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Today's weather has these Turkey Vultures questioning their decision to come this far north this year.
One August day a year ago, I decided to walk down a long lane to see exactly what this little shed had to offer my camera. From a distance, I thought it might be a house...but as it turned out, this small, tin-roofed shed stood proudly in the Iowa pasture. I ended up getting a few cool pictures of this structure that day, but I'll be honest. Toward the end of my stroll back to the car, I was questioning my decision to walk all the way down to see this rustic little shed.
Typically, I am pretty decisive and confident. I know what I believe and value, and I make decisions using both logic an insight. My time is devoted to work, school, and family. Any extra time is invested with great thought.
Like the day I took this photo, I've questioned myself lately about how I choose invest my 'spare' time and energy. I have nearly obtained my college degree and I work for an organization that is both energizing and demanding. I sometimes feel guilty choosing to spend my time doing what I like with people I enjoy; and when what I enjoy appears to drain my time without much purpose, I question myself.
Then I consider this shed... It was not what I thought it was when I embarked on the walk and it used up more of my energy than intended. Yet, I think it is different than what I typically choose to photograph and it required that I stretch myself and my perception.
I question myself. But, without questioning myself I recognize that I cannot continue to grow. At the very least, the issues or events that cause us to question ourselves are not enjoyable. They can range from irritations to traumatic events, but without them we do not have the amazing opportunity to become more than we are today. So, while I don't enjoy what it feels like to question myself, I appreciate the impact it has on my life.
Explore #467
#AB_FAV_romantic_ ♥️
Love me without fear
Trust me without questioning
Need me without demanding
Want me without restrictions
Accept me without change
Desire me without inhibitions
For a love so free....
Will never fly away.
By Dick Sutphen
Keep your heart pure, don't clutter it with a book-keeping of lies.
Keep your love, as tender and sweet as these petals...
Lead and enjoy a good life, do and say things that enrich... and do not forget to tell the people close to you, how much you love them!
Thank you, M, (*_*)
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Valentine, petals, ribbon, pink, red, white, conceptual, "art”, heart, love, studio, black-background, colour, design, square, NIKON D7200, Magda indigo
My first DSLR lens was (and still using it sometimes) a Canon 500D/T1i. Over the years I had been sort of questioning my choice of a Canon DSLR because since then I've seen pictures taken by Nikon DSLRs and noticed that the Nikon dynamic range seems to surpass Canon.
I could not just switch to a Nikon DSLR because I have already invested in a few Canon-compatible lenses. Since the release of the Canon 7D Mark II in late 2014, I opened myself up to the possibility of getting this new camera (cropped camera, just like the Canon 500D/T1i). Besides, I’ve told myself that I would be getting the 7d mark II as I was impressed with the original Canon 7D picture quality. In the process of deciding whether or not to get the Canon 7d mark II, I happen to stumble upon an article on Magic Lantern (www.magiclantern.fm)…
Magic Lantern is an “enhanced” firmware developed by Canon camera users and can only be used on the Canon DSLRs. Immediately I was impressed with its numerous offerings like built-in Intervalometer, multiple bracketing shots (the native Canon firmware can only do maximum of 3 bracketed shots at a time), rack focusing, among many others. But the one I was immediately attracted to is the DUAL-ISO feature that comes with this enhanced firmware. I’m not good at explaining the technical aspects but suffice to say, this feature allows you to capture a shot in two different ISO values, then Magic Lantern will interlace the two shots into one. The only catch is, DUAL-ISO RAW images need additional software to process but the software is free - see www.magiclantern.fm/forum/?topic=7139.0 for more info on how to take a picture with the Dual ISO feature, as well as how to process the RAW image.
I saw that Magic Lantern is available in most Canon DSLRs (except the newer models) - I found that it is recently available (beta version, not final version yet) on the Canon 70D. I saw the camera on sale at Costco so I got this instead (and it is cheaper than Canon 7D Mark II).
So I just started experimenting with Dual-ISO last weekend, and here is the resulting image where the top part uses Dual-ISO 200/3200, and the bottom part was taken with just the ISO 200. Both were taken with EF-50mm f/1.4 lens @ f/2.2 for five seconds. The difference is striking. And yes, you read that right - the shutter speed is only 0.5 seconds. Dual-ISO is the answer to my prayers for better dynamic range in Canon DSLR shots!
I am encouraging all Canon DSLR uses to check out Magic Lantern - but a word of advice to read very carefully on how to install this feature on Canon DSLR and avoid damaging your Canon camera in the process.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
3 years of waiting, pondering and questioning then suddenly I was in the neighbourhood and it could not be denied. There are plenty of other bridges but few deliver sack shriveling fear like the Brooklyn Bridge. A city of 8 million people, 123,000 daily crossings, no save points, no shortcuts and there ain't nothing to it but to do it.
This photo is part of the set The B.
“Um...”
“What have they done.” His voice was more warning and demanding than questioning. “Tell me now, Daeran.”
“Sir, they have dishonored my late father, his house, me, and my mother.”
“Is that it?”
“No.”
Thrundin sighed. He took out an array of weapons, then set them out onto the large oak table. “I shall punish them for that, they do need to improve their moods. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t see as I have a say, Sire.”
“If I ask you, then you have a say. I shan’t repeat myself.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“What do you think would be the proper punishment for them?” Daeran couldn’t believe it. The king was asking him about his sons and what would be the best way to punish them. “I have tried almost everything and nothing has worked, so I am open to any and all suggestions.”
“I don’t know ,Sir.”
“Very well, I shall ask it of someone else.” There was a few moments of silence, then Thrundin spoke again. “Vanheri said you fought well.”
“I wasn’t aware she was watching me fight, Sire.”
“She says she had never met any other who could kill that many Gradonuls in such a short time besides me. What drove you on?”
“They killed my Adma.”
Thrundin nodded. “She has a strange way with telling stories, Vanheri. She has feelings for you.” Daeran was shocked, but how? She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t remember why.
“How is that, Sire?”
———————————————————————-end of this part!
For those that were questioning whether i was in fact wearing stockings last night, here’s the evidence, GIO fully fashioned black stockings. My favourite, they are lovely to wear and somehow seem to bring that extra feminine touch.
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20190925_Fernando_FernandoIsQuestioningThis
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
I'm feeling lost and questioning whether or not another 365 is working for me. I drove for miles out into the country and saw absolutely nothing that appealed to me. I turned around and drove back into town thinking I needed some retail therapy. That didn't work either (but I did get a new outfit). So I stopped at a nearby industrial park and snapped this.
I'm still not feeling the 365.
Just bought this autographed copy
of My story by Julie Couillard - 2008
(former girlfriend of Maxine Bernier)
Maxine Bernier resigned from cabinet in 2008 only hours before Couillard described in a television interview how he had left classified briefing documents for a NATO summit at her Montreal home. After all of this Maxine and noted other
M.Ps trash Julie Couillard about her past. Sad how politicians
take no responsibilty for their mistakes especially having
N.A.T.O confidential documents in their personal possession.
