beings).

Woe upon you! You claim to have knowledge and find happiness the way the ignorant find happiness and are angry like they are angry.

 

Your happiness with the world and your inclination towards Creation will make you forget wisdom and harden your heart. The Mo’min is only happy with Allah and nobody except Him.”

I was in the village for five nights. In those five days, I read the above then translated it from the Arabic with Qari Sahib. In the quiet, I took it all in slowly.

 

Each word gave me pause. The crux of the matter was this: I wanted happiness in what they found happiness. Which was only and only the world. I was angry like they were angry. What made me the saddest was that the behaviour hardened my heart. Made me forget everything I tried to learn.

 

Every single thing I did on my spiritual joutney was with only one goal in mind. One intention alone: I wanted a softer heart. That was the nisbat, the association, that was dearest to me with my Nabi Pak (salutations and greeting upon the one called Ar Rahim by Allah Ar Raheem and his blessed family who transfer that Mercy to others). I wanted a heart that was in a continual, constant state of becoming softer and softer.

 

What else was there?

 

And I wanted ease. I had even studied those verses that showed me the way.

 

فَأَمَّا مَنۡ أَعۡطَىٰ وَٱتَّقَىٰ

وَصَدَّقَ بِٱلۡحُسۡنَىٰ

فَسَنُیَسِّرُهُۥ لِلۡیُسۡرَىٰ

 

Then as for (him) who gives and is mindful,

and believes in the best,

then We will ease him towards the ease.

Surah Al Layl, Verses 5-8

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Fa amma man aa’ta: So as for the one who gives from that which he was given from Al Haqq from rizq, sustenance, in (both) form and meaning, along with khushu, humility and khudu, submission and khuloos, sincerity, of intention and inner most feelings and different kinds of obedience and worship commanded for him…

 

Wa attaqa: and is mindful in totality of that which is forbidden and that which is prohibited about which Allah’s warnings of restraint have come in them…

 

Wa saddaqa bil husna: and he affirms the limitless demands of the Names of Allah and the effects of His Exalted Attributes which can never be counted and never be enumerated…

 

Fa sanuyassirruhu: then We will prepare for him and give him ability…

 

Lil yusra: for ease towards the way, which is easy, connecting towards the goal of Tauheed, One-ness and Ma’rifa, Divine Recognition, that brings deliverance from the darkness of doubts and the shadows of paranoia.

 

Every single thing that was was troubling my heart was being shown to me in pages of the Quran. I would pick the verses and I was told what was wrong. But being told something is not enough for the ones hiding idols in their hearts. For the ones who claim love for their Creator but no fear of displeasing Him. 

  

The Fire of Possibilities

 

وَمِنْهُم مَّن يَقُولُ رَبَّنَآ ءَاتِنَا فِى ٱلدُّنْيَا حَسَنَةًۭ

وَفِى ٱلْـَٔاخِرَةِ حَسَنَةًۭ وَقِنَا عَذَابَ ٱلنَّارِ

 

And from those who say, "Our Lord! Grant us in the world good and in the Hereafter good, and save us from the punishment of the Fire.”

 

Surah Al Baqarah, Verse 201

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Wa minhum mayyaqoolu: Amongst them are those who have union in their overt and inner beings, (zahir and batin) and keep this world and the Afterlife together...

 

Rabbana a’tina fi duniya: who say, “O our Lord, Grant us goodness which makes You pleased with us in this life…

 

Wa fil akhira: and grant us goodness in the Hereafter, which connects us with Your One-ness (Tauheed)…

 

Waqina: and by Your Favour and Mercy upon us…

 

Adaab an naar: save us from the possibilities that cause paranoia and doubt.

 

I returned to Lahore. The circumstances then became such that almost everyone I knew started meeting said person and casually bringing them up in conversation. That started a thought in my head. That thought began to appear in recurrence and I wasn’t able to avoid it. It ran like a tape.

 

“They’re mean,” I would say to myself when I felt hurt.

 

Then a moment later, I would ask my nafs. “But are they really mean?”

 

And it would reply sounding reasonable, “No, they are not.”

 

I would agree. They were not really mean. They just had issues like everyone else. They were just one of those who pretended like they were “unaware.” Which is the biggest façade of all. Otherwise they should also be unaware when others did the same to them but in those instances they were always hyper sensitive, upset and terribly hurt. The contrast in their emotional states between being on the receiving end and doling it out is what betrayed their state of deception, with their own self and others.

 

But at the time I was stuck in my own nightmare!

 

For a few moments later the thought would reappear like a flash card. “They’re mean.”

 

Then the self-doubt “But are they mean?”

 

“No, they are not.”

 

“Yeah, I guess they’re not.”

 

And repeat!

 

I spent one whole day in that state. Distractions from activities did not make it better. By the end of the second evening, I was mentally exhausted. The constitution of my nerves is such that I can take on a continual state of emotional stress for about 48 hours. After that I collapse. It was the sole reason I had to exit relationships that others might allow to linger on for decades.

 

When I saw that moment looming on the horizon, dangerously close, I became anxious in its anticipation. Still at least I knew what would happen, having been through it before, so I decided to wait for it. There was nothing else to do. I didn’t know how to stop the tape.

 

Even worse was the truth that I did still wonder if they thought about me. If they realized what they had done. It shouldn’t have mattered. They were sticking to their guns. That was why they were called stubborn and persistent. But the shackles of my nafs were so tightly wound around my neck, even in that state of suffocation, it remained curious about one scenario or another. Like the insane person, I was considering the source of my torment to also be the cure of it.

 

Leading up to those hours before what I thought was going to be my folding I continued translating verses hoping they would cure the disease of my heart. What they did do was hold up a mirror to the truth of my state. In that intense anxiety though, in each read I would only see the others.

 

I only focused on the words that were placing them in the negative category Subhanahu was describing to His Beloved (salutations and greetings upon him and his family from the beginning till the end of times). How they would burn in their fires of desires and wealth and power and claims of abundance.

 

لَهُم مِّن جَهَنَّمَ مِهَادٌۭ وَمِن فَوْقِهِمْ غَوَاشٍۢ ۚ

وَكَذَٰلِكَ نَجْزِى ٱلظَّـٰلِمِينَ

 

Hell will be their resting place and their covering as well.

And this is how we recompense the wrong doers.

Surah Al-Araaf, Ayaat 41

 

Tafseer e Jilani:

 

Lahum min jahannama: Hell is the torture of imkaan, possibility which is doubt…

 

Mihaad: and they will burn in these fires of their false desires.

Wa min fauqihim ghiwash: They will be covered with the fires of their power and wealth and claims of being great and possessing abundance.

 

Wa ka daalika najzi ad-dualimeen: And the zalimeen, the ones who transgress the boundaries of Allah due to their nafs, who are unjust, will drown in the addiction of their senses, their paranoia and their delusion.

 

I didn’t feel better. On top of that I totally missed the line which was about my hell; that it is the torture of imkaan, possibility, which is doubt…

 

The verses were in a series and about the differences between two and started with a verse ma’roof, well known.

 

There are two kinds of seas, salty and sweet and they cannot be equal.

 

وَمَا یَسۡتَوِی ٱلۡبَحۡرَانِ هَـٰذَا عَذۡبࣱ فُرَاتࣱ سَاۤىِٕغࣱ شَرَابُهُۥ وَهَـٰذَا مِلۡحٌ أُجَاجࣱۖ

وَتَرَى ٱلۡفُلۡكَ فِیهِ مَوَاخِرَ لِتَبۡتَغُوا۟ مِن فَضۡلِهِۦ وَلَعَلَّكُمۡ تَشۡكُرُونَ

 

And not are alike the two seas.

This (is) fresh, sweet, pleasant its drink, and this salty (and) bitter…

…so you see the ships in it, cleaving, so that you may seek of His Bounty, and that you may be grateful.

Surah Fatir, Verse 12

 

I read the translation. As soon as I realized through the tafseer that the description is in fact of a state, I felt desperate for mine to be that of the Mo’min.

 

What I wanted most of all was that sip of the water sweet which would “break the persistent feeling of ill will.” It would stop the tape from playing in my head.

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Then exemplified Subhanahu both of the groups, the Mo’min, the believer and the Kafir, the denier of truth, as two seas sweet and salty, so He said:

 

Wa ma yastawi al bahraane: And the two seas are not alike in advantage and benefit received from them both because…

 

Hada: the (state of the) Mo’min, the attester to the sea of Imaan, faith and Irfaan, Divine Recognition, the one upon whom is poured water from the Sea of the Essence of One-ness…

 

Adb-un: is like water fresh and delightful, giving pleasure to the mind, sweet in perfect sweetness…

 

Furat-un: sweet, it breaks the persistent feeling of ill will (to harm and avenge people) for those burning with thirst in the mirage of the world with the coolness of Yaqeen, certainty…

 

Saa’ighun sharaabuhu: easy is its drinking i.e. easy is its going down, for those set up on the nature of Tauheed, Allah Subhanahu’s One-ness.

 

Wa hada: And this (the other sea/group) i.e. the Kafir, the denier of truth/ungrateful, malevolent, unkind, is in the sea of ghaflat, unawareness and carelessness…

 

Milh-un: (is like water) salty, it does not reform a person who wants to reform themselves, whoever tastes from it, instead…

 

Ujaaj-un: (it is) burning, bitter, corrupting for the disposition. The one who tasted from it was destroyed, devastatingly, forever such that there is no rescue for him, instead…

 

Wa: the sea of bitterness, in it is still an advantage, but there is no benefit for the Kafir, the denier of truth, and the one who refuses to be guided at all.

 

The thought continued in the verses that followed. What else was never going to be equal? Not the blind and the seeing.

Not the darkness and the light.

 

وَمَا یَسۡتَوِی ٱلۡأَعۡمَىٰ وَٱلۡبَصِیرُ

وَلَا ٱلظُّلُمَـٰتُ وَلَا ٱلنُّورُ

 

And not equal (are) the blind and the seeing,

And not the darkness[es] and not [the] light,

Surah Fatir, Verse 19-20

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Wa: But…

 

Ma yastawi: they are not equal in closeness and rank according to Allah…

 

Al a’ma: the blind, Al Ghafil, the forgetful ones, Al Jahil, the ignorant, about how to make the returning and attention…

 

Wal baseer: and the seeing ones, Al Arif, the ones who recognize Allah, Al Aleem, the knowing ones, seeing with the signs of reaching and ascension.

 

Wa la dulumaat: And (they are also not equal) the darkness, which is layered upon each other, thick and these are the darkness of tabyat (nature acquired from habits), and the darkness of chaos, and the darkness of what is superficially created, and the darkness of the egos different, which become heavy until it becomes a curtain, hard and a veil heavy, making blind the eyes, which were set up upon seeing and pondering upon the demands of matters of Allah’s Wrath and Awe.

 

Wa la noor: (with) the one radiant, upon whom come unveilings from the Essence of One-ness according to His Will, Subtle and Beautiful.