Maxime Bernier resigns over missing documents.
May 26 and 27, 2008 - Maxime Bernier resigned as Canada's Minister of Foreign Affairs after learning his ex-girlfriend Julie Couillard would reveal he left sensitive documents at her home.
See story below on YouTube :
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfGcybmQYKs
Also found this interview by George Stroumboulopoulos
questioning Maxine Bernier on his mistake of having confidential documents. Instead of just admitting mistake
he tries to smear his girlfriend again but I give credit to
interviewer for stopping him that she was not the issue.
This is about 7 minutes into the interview. See below
on YouTube.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTjLSHSx6Pg&t=458s
Maxime Bernier PC MP (born January 18, 1963) is a Canadian businessman, lawyer and politician serving as the
Member of Parliament (MP) for the riding of Beauce since 2006. He is the founder and current leader of the
People's Party of Canada (PPC).
Prior to entering politics, Bernier held positions in the fields of law, finance and banking. First elected to
the Canadian House of Commons as a Conservative, Bernier served as Minister of Industry, Minister of Foreign
Affairs, Minister of State for Small Business and Tourism, which later became the Minister of State for Small
Business and Tourism and Agriculture in the cabinet of then-Prime Minister Stephen Harper. Following the
Conservatives' defeat in the 2015 election, he served as opposition critic for Innovation, Science and Economic
Development in the shadow cabinets of Rona Ambrose and Andrew Scheer, until June 12, 2018.
Bernier ran for the Conservative Party leadership in the 2017 leadership election, and came in a close second
with over 49% of the vote in the 13th round, after leading the eventual winner, Andrew Scheer, in the first 12
rounds. Fifteen months later, in August 2018, Bernier resigned from the Conservative Party to create his own
party, citing disagreements with Scheer's leadership.[1] His new party was named the People's Party of Canada in
September 2018.
Interview Julie Couillard gave in 2008
JULIE COUILLARD TALKS WITH KENNETH WHYTE ABOUT HER DEAL WITH MAXIME BERNIER, HIS DISLOYALTY, AND HER RESPECT FOR
THE PM
OCTOBER 20 2008
'All of a sudden, I'm a biker’s chick, I'm trash. He ran the other way while I drowned.’
INTERVIEW
JULIE COUILLARD TALKS WITH KENNETH WHYTE ABOUT HER DEAL WITH MAXIME BERNIER, HIS DISLOYALTY, AND HER RESPECT FOR
THE PM
I’m going to start at the beginning of your relationship with Mr. Bernier, and that very first meeting that you
two had.
A: Well, it was actually my real estate broker that invited me to a cinq-à-sept. I had mentioned to him a couple
of days prior that the Conservative party had approached me to maybe present myself as an MP, which really took
me by surprise. But to tell you that I ever took this proposition seriously, no. Still, I was curious about it,
and my broker says, we’re all going for supper afterwards and, by the way, a minister is going to be there, and
maybe you’d like to come and pick his brains, basically, about politics and everything to do with becoming 14
an MP. So I said yeah. He mentioned to me it was the ministre de l’industrie—industry minister—Maxime Bernier.
As a joke, my broker said, “He’s pretty cute, and he’s single, so who knows?” That’s how we first met.
Q: In the course of the evening, Mr. Bernier got a bit forward with you.
A: Well, actually, that was at the beginning of the evening. We had just sat down, and he leaned forward and
gave me a little peck on the cheek. And some people will say, “How come you got shocked by that? Because next
time you saw him you guys ended up being intimate on your first official date.” It’s not the same as if you meet
a guy for the first time, you hit it off well, and then it’s officially a date. First of all, my brokers were
there. It was a business meeting. I mean, I was in a
suit. That’s why it was totally out of place.
Q: You took him outside, gave him a lecture, and said you weren’t there as a little helper.
A: Exactly, yeah.
Q: What did you mean by little helper?
A: Well, that was the English translation. I’m not a girl that some company will introduce you to so that,
basically, if you find her cute you can have your way with her. Because there were other young girls, all of a
sudden, that joined our table, that were not businesswomen. They were there just to party. I wanted to make it
clear to Maxime that, you know, you’re a very nice guy, we get along great, and you’re handsome and all, but I’m
calling the shots and nobody else.
Q: It is kind of offensive for somebody to do that at a first meeting. Why not run from him?
A: Well, because he was very apologetic.
Q: So you don’t think he mistook you for a little helper?
A: No, because I can be very blunt. And he was taken aback.
Q: It wasn’t really a business arrangement he proposed when you started to see each other steadily, but it was
kind of a professional arrangement, right?
A: No. Maxime proposed a personal relationship with a condition attached to it. That’s how, really, it was
presented to me. The first offer was if I wanted to become his girlfriend, and if I would be interested enough
to have a serious relationship with him, there were certain strings attached to the fact that he was a
politician and a public figure. [They would have to go out for a year.] Though I was a bit shocked in the sense
that it’s not the most romantic way to ask a girl to go out with you, after his explanation I had to agree with
him. He was a politician, he was a public figure, and it came with the territory.
Q: Right.
A: I put myself in his shoes. Sometimes you do have to compromise because of your work. And at that point in
time, I didn’t anticipate not getting along with Maxime.
Q: In My Story, you describe some behaviour on his part that wasn’t terribly impressive, his temper tantrums,
throwing an iron across the room, and calling you when you’re at official functions with important people,
summoning you from across the room in a rude way.
A: While I’m talking with the wife of our ambassador nonetheless, yes.
Q: And then there’s the fact that you found out [that there were] other women.
A: There’s one specific event that I found out while I was his girlfriend, the rest I found out after I was just
his friend.
Q: There’s a considerable amount of stuff like this in the book about him, and I have trouble seeing what
attracted you two. Did you like him?
A At the beginning I did. A: Well, he’s easygoing, he’s fun, you’ll enjoy a good supper with a good bottle of
wine. And we did have a very strong attraction for one another, and you have to understand that we had a
longdistance relationship. Four days out of the week Maxime was not there. Every other weekend he had his two
daughters. Most probably, if Maxime would have been living where Fm living, after a month or two I would have
said, “You know what, buddy? This is not working out.” It took me six months because he got promoted and he
started travelling a lot, and sometimes I wouldn’t even see him for two to three weeks, so when we finally did
get together it was like our first date all over again. It wasn’t easy for me to realize that he was lacking
depth.
Q: Regarding the men in your life before Maxime Bernier, Gilles Giguère was murdered, and Stéphane Sirois was
fairly high up in a motorcycle gang.
A: No, he was not.
Q: No? What was he?
A: While I was with him he was not a biker. He gave back his patch, because that was my condition. I didn’t want
to go out with a biker. After I divorced him he went back into that world and eventually turned into a rat.
Q: You’ve been left heartbroken, broke, and embarrassed by various men in your life. Do you feel you have been
unlucky in love?