 

They were not equal, the shadow and heat. Nor the dead and the alive. For they may be alive but it was like they were living in a grave.

 

Now I started noticing the word “possibilities” as it sprung up everywhere. The burning of that heat was “flowing from the possibilities of hopes…the dead were destroyed by the essential nature of possibilities.”

 

وَلَا ٱلظِّلُّ وَلَا ٱلۡحَرُورُ

وَمَا یَسۡتَوِی ٱلۡأَحۡیَاۤءُ وَلَا ٱلۡأَمۡوَٰتُۚ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ یُسۡمِعُ مَن یَشَاۤءُۖ

وَمَاۤ أَنتَ بِمُسۡمِعࣲ مَّن فِی ٱلۡقُبُورِ

 

And not the shade and not the heat,

And not equal (are) the living and not the dead.

 

Indeed, Allah causes to hear whom He wills, and not you can make hear (those) who (are) in the graves.

 

Surah Fatir, Verse 21-22

 

Tafseer e Jilani

 

Wa la dillu: And (they are not equal) the Shadow of Allah Al Ilahi, The Lord, the Shadow being like Al Mirwah li Arwah, a fan giving tranquility to the souls of the people of love and compliance by the fragrances of the breezes of the different kinds of Divine Treasures and Honour…

 

Wa lal haroor: and the heat i.e. the burning which destroys rising, flowing from the possibilities of hopes, which are mixed with the darkness of the tabyat (secondary nature) rising from the clouds of desires and the fires of lusts.

 

Wa: And overall…

 

Ma yastawi: they are also not equal, according to Allah Al Aleem, The All Knowing, Al Hakeem, The Only Possessor of Wisdom…

 

Al ahya: the alive with the life of Ma’rifa, His Recognition, and Imaan, faith, and Yaqeen, certainty and irfaan, His Knowledge, a life from the beginning to the end, everlasting. There is no command for that life that it is completed (because it is in the Hereafter and therefore eternal) and there is no occurrence for it that it becomes nothing.

 

Wa la al-amwaat: and the dead (with the alive) because of the death of jahl, ignorance and adlaal, being astray and the different kinds of ghaflat, carelessness and nisyaan, forgetfulness, the ones who are Haalikeen, destroyed in the essential nature of possibilities, forever abiding in the corner of wasting away and humiliation.

 

Innallaha: Indeed Allah is, Al Aleem, The All Knowing, Al Hakeem, The Only One with Wisdom, Al Muttaqqin, The One Perfect in His Actions…

 

Yusmae’u: He causes hearing and He guides…

 

Mayya sha’u: who He wills from His Servants, bestowing for them and giving favours to them which leads them towards the Path of His One-ness…

 

Wa maa anta: and you are not, O Akmal Ar Rusul, O Messenger who completed Messengerhood (salutations and greetings upon you and your family continuously by the Heavens and its Angels)…

 

Bi musmi’-in: able to make them hear, as the guide and the instructor…

 

Man fil quboor: the ones in the graves i.e. the one who was permanently fixed, whose abode has been made in the hole of jahl, ignorance, (like a) knot, and the fire of possibilities and the happenings from negligence and forgetfulness because they are set up upon the state of being beguiled by their unaware nature and animalistic tendencies. There is no accountability for you regarding giving them guidance or instructing them at all.

 

By the end of the fifth verse, it was confirmed that I was not in the clear either. As much as my nafs wanted to delude itself that I must be part of the seeing and the light. And the shade and life. Certainly not in a grave. I wasn’t. The one thing I identified undeniably was that the tape in my head was a result of wondering about one imkaan or another. It was a deluge of possibilities.

 

And still my nafs did not want to let go of them. It didn’t want to let go of the cause of that anxiety. It didn’t want to let go of the idols in my heart. It didn’t want to let go of its associations of hope and expectations with others, its shirrk. That is the nature of the beast. It does not know how to against its wishes. How to refuse them.

 

So the nightmare continued. That persistence of a careless, deliberate state finally brought my Master’s patience with me to an end.

 

Continued on: www.flickr.com/photos/42093313@N00/52650032173/in/datepos...

East-German postcard by VEB Progress Film-Vertrieb, Berlin, no. 128/74, 1974. Photo: Linke.

 

East German actress Angelika Waller (1944) appeared in more than a hundred films and TV productions since 1962. Her first leading role was in Das Kaninchen bin ich/The Rabbit Is Me (1965), a film which was banned in East Germany and which had its world premiere only in 1989.

 

Angelika Waller was born in 1944 in Bärwalde in der Neumark in former East-Germany (GDR). She went to school in Biesenthal in Brandenburg. As a kid, she already developed an interest in acting. From 1963 to 1966 she was trained as an actress at the youth studio of the Deutscher Fernsehfunk (DFF), the former state television broadcaster in East Germany. To finance her studies, she worked as an ice cream seller and furniture painter. In 1965, Helene Weigel took her to the Berliner Ensemble, and since 1966 she has been a member of the theatre company. She made her stage debut in the comedy Frau Flinz by Helmut Baierl. She appeared in several Bertolt Brecht plays, including as Polly in Brecht's Dreigroschenoper (Threepenny Opera). Her film debut is also her most famous role, which was only made public in 1989 (some sources say 1990). The film, Das Kaninchen bin ich/The Rabbit I Am (Kurt Maetzig, 1965) came in the GDR on the index . She played 19-year-old Maria Morzeck, who dreams of studying Slavistics, but her hopes are shattered when her brother, Dieter, is sent to prison after being convicted of sedition against the state. She cannot enter college, and becomes a waitress. Maria meets and falls in love with Paul Deister, an older, married man who turns out to be the judge who convicted her brother. Their affair ends when Deister is exposed as hypocritical and corrupt. After Dieter's release, he learns of his sister's relationship with the judge and assaults her. Eventually, Maria distances herself from both of them, and decides to pursue her forgotten dream. The film was based on Manfred Bieler's book Maria Morzeck or the Rabbit is Me. It was made in the aftermath of the VI Party Congress of the Socialist Unity Party at January 1963, during which the establishment allowed a measure of liberalisation in the cultural life of East Germany. Although Bieler's novel was highly critical of the court system, he and Maetzig took care to include several "alibi scenes" in the film that were intended to put the state in a better light and also prevent the banning of the picture. The scenes were also meant to present the judicial reforms that took place between 1961 and 1963. The short era of liberalisation ended gradually when Leonid Brezhnev took power in the Soviet Union and introduced a conservative, more repressive course on cultural questions. Das Kaninchen bin ich, alongside eleven other films that were deemed politically damaging, was banned in 1965. In 1989, shortly before the collapse of the Eastern Bloc, the picture had its world premiere and was released for public screening. It was presented at the Berlin and Locarno film festivals, and was elected as one of the 100 most important German films by a group of historians and critics in 1995.

 

Angelika Waller became a crowd favourite with her second film, the circus film Schwarze Panther/Black Panthers (Josef Mach, 1966). She played the young Martina, who, despite the opposition of her father, tames the panthers in the circus ring and, according to Filmportal.de, “she impresses, among other things, by her artistic talent.” In subsequent years, she is seen in numerous films in larger and smaller roles, repeated under the direction of Rolf Losansky. In the epic film series Osvobozhdenie/Liberation (Juri Oserow, Julius Kun, 1969-1970), Waller played Hitler’s mistress Eva Braun. The five-part film series is a dramatized account of the liberation of the Soviet Union's territory during World War II and the subsequent defeat of Nazi Germany. The series was a Soviet-Polish-East German-Italian-Yugoslav co-production and according to official Soviet statistics, Liberation sold more than 400 million tickets worldwide. In the English-speaking world, a shorter, 118-minutes long version was distributed as The Great Battle. In the meanwhile the DEFA studio gave Waller only a few meaty parts, in which she could present her many acting facets, but the television offered her more possibilities. At the East-German television, she could convince in modern women's roles. She embodied emancipated women who decide for themselves in difficult situations. An extremely popular role was the title heroine - a postwoman - in the TV film Rotfuchs/Red fox (Manfred Mosblech, 1973). She also regularly played in the Krimi series Polizeiruf 110/Police Call 110 (1972-1987). Very popular was also the TV series Johann Sebastian Bach (1985) in which she played Bach's first wife. Since the 1970s, Angelika Weller worked as a teacher, and later as a professor at the Hochschule für Schauspielkunst „Ernst Busch“ Berlin (Academy of Dramatic Arts Ernst Busch in Berlin). She also worked as a director and staged plays at the Berliner Arbeiter-Theater. Until 1992 she remained a member of the Berliner Ensemble. In 1990, she returned to the cinema in the post-war comedy Der Bruch/The Break-In (Frank Beyer, 1990) alongside Götz George, Rolf Hoppe and Otto Sander. Waller played a busty woman, cheated by her spouse, who clearly expresses her material wishes. Next, she appeared in two TV films, the comedy baby-sitter/Babysitter (Peter Welz, 1992) and again together with Götz George - in Tote sterben niemals aus/Dead people never die out (Jürgen Goslar, 1996). She starred in the role of Omi in the experimental film Happiness Is a Warm Gun (Thomas Imbach, 2001) on Petra Kelly and Gert Bastian. In addition, she also lent her voice as a voice actor to among others Geneviève Bujold in the TV film Anthony and Cleopatra (James Cellan Jones, 1976) and Linda Purl in the TV mini-series The last days of Pompeii (Peter R. Hunt, 1984). In 1978 she received the Art Prize of the GDR. Since 2010 Waller has been a regular guest lecturer at the Thomas Bernhard Institute for Acting and Directing at the Mozarteum in Salzburg. Most recently, she appeared in the cinemas as the grandmother in Rückenwind von vorn/Away You Go (Philipp Eichholtz, 2018). Angelika Waller lives in Berlin. Her daughter Susann Thiede (born 1963) also works as an actress.

 

Sources: Ines Walk (Filmzeit.de– German), Wikipedia (German and English) and IMDb.

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The Modern Parents is a comic strip from the British comic Viz created by John Fardell who both writes and illustrates it.

 

One of the most enduring and frequent strips in Viz, having appeared regularly since the early 1990s, it is a parody of 'ethically aware' middle-class parents and the new age movement.

 

Similarly to Fardell's other creation, The Critics, it satirises liberal snobbery.

 

On one occasion, the Modern Parents and the Critics appeared in the same strip, each pair mistakenly attending the event intended for the other, though the two strips are generally slightly different in tone and style.

 

Malcolm and Cressida

  

Malcolm and Cressida Wright-Pratt are parents whose obsession with ethical and environmental awareness often works against their basic role as parents to Tarquin and Guinevere.

 

The Modern Parents do not believe in childhood activities such as fairgrounds, fast food restaurants, games, competitions and sports, toys, normal holidays or mainstream school and impose their moral positions on their children and the children of others.