A: I’ve had my unlucky strikes, I have to admit. You have to understand that I was put in a position where I had
no choice to write a biography to re-establish the facts and my credibility, and had I written that book at 78,
let’s say, there would have been a lot more happy times. At this point in time in my life I made a choice of
keeping the good business ventures and my happy relationships for me, for the little I had left of my private
life.
Q: So you don’t think you have a habit of picking the wrong guy?
A: Well, I could have a better average.
Q: I get a bit confused about the end of your relationship with Mr. Bernier. It was in December 2007 that you
sort of broke up, but you continued to see one another. You were still more than friends, though.
A: Yes, we were. I had nobody else in my life, so j’ai rendu le pratique agréable, I made what was practical
agreeable. I mentioned to Maxime in December that our relationship was not fulfilling me and that I had no time
to waste, at my age, and I knew that Maxime was not the guy. And to tell you the truth, Maxime agreed that it
was better that we remained good friends, you know? I had given
him my word that I would remain his official girlfriend for a year and, to tell you honestly, though you know
that that person is not the person of your life, you still can grow very attached. I certainly didn’t do it
against my own free will or all those things that people implied, that I was paid to be his escort and whatnot.
That’s totally ridiculous. How many people had an ex that they kept seeing until they met someone else that was
more interesting? I think we have all done it. So all of a sudden, because he’s a minister, there’s this hidden
agenda behind it.
Q: Everybody’s trying to impose a story on your life.
A: It was much simpler than that, and a
1 had this image of George Bush as this cold person. He had a great sense of humour. That totally threw me off.’
lot duller than that, if you ask me.
Q: Well, it’s not very dull.
A: Concerning my relationship with Maxime it was. Yes, fine, I did have a fiancé that got assassinated, but that
was 12 years ago, and yes, I ended up divorcing a guy that used to be a biker before he went out with me, or got
married to me, but that was 10 years ago.
Q: Is that one of the things that was so horrifying for you about this? Because you’ve been working, travelling
in different circles, and holding your own with ambassadors and important people around the world. And then all
of a sudden, you’re reading about yourself in the paper.
A: All of a sudden I’m a biker’s chick and I’m this and I’m that and I’m trash and I’m a whore and I’m possibly
sent by bikers. What
the hell? That’s 10 and 12 years ago, so what does that have to do with anything now?
Q: Was it necessary, in order to re-establish your reputation, to go so deeply into Mr. Bernier’s character
flaws and his misbehaviours?
A: I think that it was. When you have a team of people who work 45 hours a week to portray you and to sell your
image in the media, getting to know the real, true person behind this image can’t be easy. It needed to be done
so that people would understand not his actions, but his inaction in this circus that crashed my life. Some
people will say, “Yeah, well, it’s pretty harsh.” Well, I’m so sorry but his silence was basically sending a
message to the public that he was endorsing everything that was being said. That man knew me, he spent a year
with me, six months as his girlfriend, and I was good enough to remain his very good friend for another six
months, and he still wanted me to stick around to keep accompanying him in all his official functions, so I
couldn’t have been such a vulgar woman and a slut and a this and a that and a biker’s chick. Yet he let all
these things be said about me, and he was the politician, he was the one who had all the tools to stand up and
say, “Listen, now, this is not right.”
Q: In March of this year it broke on TV that the minister is dating a biker chick.
Q: May, sorry, and he went underground.
A: Exactly, he started acting like he never even knew me. Do you honestly think that the media, politicians,
[the general] population would have been the slightest [bit] interested in what Julie Couillard did in her life
10, 11 years ago, 12 years ago? Who gave a damn? Nobody. Everybody became interested. Why? Because I was the
official girlfriend of a federal cabinet minister. He ran the other way waving while I was drowning.
Q: What should he have done?
A: Well, he should have at least straightened out the facts, and right from the get-go he could have stopped
this then and there. He could have said that this is all a cheap way of trying to damage his reputation and
damage the party that was in power, and that it had nothing to do with the real issues of our society today and
it was just cheap politics. He had all the tools and all the people. He knew that the RCMP, the Sûreté du
Québec,
la Communauté urbaine de Montréal, all of them, [that] did investigate me back then, came to the conclusion I
had nothing to do with organized crime aside from the fact that I was seeing people that knew people in that
scene, but on a personal level, and I was not implicated in the criminal activities of any sort. This was just a
cheap attempt to damage our government. That’s all it was!
Q: In the book, Stephen Harper comes off better than pretty much anyone else you encountered in that world. You
were impressed with him.
A: Yes, I was. I have to admit that I do not have the same political views as Mr. Harper but I do have a lot of
respect for the man.
Q: George W. Bush impressed you as well.
A: I had this image of this cold, very restrained person, but he was such a friendly and accessible guy, and
very light and funny. He had a great sense of humour. That totally threw me off.
Q: You say in the book that you thought you let Mr. Bernier off too easily. Is there more to the story that you
haven’t written?
A: The only more would be things that I do not think are of any public interest.
Q: He would, when you were together, complain about Mr. Harper being fat or being controlling. Doesn’t everybody
complain about the boss?
A: Maybe. But Maxime doesn’t have just a job, he’s a politician. That’s very different. He shouldn’t have a
right to disrespect our Prime Minister. And what really pissed me off is that Maxime was a guy that two years
before wasn’t even in politics and there you go, all of a sudden, because of Mr. Harper, he ends up, hey, the
minister of external affairs! Come on! The man might not be perfect, we’re all perfectly unperfect, but you
should respect him for giving you that opportunity.
Q: You answered this question already about the men in your life and your batting average. Do you think it’s the
kind of man you’re attracted to or the kind of man who’s attracted to you?
A: Well, I don’t know. I know for my part my flaws are more that I see a good-looking guy and he’s a good talker
and he’s a lot of fun and he makes me laugh, and then I have a tendency of more dreaming an image of that
person, and then I fall in love with that image, but the guy I’m falling in love with does not even exist.
That’s what I would have to watch out for. And because, I guess, of my looks some men are attracted to me for
the wrong reasons, they stop at what they see instead of seeing deeper than that.
Q: When you were travelling with Mr. Bernier and going to official functions, you did meet some people and you
exchanged business cards on occasion. Did any opportunities or any doors open for you because ofthat?
A: I didn’t really exchange business cards at all, to tell you the truth, when I was with Maxime. I’ve had the
pleasure of saying, “I’ve met our ambassador in Paris.” But I was the spouse of Maxime, that’s why I was there.
Q: Are you working now?
A: Oh, no. My life totally stopped. The seventh of May everything stopped.
Q: What are you going to do now?
A: That’s a very good question. I don’t have an answer. I still have a mortgage to pay, and a car payment and so
on and so forth. I concentrated on re-establishing the facts and reestablishing my credibility because nobody
will have anything to do business-wise with me—which is totally understandable—and I do not believe that the
same career is ever going to pick up again.
Q: Real estate?
A: No, real estate and development. I specialized in a very narrow niche, where you always have to be in contact
with the municipalities, with the provincial, even the federal government. M
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
This is not good at all.....
Bourse du Commerce
Bourse du Commerce
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryan_Gander
www.lissongallery.com/artists/ryan-gander+"Ryan Gander
Ryan Gander has established an international reputation through artworks that materialise in many different forms – from sculpture to film, writing, graphic design, installation, performance and more besides. Through associative thought processes that connect the everyday and the esoteric, the overlooked and the commonplace, Gander’s work involves a questioning of language and knowledge, as well as a reinvention of both the modes of appearance and the creation of an artwork. His work can be reminiscent of a puzzle, or a network with multiple connections and the fragments of an embedded story. It is ultimately a huge set of hidden clues to be deciphered, encouraging viewers to make their own associations and invent their own narrative in order to unravel the complexities staged by the artist.
Ryan Gander (born 1976, Chester, UK) lives and works in Suffolk and London. He studied at Manchester Metropolitan University, UK; the Rijksakademie van Beeldende Kunsten, Amsterdam, Netherlands; and the Jan van Eyck Akademie, Maastricht, Netherlands. The artist has been a Professor of Visual Art at the University of Huddersfield and holds an honorary Doctor of the Arts at the Manchester Metropolitan University and the University of Suffolk. In 2017 he was awarded an OBE for services to contemporary art. Recent solo shows have been held at East Gallery at NUA, Norwich, UK (2022); Space K, Seoul, South Korea (2021); Lisson Gallery, New York, USA (2020); Kunsthalle Bern, Switzerland (2019); Lisson Gallery, Shanghai, China (2019), Esther Schipper, Berlin, Germany (2019), 21st Biennale of Sydney, Australia (2018), TARO NASU, Tokyo, Japan (2018); gb Agency, Paris, France (2018); Dazaifu Shrine, Fukuoka, Japan (2017); Remai Modern, Saskatoon, Canada (2017); The Contemporary Austin, TX, USA (2017); the National Museum of Art Osaka, Osaka, Japan (2017); Hyundai Gallery, Seoul, South Korea (2017); Museum Dhondt-Dhaenens, Deurle, Belgium (2016); Aspen Art Museum, Aspen, CO, USA (2016); Contemporary Art Gallery, Vancouver, Canada (2015); Australian Centre for Contemporary Art, Melbourne, Australia (2015); Singapore Tyler Print Institute, Singapore, Singapore (2015); and Manchester Art Gallery, Manchester, UK (2014). Major projects include Liverpool Biennale, UK; Sydney Biennale, Sydney, Australia; British Art Show 8, Leeds, UK; Performa 15, New York, NY, USA; Panorama, High Line, New York, USA; Imagineering, Okayama Castle, Okayama, Japan; 'The artists have the keys', 2 Willow Road, London, UK; Unlimited, Art Basel, Basel, Switzerland; Parcours, Art Basel, Basel, Switzerland; Esperluette, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, France; dOCUMENTA (13), Kassel, Germany; 'Locked Room Scenario', commissioned by Artangel, London, UK; ILLUMInations at the 54th International Art Exhibition of the Venice Biennale, Venice, Italy; 'Intervals' at Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, NY, USA; and 'The Happy Prince', Public Art Fund, Doris C. Freedman Plaza, Central Park, New York, NY, USA."
Ryan GANDER — né en 1976 à Chester (Royaume-Uni). Vit et travaille à Londres (Royaume-Uni).
www.paris-art.com/createurs/ryan-gander/
Ryan Gander est un artiste contemporain britannique. Artiste conceptuel, Ryan Gander cultive des pratiques très diversifiées : sculpture, installation, dispositif interactif, performance, vidéo, design, écriture… Maniant le trait d’esprit et l’humour (witty, pour le dire en anglais), son travail joue sur les détournements. Bauhaus Revisited (2003), par exemple, reprend le jeu d’échec conçu en 1924 par Josef Hartwig. De géométrie abstraite, les pièces de Josef Hartwig sont déjà difficiles à discerner les unes des autres. Compliquant la donne, Ryan Gander utilise une essence de bois strié (marron clair, marron foncé) pour réaliser toutes les pièces de son Bauhaus Revisited. Le bois de zebrano rend ainsi les camps opposés encore plus difficilement discernables, quoique chaque pièce soit unique. Actuellement, le travail de Ryan Gander est notamment représenté par la Lisson Gallery (Londres, New York, Milan) et gb agency (Paris), notamment.
"Ryan Gander : artiste conceptuel, traits d’humour et références imbriquées
Ryan Gander a étudié les Arts Interactifs à la Manchester Metropolitan University (1996-1999). En 2000 il passe une année à la Jan van Eyck Academie de Maastricht, en tant que chercheur en art. Puis il effectue une résidence à l’Académie Royale des Beaux-Arts d’Amsterdam (2001-2002). En 2003, il reçoit le Prix de Rome de Sculpture. Conceptuel, le travail de Ryan Gander l’est en ce qu’il joue sur les narrations, à la manière d’un Marcel Duchamp. En 2009, son installation Matthew Young falls from the 1985 into a white room (Maybe this is that way it issupposed to happen), jongle ainsi avec les références. Elle s’appuie sur une nouvelle de J.G. Ballard, évoquant l’exposition « Sculpture de l’âge spatial », censée avoir eu lieu à la Serpentine Gallery de Londres. Quelques bris de verre (en sucre), quelques morceaux de bois rompu… Toute la saveur de l’œuvre réside dans les références imbriquées.
Installations, narrations, sculptures, dispositifs interactifs… Biennale de Venise et Documenta
En 2011, Ryan Gander participe à la Biennale de Venise et, en 2012, à la Documenta de Cassel. Pour cette dernière, il présente la pièce I Need Some Meaning I Can Memorise (The Invisible Pull). À savoir un léger courant d’air parcourant une grande pièce laissée vide. En 2013, le Frac Île-de-France (Le Plateau) présente « Make every show like it’s your last ». Soit la première exposition personnelle de Ryan Gander dans une institution parisienne. Avec la pièce Magnus Opus (2013), par exemple, consistant en une paire d’yeux, incrustée dans le mur et animée à l’aide de capteurs. Renversant ainsi les rôles spéculaires, entre les regardeurs et les regardés. Londres, Bâle, Paris, New York, Bologne, Amsterdam, Vienne, Zurich, Miami, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Varsovie, Mexico… Le travail de Ryan Gander fait l’objet d’expositions personnelles dans le monde entier."
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. ~Albert Einstein
No Textures. One moth, a window and a reflection.
The Lost World (20th Century Fox, 1960).
youtu.be/h1CLA-gJbmA?t=5s Trailer
Irwin Allen, the producer who would go on to make the disaster film a huge success in the seventies, brought us this Saturday afternoon fodder with giant lizards posing as dinosaurs. Starring Michael Rennie, David Hedison, Claude Rains and Jill St. John.