 

They take the moral high-ground because of their ideologies and expect everyone to appreciate their actions, however the two are just as hypocritical as much as they are pretentious (as displayed in one strip when they began a campaign against slavery but then employed unpaid interns to do the work for them).

 

In the March 2008 issue of Viz they visit Uncle Eddie for his daughter Amy's second birthday party and give their niece an ethical gift, which seems (to Eddie) to be a "donation to an Oxfam-funded goat thingy for a starving African family", but turns out to be a donation to their own "Malcolm and Cressida Ethical Living Awareness Project".

 

Tarquin and Guinevere give her a teddy bear to the dismay of Malcolm and Cressida, who declare it to be "an anthropomorphisation of wild animals", "an attempt to brainwash Amy into keeping pets" and "offensive and oppressive to the Sudanese people" (referring to the contemporary Sudanese teddy bear blasphemy case).

 

They then assume Amy will "at least appreciate our effort to reduce the bear's carbon footprint by putting it in the recycle bin" and snatch it from her.

 

Both have large upturned noses. Cressida has her hair pulled back in a tight pony-tail and Malcolm has a scruffy beard and incredibly large teeth.

 

Malcolm and Cressida were not originally married as they believed it to be an outmoded and sexist institution that enslaved women.

 

However, they did eventually marry in order to get their wedding gifts.

 

They had their own pagan ceremony and wrote their own vows ("Do you, Cressida, take Malcolm to be your husband so long as you find acceptable and convenient?")

 

Cressida delights in pointing out that, as a woman, she is an oppressed minority while Malcolm frequently claims he has "Sensitive Persons Syndrome".

 

A committed environmentalist, he insists he supports public transport, but cannot use it himself because his Syndrome prevents him from getting on a bus or train and his Volvo "is Scandinavian, so it must be eco-friendly".

 

The pair often identify themselves with ethnic minorities, claiming to have some Celtic heritage or that they were Native Americans in a previous life.

 

Malcolm and Cressida believe that all humans are equal even to the extent that there is no such thing as immaturity. Tarquin is often greeted by the sight of his parents openly having sexual intercourse (having also previously announced this intention to their kids).

 

Each story finds them forcing their children into some new ethically aware activity that ostensibly encourages a policy of togetherness but ends up with Tarquin and Guinevere often escaping to their much more realist Uncle Eddie (Cressida's brother) who supplies them with ice creams and trips to theme parks.

 

Malcolm has a brother, Oswald, married to Lana (real name Linda), and a neurotic spinster sister, Joy. Oswald and Lana have an extremely snobbish son, Hector James.

 

The family are Conservative and rich, damning the British worker and the foreigner with equal vigour. Malcolm also used to be a keen Young Conservative before meeting Cressida while canvassing.

 

Lured by Cressida into a new world of progressive ideological debate and sex, Malcolm abandoned his dreams of becoming a future Tory Prime Minister and grew a beard.

 

One episode shows Malcolm's lock-up garage where he keeps a motorbike and a topless women calendar on the wall. He goes for a ride on the bike but is injured by Cressida, who does not know it is him and throws a protest sign at the front wheel, throwing him off. Unconscious, he imagines an alternative reality in which he has an attractive wife and is Prime Minister.

 

Another day Cressida takes two ethically-aware friends for a tour of the house and visits Malcolm's computer den. He is caught in the den playing pornographic computer games such as "Death F**k" and "Karate Whores Must Die" whilst leering and salivating wildly.

 

Cressida's family have made few appearances: her mother and father seem to be separated and her mother appears to drink.

 

When Malcolm left her and Tarquin, Cressida wondered what she was going to do for money until Tarquin pointed out that it was always her father who sent her monthly cheques.

 

However her father had taken a new mistress: since this meant he had no money to give to his daughter, Cressida experimented with prostitution.

 

An early Viz character, called Mike Smitt, looks similar to the original form of Malcolm. This character is referred to as a patronising git, as all he does is talk to people as if they are stupid, or point out to the whole street that a girl on crutches is disabled and unable to speak up for herself.

 

Tarquin and Guinevere

  

Tarquin is the elder child, aged about twelve, often the voice of common sense, a very effective foil to Malcolm & Cressida due to his desire for normality or to make money.

 

His diplomatic ability is a means of resistance to parental authority diametrically opposed to their schemes: he is calculating and methodical in his manipulation of Malcolm & Cressida.

 

He has a rational, scientific worldview that rejects vague ideas about spirituality and seems grounded in evidence and deductive reasoning.

 

As a result, he is very sceptical about ideas such as crystal healing or rebirthing, questioning their rational basis, even asking a practitioner of "Wan-Ki": "Where did you get your diploma, University of Mumbo-Jumbo?"

 

When Malcolm & Cressida take him to a "Whole Self Centre", claiming that he suffers from an "erotic shame complex", Tarquin talks of a workshop about discovering the inner child.

 

He gets the attendees to undress and touch each other, dance, and feel each other's bodies while several smartly dressed businessmen queue and pay to watch through the windows. It's a front for a sleazy peep show.

 

Despite his female name, Guinevere is a boy. Wanting to avoid gender stereotyping, Malcolm and Cressida occasionally try to make one or both of their sons wear girls' clothes or take "female" roles in some psychobabble ceremony.

 

Guinevere was born during the course of the comic strip and after growing to his current age of about five or six, stopped there. Tarquin appeared to get older in the early years of Modern Parents and in one episode turned thirteen.

 

Guinevere, whose name is usually just shortened to "Guin" by his brother, is largely a passive character, easily upset, his big brother often coming to his rescue. Guinevere's first word was football although Malcolm and Cressida were keen for it to be dolphin.

 

Other characters

  

Malcolm and Cressida have many friends, notably Ashley and Cordelia in the Ethically Aware Parents Support Group, who, like them, are middle-class, politically correct and often into various causes.

 

Most of them have children who, without exception, have the same despairing and uncooperative attitude towards their parents as Tarquin and Guinevere. Cressida's brother, Edward - more commonly known as simply Uncle Eddie - acts as a counter-weight to his sister and brother-in-law and treats his two nephews, Tarquin and Guinevere, like normal boys.

 

'Guest' characters include Dr Earnest Rabbitt (who is firmly opposed to killing animals) and Professor Ruth Lesscow (an extreme women's rights activist). In earlier episodes of the strip, Tarquin had a friend called Ian, of whom his parents clearly disapproved, and once a girlfriend called Dawn, of whom Malcolm and Cressida thought Tarquin was controlling and possessive.

I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.

 

Anyway; Woolpit.

 

I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.

 

On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.

 

And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.

 

Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.

 

The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.

 

The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.

 

But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.

Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.

 

I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.

 

2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.

 

The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.

 

A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.

 

But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.

 

It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.

 

Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.

 

Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...

 

So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.

 

Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.

 

A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.

 

You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.

 

Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...

 

I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.

 

After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.

 

Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.

 

And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.

 

Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.

 

Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?

 

The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?

 

There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.

 

But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.

 

Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!

 

Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!

 

Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.

 

How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.

 

So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.

 

But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.

 

They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.

 

Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.

 

Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.

 

As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.

 

The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.

 

Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!

 

Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?

 

How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.

 

So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.

 

The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.

 

The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.

 

I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?

 

Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?

Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.

 

- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.

 

www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/woolpit.htm

I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.

 

Anyway; Woolpit.

 

I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.

 

On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.

 

And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.

 

Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.

 

The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.

 

The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.

 

But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.

Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.

 

I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.

 

2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.

 

The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.

 

A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.

 

But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.

 

It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.

 

Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.

 

Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...

 

So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.

 

Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.

 

A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.

 

You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.

 

Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...

 

I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.

 

After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.

 

Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.

 

And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.

 

Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.

 

Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?

 

The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?

 

There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.

 

But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.

 

Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!

 

Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!

 

Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.

 

How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.

 

So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.

 

But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.

 

They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.

 

Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.

 

Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.

 

As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.

 

The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.

 

Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!

 

Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?

 

How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.

 

So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.

 

The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.

 

The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.

 

I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?

 

Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?

Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.

 

- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.

 

www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/woolpit.htm

I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.

 

Anyway; Woolpit.

 

I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.

 

On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.

 

And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.

 

Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.

 

The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.

 

The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.

 

But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.

Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.

 

I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.

 

2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.

 

The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.

 

A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.

 

But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.

 

It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.

 

Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.

 

Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...

 

So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.

 

Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.

 

A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.

 

You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.

 

Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...

 

I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.

 

After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.

 

Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.

 

And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.

 

Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.

 

Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?

 

The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?

 

There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.

 

But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.

 

Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!

 

Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!

 

Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.

 

How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.

 

So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.

 

But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.

 

They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.

 

Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.

 

Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.

 

As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.

 

The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.

 

Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!

 

Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?

 

How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.

 

So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.

 

The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.

 

The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.

 

I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?

 

Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?

Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.

 

- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.

 

www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/woolpit.htm

East-German postcard by VEB Progress Film-Vertrieb, Berlin, no. 2675, 1966 Photo: Balinski.

 

East German actress Angelika Waller (1944) appeared in more than hundred films and TV productions since 1962. Her first leading role was in Das Kaninchen bin ich/The Rabbit Is Me (1965), a film which was banned in East Germany and which had its world premiere only in 1989.

 

Angelika Waller was born in 1944 in Bärwalde in der Neumark in former East-Germany (GDR). She went to school in Biesenthal in Brandenburg. As a kid, she already developed an interest in acting. From 1963 to 1966 she was trained as an actress at the youth studio of the Deutscher Fernsehfunk (DFF), the former state television broadcaster in East Germany. To finance her studies, she worked as an ice cream seller and furniture painter. In 1965, Helene Weigel took her to the Berliner Ensemble, and since 1966 she has been a member of the theatre company. She made her stage debut in the comedy Frau Flinz by Helmut Baierl. She appeared in several Bertolt Brecht plays, including as Polly in Brecht's Dreigroschenoper (Threepenny Opera). Her film debut is also her most famous role, which was only made public in 1989 (some sources say 1990). The film, Das Kaninchen bin ich/The Rabbit I Am (Kurt Maetzig, 1965) came in the GDR on the index . She played 19-year-old Maria Morzeck, who dreams of studying Slavistics, but her hopes are shattered when her brother, Dieter, is sent to prison after being convicted of sedition against the state. She cannot enter college, and becomes a waitress. Maria meets and falls in love with Paul Deister, an older, married man who turns out to be the judge who convicted her brother. Their affair ends when Deister is exposed as hypocritical and corrupt. After Dieter's release, he learns of his sister's relationship with the judge and assaults her. Eventually, Maria distances herself from both of them, and decides to pursue her forgotten dream. The film was based on Manfred Bieler's book Maria Morzeck or the Rabbit is Me. It was made in the aftermath of the VI Party Congress of the Socialist Unity Party at January 1963, during which the establishment allowed a measure of liberalisation in the cultural life of East Germany. Although Bieler's novel was highly critical of the court system, he and Maetzig took care to include several "alibi scenes" in the film that were intended to put the state in a better light and also prevent the banning of the picture. The scenes were also meant to present the judicial reforms that took place between 1961 and 1963. The short era of liberalisation ended gradually when Leonid Brezhnev took power in the Soviet Union and introduced a conservative, more repressive course on cultural questions. Das Kaninchen bin ich, alongside eleven other films that were deemed politically damaging, was banned in 1965. In 1989, shortly before the collapse of the Eastern Bloc, the picture had its world premiere and was released for public screening. It was presented at the Berlin and Locarno film festivals, and was elected as one of the 100 most important German films by a group of historians and critics in 1995.