Intended as a grand sci-fi/fantasy epic remake of Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novel. The first film adaptation, shot in 1925, was a milestone in many ways, but movie making and special effects had come a long way in 35 years. Irwin Allen's Lost World (LW) & 20th Century Fox version was derailed on the way to greatness, but managed to still be a respectable, (if more modest) A-film. Allen's screenplay followed the book fairly well, telling of Professor Challenger's expedition to a remote plateau in the Amazon upon which dinosaurs still lived. Aside from the paleontological presumptions in the premise, there is little "science" in The Lost World. Nonetheless, dinosaur movies have traditionally been lumped into the sci-fi genre.
Synopsis
When his plane lands in London, crusty old professor George Edward Challenger is besieged by reporters questioning him about his latest expedition to the headwaters of the Amazon River. After the irascible Challenger strikes reporter Ed Malone on the head with his umbrella, Jennifer Holmes, the daughter of Ed's employer, Stuart Holmes, offers the injured reporter a ride into town. That evening, Jenny is escorted by Lord John Roxton, an adventurer and big game hunter, to Challenger's lecture at the Zoological Institute, and Ed invites them to sit with him. When Challenger claims to have seen live dinosaurs, his colleague Professor Summerlee scoffs and asks for evidence. Explaining that his photographs of the creatures were lost when his boat overturned, Challenger invites Summerlee to accompany him on a new expedition to the "lost world," and asks for volunteers. When Roxton raises his hand, Jenny insists on going with him, but she is rejected by Challenger because she is a woman. Ed is given a spot after Holmes offers to fund the expedition if the reporter is included. The four then fly to the Amazon, where they are met by Costa, their guide and Manuel Gomez, their helicopter pilot. Arriving unexpectedly, Jenny and her younger brother David insist on joining them. Unable to arrange transportation back to the United States, Challenger reluctantly agrees to take them along. The next day, they take off for the lost world and land on an isolated plateau inhabited by dinosaurs. That evening, a dinosaur stomps out of the jungle, sending them scurrying for cover. After the beast destroys the helicopter and radio, the group ventures inland. When one of the creatures bellows threateningly, they flee, and in their haste, Challenger and Ed slip and tumble down a hillside, where they encounter a native girl. The girl runs into the jungle, but Ed follows and captures her. They then all take refuge in a cave, where Roxton, who has been making disparaging remarks about Jenny's desire to marry him solely for his title, angers Ed. Ed lunges at Roxton, pushing him to the ground, where he finds a diary written by Burton White, an adventurer who hired Roxton three years earlier to lead him to the lost diamonds of Eldorado. Roxton then admits that he never met White and his party because he was delayed by a dalliance with a woman, thus abandoning them to certain death. Gomez angrily snaps that his good friend Santiago perished in the expedition. That night, Costa tries to molest the native girl, and David comes to her rescue and begins to communicate with her through sign language. After Gomez goes to investigate some movement he spotted in the vegetation, he calls for help, and when Roxton runs out of the cave, a gunshot from an unseen assailant is fired, nearly wounding Roxton and sending the girl scurrying into the jungle. Soon after, Ed and Jenny stray from camp and are pursued by a dinosaur, and after taking refuge on some cliffs, watch in horror as their stalker becomes locked in combat with another prehistoric creature and tumbles over the cliffs into the waters below. Upon returning to camp, they discover it deserted, their belongings in disarray. As David stumbles out from some rocks to report they were attacked by a tribe of natives, the cannibals return and imprison them in a cave with the others. As the drums beat relentlessly, signaling their deaths, the native girl reappears and motions for them to follow her through a secret passageway that leads to the cave in which Burton White lives, completely sightless. After confirming that all in his expedition perished, White tells them of a volcanic passageway that will lead them off the plateau, but warns that they must first pass through the cave of fire. Cautioning them that the natives plan to sacrifice them, White declares that their only chance of survival is to slip through the cave and then seal it with a boulder. After giving them directions to the cave, White asks them to take the girl along. As the earth, on the verge of a volcanic eruption, quakes, they set off through the Graveyard of the Damned, a vast cavern littered with dinosaur skeletons, the victims of the deadly sulfurous gases below. Pursued by the ferocious natives, Roxton takes the lead as they inch their way across a narrow ledge above the molten lava. After escaping the natives, they jam the cave shut with a boulder and, passing a dam of molten lava, finally reach the escape passage. At its mouth is a pile of giant diamonds and a dinosaur egg. As Costa heaps the diamonds into his hat, Challenger fondles the egg and Gomez pulls a gun and announces that Roxton must die in exchange for the death of Santiago, Gomez' brother. Acting quickly, Ed hurls the diamonds at Gomez, throwing him off balance and discharging his gun. The gunshot awakens a creature slumbering in the roiling waters below. After the beast snatches Costa and eats him alive, Ed tries to dislodge the dam, sending a few scorching rocks tumbling down onto the monster. Feeling responsible for the peril of the group, Gomez sacrifices his life by using his body as a lever to dislodge the dam, covering the creature with oozing lava. As the cave begins to crumble from the impending eruption, the group hurries to safety. Just then, the volcano explodes, destroying the lost world. After Roxton hands Ed a handful of diamonds he has saved as a wedding gift for him and Jenny, Challenger proudly displays his egg, which then hatches, revealing a baby dinosaur. The End.
The 50s had seen several examples of the dinosaur sub-genre. LW is one of the more lavish ones, owing to color by DeLuxe and CinemaScope. The A-level actors help too. Claude Rains plays the flamboyant Challenger. Michael Rennie plays Roxton, perhaps a bit too cooly. Jill St. John and Vitina Marcus do well as the customary eye candy. David Hedison as Malone and Fernando Lamas as Gomez round out the bill.
The first film version of LW was a silent movie shot in 1925: screenplay by Marion Fairfax. The film featured stop-motion animated dinosaurs by a young Willis O'Brien. Fairfax followed Doyle's text, but Fairfax added a young woman to the team, Paula White. Ostensibly trying to find her father from the first failed expedition, she provided the love triangle interest between Malone and Roxton.
Allen's screenplay tried to stick to Doyle's text as much as Hollywood would allow. It carried on Fairfax's invention of the young woman member of the group as triangle fodder. Fairfax had Doyle's ape men (ape man) but omitted the native humans. Allen had the natives, but no ape men. Allen revived the Gomez/revenge subplot, which Fairfax skipped. Doyle's story had Challenger bringing back a pterodactyl. Fairfax made it a brontosaur who rampaged through London streets (spawning a popular trope). Allen suggested the baby dinosaur traveling to London.
Willis O'Brien pitched 20th Century Fox in the late 50s, to do a quality remake of LW. He had gained much experience in the intervening 35 years, so his stop-motion dinosaurs were to be the real stars. Fox bass liked the idea, but by the time the ball started rolling, there was trouble in studioland. Fox's grand epic Cleopatra was underway, but was already 5 million dollars over budget. Cleo would nearly sink 20th Century Fox when it was finally released in 1963. To stay afloat, all other Fox films' budgets were slashed. Allen could no longer afford the grand O'Brien stop-motion.