 

Angelika Waller became a crowd favourite with her second film, the circus film Schwarze Panther/Black Panthers (Josef Mach, 1966). She played the young Martina, who, despite the opposition of her father, tames the panthers in the circus ring and, according to Filmportal.de, “she impresses, among other things, by her artistic talent.” In subsequent years, she is seen in numerous films in larger and smaller roles, repeated under the direction of Rolf Losansky. In the epic film series Osvobozhdenie/Liberation (Juri Oserow, Julius Kun, 1969-1970), Waller played Hitler’s mistress Eva Braun. The five-part film series is a dramatized account of the liberation of the Soviet Union's territory during World War II and the subsequent defeat of Nazi Germany. The series was a Soviet-Polish-East German-Italian-Yugoslav co-production and according to official Soviet statistics, Liberation sold more than 400 million tickets worldwide. In the English-speaking world, a shorter, 118-minutes long version was distributed as The Great Battle. In the meanwhile the DEFA studio gave Waller only a few meaty parts, in which she could present her many acting facets, but the television offered her more possibilities. At the East-German television, she could convince in modern women's roles. She embodied emancipated women who decide for themselves in difficult situations. An extremely popular role was the title heroine - a postwoman - in the TV film Rotfuchs/Red fox (Manfred Mosblech, 1973). She also regularly played in the Krimi series Polizeiruf 110/Police Call 110 (1972-1987). Very popular was also the TV series Johann Sebastian Bach (1985) in which she played Bach's first wife. Since the 1970s, Angelika Weller worked as a teacher, and later as a professor at the Hochschule für Schauspielkunst „Ernst Busch“ Berlin (Academy of Dramatic Arts Ernst Busch in Berlin). She also worked as a director and staged plays at the Berliner Arbeiter-Theater. Until 1992 she remained a member of the Berliner Ensemble. In 1990, she returned to the cinema in the post-war comedy Der Bruch/The Break-In (Frank Beyer, 1990) alongside Götz George, Rolf Hoppe and Otto Sander. Waller played a busty woman, cheated by her spouse, who clearly expresses her material wishes. Next, she appeared in two TV films, the comedy baby-sitter/Babysitter (Peter Welz, 1992) and again together with Götz George - in Tote sterben niemals aus/Dead people never die out (Jürgen Goslar, 1996). She starred in the role of Omi in the experimental film Happiness Is a Warm Gun (Thomas Imbach, 2001) on Petra Kelly and Gert Bastian. In addition, she also lent her voice as a voice actor to among others Geneviève Bujold in the TV film Anthony and Cleopatra (James Cellan Jones, 1976) and Linda Purl in the TV mini-series The last days of Pompeii (Peter R. Hunt, 1984). In 1978 she received the Art Prize of the GDR. Since 2010 Waller has been a regular guest lecturer at the Thomas Bernhard Institute for Acting and Directing at the Mozarteum in Salzburg. Most recently, she appeared in the cinemas as the grandmother in Rückenwind von vorn/Away You Go (Philipp Eichholtz, 2018). Angelika Waller lives in Berlin. Her daughter Susann Thiede (born 1963) also works as an actress.

 

Sources: Ines Walk (Filmzeit.de– German), Wikipedia (German and English) and IMDb.

I try to avoid taking already over done shots just because they're pretty. Call me a hypocrite for posting this one. It's pretty.

I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.

 

Anyway; Woolpit.

 

I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.

 

On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.

 

And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.

 

Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.

 

The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.

 

The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.

 

But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.

Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.

 

I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.

 

2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.

 

The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.

 

A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.

 

But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.

 

It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.

 

Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.

 

Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...

 

So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.

 

Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.

 

A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.

 

You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.

 

Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...

 

I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.

 

After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.

 

Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.

 

And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.

 

Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.

 

Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?

 

The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?

 

There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.

 

But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.

 

Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!

 

Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!

 

Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.

 

How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.

 

So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.

 

But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.

 

They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.

 

Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.

 

Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.

 

As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.

 

The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.

 

Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!

 

Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?

 

How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.

 

So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.

 

The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.

 

The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.

 

I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?

 

Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?

Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.

 

- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.

 

www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/woolpit.htm

I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.

 

Anyway; Woolpit.

 

I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.

 

On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.

 

And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.

 

Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.

 

The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.

 

The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.

 

But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.

Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.

 

I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.

 

2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.

 

The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.

 

A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.

 

But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.

 

It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.

 

Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.

 

Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...

 

So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.

 

Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.

 

A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.

 

You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.

 

Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...

 

I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.

 

After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.

 

Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.

 

And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.

 

Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.

 

Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?

 

The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?

 

There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.

 

But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.

 

Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!

 

Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!

 

Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.

 

How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.

 

So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.

 

But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.

 

They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.

 

Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.

 

Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.

 

As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.

 

The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.

 

Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!

 

Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?

 

How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.

 

So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.

 

The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.

 

The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.

 

I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?

 

Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?

Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.

 

- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.

 

www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/woolpit.htm

Hundreds of students and workers linked together to ensure Pride is a Protest! in Birmingham.