Allen's production is often criticized for its "cheap" dinosaurs, which were live monitor lizards and alligators with fins and plates and horns glue onto them. (more on that below) These were already a bit cheesy when used in the 1940 film One Million B.C.. O'Brien is still listed on the credits as "Effects Technician," but all Allen could afford was lizards with glued on extras. Somewhat amusingly, the script still refers to them as brontosaurs and T-Rexes.
The character of Jennifer Holmes starts out promising. She's a self-assured to the edges of pushy, and is said to be able to out shoot and out ride any man. Yet, when she gets to the Amazon jungle, she's little more than Jungle Barbie, dressed in girlie clothes and screaming frequently. She even does the typical Hollywood trip-and-fall when chased by the dinosaur, so that a man must save her.
Bottom line? FW is a finer example of the not-quite-sci-fi dinosaur sub-genre. The actors are top drawer, even if some of their acting is a bit flat. Nonetheless, FW is a fair adaptation of Doyle's
classic adventure novel, given the constraints of Hollywood culture.
The Movie Club Annals … Review
The Lost World 1960
Introduction
There was absolutely nothing wrong with Irwin Allen's 1960 production of The Lost World. Nothing. It was perfect in every way. I therefore find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of having to write a rave review about a Movie Club movie that was entirely devoid of flaws.
Faced with such a confounding task, I half-heartedly considered faking a bad review, then praying my obvious deceptions would go unnoticed. But the patent transparency of my scheme convinced me to abandon it posthaste. After all, leveling concocted criticisms at such an unassailable masterpiece would be a futile and tiresome exercise, the pretense of which would escape nary a semi-cognizant soul.
Thus, having retreated from my would-be descent into literary intrigue, I start this review in earnest by borrowing a quote from the legendary Shelly Winters, spoken during the 1972 filming of Irwin Allen's The Poseidon Adventure:
"I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Allen.” Shelly Winters, 1972
Review
A bit of research into the casting choices of Irwin Allen, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lost World, begins to reveal the genius behind the virtuosity.
The first accolades go to Irwin for his casting of Vitina Marcus, the immaculately groomed Saks 5th Avenue cave girl with exquisite taste in makeup, jewelry, and cave-wear. No finer cave girl ever graced a feature film.
Vitina Marcus, as The Cave Girl
She was the picture of prehistoric glamour, gliding across the silver screen in her designer bearskin mini-pelt, her flawless coiffure showing no signs of muss from the traditional courting rituals of the day, her perfect teeth the envy of even the most prototypical Osmond. Even her nouveau-opposable thumbs retained their manicure, in spite of the oft-disagreeable duties that frequently befell her as an effete member of the tribal gentry.
By no means just another Neanderthal harlot, Vitina had a wealth of talent to augment her exterior virtues. Her virtuoso interpretation of a comely cave girl in The Lost World certainly didn't escape the attention Irwin Allen. In fact, he was so taken with her performance that he later engaged her services again, casting her as the Native Girl in episode 2.26 of his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series.
Leery of potential typecasting, Vitina went on to obtain roles with greater depth and more sophisticated dialogue. This is evidenced by the great departure she took from her previous roles when she next portrayed the part of Sarit, a female barbarian, in episode 1.24 of Irwin Allen's The Time Tunnel TV series.
Vitina, as Sarit
Vitina's efforts to avoid typecasting paid off in spades, as she was soon rewarded with the distinctive role of Girl, a female Tarzanesque she-beast character, in episode 3.14 of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series.
Lured back from the U.N.C.L.E. set by Irwin Allen, Vitina was next cast in the role of Athena (a.k.a. Lorelei), the green space girl with the inverted lucite salad bowl hat, in episodes 2.2 and 2.16 of the revered Lost in Space TV series.
And with this, Vitina reached the pinnacle of her career. For her many unparalleled displays of thespian pageantry, she leaves us forever in her debt as she exits the stage.
For those who would still question the genius of Irwin Allen, I defy you to find a better casting choice for the character of Lord John Roxton than that of Michael Rennie. Mr. Rennie, who earlier starred as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, went on to even greater heights, starring as The Keeper in episodes 1.16 and 1.17 of the revered Lost in Space TV series. Throughout his distinguished career, Mr. Rennie often played highly cerebral characters with
unique names, such as Garth A7, Tribolet, Hasani, Rama Kahn, Hertz, and Dirk. How befitting that his most prolific roles came to him through a man named Irwin, a highly cerebral character with a unique name.
The selection of David Hedison to play Ed Malone was yet another example of Irwin's uncanny foresight. Soon after casting him in The Lost World, Irwin paved Mr. Hedison's path to immortality by casting him as a lead character in his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series. Although Voyage ended in 1968, Mr. Hedison departed the show with a solid resume and a bright future.
In the decades following Voyage, Mr. Hedison has been a veritable fixture on the small screen, appearing in such socially influential programs as The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy and The A Team. Mr. Hedison's early collaborations with Irwin Allen have left him never wanting for a day's work in Hollywood, a boon to the legions of discerning fans who continue to savor his inspiring prime time depictions.
Irwin selected Fernando Lamas to play Manuel Gomez, the honorable and tortured soul of The Lost World who needlessly sacrificed himself at the end of the movie to save all the others. To get a feel for how important a casting decision he was to Irwin, just look at the pertinent experience Mr. Lamas brought to the table:
Irwin knew that such credentials could cause him to lose the services of Mr. Lamas to another project, and he took great pains to woo him onto the set of The Lost World. And even though Mr. Lamas never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his talent is not lost on us.
Jay Novello was selected by Irwin Allen to play Costa, the consummate Cuban coward who perpetually betrays everyone around him in the name of greed. In pursuing his craven calling, Mr. Novello went on to play Xandros, the Greek Slave in Atlantis, The Lost Continent, as well as countless other roles as a coward.
Although Mr. Novella never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his already long and distinguished career as a coward made him the obvious choice for Irwin when the need for an experienced malingerer arose.
Jill St. John was Irwin's pick to play Jennifer Holmes, the "other" glamour girl in The Lost World. Not to be upstaged by glamour-cave-girl Vitina Marcus, Jill played the trump card and broke out the pink go-go boots and skin-tight Capri pants, the perfect Amazonian summertime jungle wear.
Complete with a perfect hairdo, a killer wardrobe, a little yip-yip dog named Frosty, and all the other trappings of a wealthy and pampered prehistoric society, Jill's sensational allure rivaled even that of a certain cave girl appearing in the same film.
With the atmosphere rife for an on-set rivalry between Jill and Vitina, Irwin still managed to keep the peace, proving that he was as skilled a diplomat as he was a director.
Claude Rains, as Professor George Edward Challenger
And our cup runneth over, as Irwin cast Claude Rains to portray Professor George Edward Challenger. His eminence, Mr. Rains is an entity of such immeasurable virtue that he is not in need of monotonous praise from the likes of me.
I respectfully acknowledge the appearance of Mr. Rains because failure to do so would be an unforgivable travesty. But I say nothing more on the subject, lest I state something so obvious and uninspiring as to insult the intelligence of enlightened reader.
Irwin's casting of the cavemen mustn't be overlooked, for their infallibly realistic portrayals are unmatched within the Pleistocene Epoch genre of film. Such meticulous attention to detail is what separates Irwin Allen from lesser filmmakers, whose pale imitations of his work only further to underscore the point.
To be sure, it is possible to come away with the unfounded suspicion that the cavemen are really just a bunch of old white guys from the bar at the local Elks lodge. But Irwin was an absolute stickler for authenticity, and would never have allowed the use of such tawdry measures to taint his prehistoric magnum opus.
In truth, Irwin's on-screen cavemen were borne of many grueling years of anthropological research, so the explanation for their somewhat modern, pseudo-caucasian appearance lies obviously elsewhere. And in keeping with true Irwin Allen tradition, that explanation will not be offered here.
1964 - Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Season One, Episode 7 - "Turn Back the Clock", featuring Vitina Marcus as The Native Girl. Produced by Irwin Allen.
And then there was Irwin Allen's masterful handling of the reptilian facets of The Lost World, most notably his inimitable casting of the dinosaurs. His dinosaurs were so realistic, so eerily lifelike, that they almost looked like living, breathing garden variety lizards with dinosaur fins and horns glued to their backs and heads.
The less enlightened viewer might even suppose this to be true, that Irwin's dinosaurs were indeed merely live specimens of lizards, donned in Jurassic-era finery, vastly magnified, and retro-fitted into The Lost World via some penny-wise means of cinematic trickery.
But those of us in the know certainly know better than that, as we are privy to some otherwise unpublished information about The Lost World. The lifelike appearance of the Irwin's dinosaurs can be attributed to a wholly overlooked and fiendishly cunning approach to the art of delusion, which is that the dinosaurs didn't just look real, they were real.
While the world abounds with middling minds who cannot fathom such a reality, we must follow Irwin's benevolent leanings and temper our natural feelings of contempt for this unfortunate assemblage of pedestrian lowbrows. In spite of Irwin's superior intellect, he never felt disdain toward the masses that constituted his audiences. He simply capitalized on their unaffectedness, and in the process recounted the benefits of exploiting the intellectually bereft for personal gain.
The purpose of all this analysis, of course, is to place an exclamation point on the genius of Irwin Allen, the formation of his dinosaur exposé being a premier example. Note how he mindfully manipulates the expectations of his unsuspecting audience, compelling them to probe the dinosaurs for any signs of man-made chicanery. Then, at the palatial moment when the dinosaurs make their entry, he guilefully supplants the anticipated display of faux reptilia with that of the bona fide article.
Upon first witnessing the de facto dinosaurs, some in the audience think they've been had, and indeed they have. Irwin, in engineering his masterful ruse, had used reality as his medium to convey the illusion of artifice. His audience, in essence, was blinded by the truth. It was the immaculate deception, and none but Irwin Allen could have conceived it.
Indeed, the matter of where the live dinosaurs came from has been conspicuously absent from this discussion, as the Irwinian technique of fine film making strongly discourages the practice of squandering time on extraneous justifications and other such trite means of redundant apologia. For the benefit of the incessantly curious, however, just keep in mind that Irwin Allen wrote and produced The Time Tunnel TV Series, a fact that should provide some fair insight into his modis operandi.
Carl R.
The Lost World (20th Century Fox, 1960).
youtu.be/h1CLA-gJbmA?t=5s Trailer
Irwin Allen, the producer who would go on to make the disaster film a huge success in the seventies, brought us this Saturday afternoon fodder with giant lizards posing as dinosaurs. Starring Michael Rennie, David Hedison, Claude Rains and Jill St. John.
Intended as a grand sci-fi/fantasy epic remake of Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novel. The first film adaptation, shot in 1925, was a milestone in many ways, but movie making and special effects had come a long way in 35 years. Irwin Allen's Lost World (LW) & 20th Century Fox version was derailed on the way to greatness, but managed to still be a respectable, (if more modest) A-film. Allen's screenplay followed the book fairly well, telling of Professor Challenger's expedition to a remote plateau in the Amazon upon which dinosaurs still lived. Aside from the paleontological presumptions in the premise, there is little "science" in The Lost World. Nonetheless, dinosaur movies have traditionally been lumped into the sci-fi genre.
Synopsis
When his plane lands in London, crusty old professor George Edward Challenger is besieged by reporters questioning him about his latest expedition to the headwaters of the Amazon River. After the irascible Challenger strikes reporter Ed Malone on the head with his umbrella, Jennifer Holmes, the daughter of Ed's employer, Stuart Holmes, offers the injured reporter a ride into town. That evening, Jenny is escorted by Lord John Roxton, an adventurer and big game hunter, to Challenger's lecture at the Zoological Institute, and Ed invites them to sit with him. When Challenger claims to have seen live dinosaurs, his colleague Professor Summerlee scoffs and asks for evidence. Explaining that his photographs of the creatures were lost when his boat overturned, Challenger invites Summerlee to accompany him on a new expedition to the "lost world," and asks for volunteers. When Roxton raises his hand, Jenny insists on going with him, but she is rejected by Challenger because she is a woman. Ed is given a spot after Holmes offers to fund the expedition if the reporter is included. The four then fly to the Amazon, where they are met by Costa, their guide and Manuel Gomez, their helicopter pilot. Arriving unexpectedly, Jenny and her younger brother David insist on joining them. Unable to arrange transportation back to the United States, Challenger reluctantly agrees to take them along. The next day, they take off for the lost world and land on an isolated plateau inhabited by dinosaurs. That evening, a dinosaur stomps out of the jungle, sending them scurrying for cover. After the beast destroys the helicopter and radio, the group ventures inland. When one of the creatures bellows threateningly, they flee, and in their haste, Challenger and Ed slip and tumble down a hillside, where they encounter a native girl. The girl runs into the jungle, but Ed follows and captures her. They then all take refuge in a cave, where Roxton, who has been making disparaging remarks about Jenny's desire to marry him solely for his title, angers Ed. Ed lunges at Roxton, pushing him to the ground, where he finds a diary written by Burton White, an adventurer who hired Roxton three years earlier to lead him to the lost diamonds of Eldorado. Roxton then admits that he never met White and his party because he was delayed by a dalliance with a woman, thus abandoning them to certain death. Gomez angrily snaps that his good friend Santiago perished in the expedition. That night, Costa tries to molest the native girl, and David comes to her rescue and begins to communicate with her through sign language. After Gomez goes to investigate some movement he spotted in the vegetation, he calls for help, and when Roxton runs out of the cave, a gunshot from an unseen assailant is fired, nearly wounding Roxton and sending the girl scurrying into the jungle. Soon after, Ed and Jenny stray from camp and are pursued by a dinosaur, and after taking refuge on some cliffs, watch in horror as their stalker becomes locked in combat with another prehistoric creature and tumbles over the cliffs into the waters below. Upon returning to camp, they discover it deserted, their belongings in disarray. As David stumbles out from some rocks to report they were attacked by a tribe of natives, the cannibals return and imprison them in a cave with the others. As the drums beat relentlessly, signaling their deaths, the native girl reappears and motions for them to follow her through a secret passageway that leads to the cave in which Burton White lives, completely sightless. After confirming that all in his expedition perished, White tells them of a volcanic passageway that will lead them off the plateau, but warns that they must first pass through the cave of fire. Cautioning them that the natives plan to sacrifice them, White declares that their only chance of survival is to slip through the cave and then seal it with a boulder. After giving them directions to the cave, White asks them to take the girl along. As the earth, on the verge of a volcanic eruption, quakes, they set off through the Graveyard of the Damned, a vast cavern littered with dinosaur skeletons, the victims of the deadly sulfurous gases below. Pursued by the ferocious natives, Roxton takes the lead as they inch their way across a narrow ledge above the molten lava. After escaping the natives, they jam the cave shut with a boulder and, passing a dam of molten lava, finally reach the escape passage. At its mouth is a pile of giant diamonds and a dinosaur egg. As Costa heaps the diamonds into his hat, Challenger fondles the egg and Gomez pulls a gun and announces that Roxton must die in exchange for the death of Santiago, Gomez' brother. Acting quickly, Ed hurls the diamonds at Gomez, throwing him off balance and discharging his gun. The gunshot awakens a creature slumbering in the roiling waters below. After the beast snatches Costa and eats him alive, Ed tries to dislodge the dam, sending a few scorching rocks tumbling down onto the monster. Feeling responsible for the peril of the group, Gomez sacrifices his life by using his body as a lever to dislodge the dam, covering the creature with oozing lava. As the cave begins to crumble from the impending eruption, the group hurries to safety. Just then, the volcano explodes, destroying the lost world. After Roxton hands Ed a handful of diamonds he has saved as a wedding gift for him and Jenny, Challenger proudly displays his egg, which then hatches, revealing a baby dinosaur. The End.