 

As thousands of onlookers lined the streets they were filled with chants of "No ifs, no buts - No LGBT cuts" - Pride is Protest! - Pride not Profit!" - "We're here, we're queer - we cant afford next year!" and "They say cut back - we say fight back!"

 

The delegations from university and college student unions and trade unions politicised the parade with placards highlighting the disproportional impact of the cuts on LGBT people.

 

* "LGBT people are more likely to need public services, LGBT people are more likely to work in public services, NO PUBLIC SERVICE CUTS!"

 

* "Cuts to EMA & higher tuition fees hit young LGBTQ people harder

NO EDUCATION CUTS!"

 

* "30% of young homeless people are LGBT, NO HOUSING CUTS!"

 

* "Section 28 is BACK!, In the governments free schools and acdemies -NO PRIVATISATION OF SCHOOLS— SCRAP SECTION 28!"

 

* "ALL legal aid to asylum/immigration cases cut for LGBTQ people fleeing persecution, NO CUTS TO HUMAN RIGHTS!"

 

* "Trans unemployment 3 times national average, NO JOB CUTS!"

 

* "Twice as many LGBT people forced to work after 70, NO PENSION CUTS!"

 

* "Gender: - reassignment surgery cancelled on NHS, NO HEALTH CUTS!"

 

* "HIV benefits claimants forced back into work, NO HEALTH CUTS!"

 

Over 4000 leaflets were taken by protesters, LGBT organisations and community groups and the public.

 

A public meeting will be held on Monday 11th June at 6:30 in the Birmingham UNISON offices to continue the campaign. For more details birminghamagainstthecuts.wordpress.com

 

Article below from www.socialistworker.co.uk

 

Prides are a chance for thousands of LGBT people and our friends to celebrate our lives and how far we’ve come. But this year, Prides take place against a background of growing financial crisis and social injustice.

 

The Con-Dem government is a disaster for millions of ordinary people, including LGBT people.

 

It’s the Tories’ banker friends who helped create the economic crisis. But they aren’t suffering. The Chief Executive of HSBC was paid £7.5 million this year. Barclays boss Bob Diamond pocketed over £17 million. The bosses of the top hundred companies are paid an average of over £3 million a year.

 

Rather than take money off the rich, the government is cutting the services ordinary people use – and that means that those already facing discrimination, like LGBT people, will suffer most.

 

Education

 

Cuts are hitting colleges and universities, and hitting LGBT students harder – NUS figures say that 1 in 7 LGBT students, and 1 in 3 trans students, fear losing financial support if they come out to their parents.

 

Housing

 

We face a housing crisis: 1 in 12 people is on a waiting list for social housing. Again, LGBT people face discrimination – a report from housing charity Crisis shows that in urban areas thirty percent of young homeless people are LGBT. 1 in 4 transgender people have had to move home because of harassment.

 

Health

 

A Stonewall survey, published in April, found that gay and bi men are seven times more likely to attempt suicide than men in general. One in sixteen young gay or bi men had tried to take their own life in the past year. Cuts in the NHS, and in funding for LGBT community groups, can only make these figures worse.

 

Immigration

 

The government is scapegoating migrants – LGBT asylum seekers are some of the most vulnerable. They face torture and rape in the countries they have left – Stonewall say that “in many cases they are sent back to countries where the fear of persecution is constant.”

 

Cameron claims the Tories are different from the homophobes who introduced Section 28 under Thatcher. The Tories said they would introduce gay marriage but after the local elections the bigots are crawling out of the woodwork. Some Tory ministers now oppose marriage equality. Cameron is giving Tory MPs a “free vote” so homophobic Tories will vote against it.

 

Rights at Work

 

The government is dismantling much of the protection laws that stop LGBT people being sacked just because they don’t like our face or lifestyle. Access to tribunals for unfair dismissal is being limited and sacking employees for no reason promoted.

 

Yet the Tories have the nerve to say they are champions of LGBT equality. Cameron has talked about withdrawing aid from countries with homophobic governments. A government that has spent millions killing civilians in Afghanistan and has just done a £1.9 billion deal to sell jets to that champion of human right Saudi Arabia and where gay sex is punishable by death. These Tory hypocrites aren’t going to liberate anybody.

 

People in Tunisia and Egypt have shown the way towards freedom, and are fighting to do now in Syria, in Greece and Spain.

 

The British government is a nasty vicious one – but people are fighting back. Thousands of people from UK Uncut and Occupy have taken to the streets – their slogan “we are the 99 percent” sums up how many of us feel. Up to 400,000 public sector workers struck on 10 May. Two and a half million workers went on strike on 30 November – the biggest strike since 1926.

 

The best way to fight for LGBT liberation is the join the struggles together for a generalised fight to overthrow the system that produces crisis, poverty and equality. Capitalism is destroying peoples life’s and the planet at a frightening pace.

   

I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.

 

Anyway; Woolpit.

 

I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.

 

On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.

 

And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.

 

Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.

 

The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.

 

The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.

 

But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.

Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.

 

I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.

 

2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.

 

The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.

 

A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.

 

But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.

 

It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.

 

Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.

 

Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...

 

So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.

 

Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.

 

A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.

 

You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.

 

Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...

 

I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.

 

After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.

 

Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.

 

And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.

 

Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.

 

Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?

 

The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?

 

There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.

 

But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.

 

Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!

 

Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!

 

Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.

 

How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.

 

So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.

 

But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.

 

They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.

 

Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.

 

Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.

 

As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.

 

The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.

 

Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!

 

Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?

 

How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.

 

So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.

 

The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.

 

The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.

 

I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?

 

Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?

Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.

 

- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.

 

www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/woolpit.htm