The 50s had seen several examples of the dinosaur sub-genre. LW is one of the more lavish ones, owing to color by DeLuxe and CinemaScope. The A-level actors help too. Claude Rains plays the flamboyant Challenger. Michael Rennie plays Roxton, perhaps a bit too cooly. Jill St. John and Vitina Marcus do well as the customary eye candy. David Hedison as Malone and Fernando Lamas as Gomez round out the bill.
The first film version of LW was a silent movie shot in 1925: screenplay by Marion Fairfax. The film featured stop-motion animated dinosaurs by a young Willis O'Brien. Fairfax followed Doyle's text, but Fairfax added a young woman to the team, Paula White. Ostensibly trying to find her father from the first failed expedition, she provided the love triangle interest between Malone and Roxton.
Allen's screenplay tried to stick to Doyle's text as much as Hollywood would allow. It carried on Fairfax's invention of the young woman member of the group as triangle fodder. Fairfax had Doyle's ape men (ape man) but omitted the native humans. Allen had the natives, but no ape men. Allen revived the Gomez/revenge subplot, which Fairfax skipped. Doyle's story had Challenger bringing back a pterodactyl. Fairfax made it a brontosaur who rampaged through London streets (spawning a popular trope). Allen suggested the baby dinosaur traveling to London.
Willis O'Brien pitched 20th Century Fox in the late 50s, to do a quality remake of LW. He had gained much experience in the intervening 35 years, so his stop-motion dinosaurs were to be the real stars. Fox bass liked the idea, but by the time the ball started rolling, there was trouble in studioland. Fox's grand epic Cleopatra was underway, but was already 5 million dollars over budget. Cleo would nearly sink 20th Century Fox when it was finally released in 1963. To stay afloat, all other Fox films' budgets were slashed. Allen could no longer afford the grand O'Brien stop-motion.
Allen's production is often criticized for its "cheap" dinosaurs, which were live monitor lizards and alligators with fins and plates and horns glue onto them. (more on that below) These were already a bit cheesy when used in the 1940 film One Million B.C.. O'Brien is still listed on the credits as "Effects Technician," but all Allen could afford was lizards with glued on extras. Somewhat amusingly, the script still refers to them as brontosaurs and T-Rexes.
The character of Jennifer Holmes starts out promising. She's a self-assured to the edges of pushy, and is said to be able to out shoot and out ride any man. Yet, when she gets to the Amazon jungle, she's little more than Jungle Barbie, dressed in girlie clothes and screaming frequently. She even does the typical Hollywood trip-and-fall when chased by the dinosaur, so that a man must save her.
Bottom line? FW is a finer example of the not-quite-sci-fi dinosaur sub-genre. The actors are top drawer, even if some of their acting is a bit flat. Nonetheless, FW is a fair adaptation of Doyle's
classic adventure novel, given the constraints of Hollywood culture.
The Movie Club Annals … Review
The Lost World 1960
Introduction
There was absolutely nothing wrong with Irwin Allen's 1960 production of The Lost World. Nothing. It was perfect in every way. I therefore find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of having to write a rave review about a Movie Club movie that was entirely devoid of flaws.
Faced with such a confounding task, I half-heartedly considered faking a bad review, then praying my obvious deceptions would go unnoticed. But the patent transparency of my scheme convinced me to abandon it posthaste. After all, leveling concocted criticisms at such an unassailable masterpiece would be a futile and tiresome exercise, the pretense of which would escape nary a semi-cognizant soul.
Thus, having retreated from my would-be descent into literary intrigue, I start this review in earnest by borrowing a quote from the legendary Shelly Winters, spoken during the 1972 filming of Irwin Allen's The Poseidon Adventure:
"I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Allen.” Shelly Winters, 1972
Review
A bit of research into the casting choices of Irwin Allen, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lost World, begins to reveal the genius behind the virtuosity.
The first accolades go to Irwin for his casting of Vitina Marcus, the immaculately groomed Saks 5th Avenue cave girl with exquisite taste in makeup, jewelry, and cave-wear. No finer cave girl ever graced a feature film.
Vitina Marcus, as The Cave Girl
She was the picture of prehistoric glamour, gliding across the silver screen in her designer bearskin mini-pelt, her flawless coiffure showing no signs of muss from the traditional courting rituals of the day, her perfect teeth the envy of even the most prototypical Osmond. Even her nouveau-opposable thumbs retained their manicure, in spite of the oft-disagreeable duties that frequently befell her as an effete member of the tribal gentry.
By no means just another Neanderthal harlot, Vitina had a wealth of talent to augment her exterior virtues. Her virtuoso interpretation of a comely cave girl in The Lost World certainly didn't escape the attention Irwin Allen. In fact, he was so taken with her performance that he later engaged her services again, casting her as the Native Girl in episode 2.26 of his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series.
Leery of potential typecasting, Vitina went on to obtain roles with greater depth and more sophisticated dialogue. This is evidenced by the great departure she took from her previous roles when she next portrayed the part of Sarit, a female barbarian, in episode 1.24 of Irwin Allen's The Time Tunnel TV series.
Vitina, as Sarit
Vitina's efforts to avoid typecasting paid off in spades, as she was soon rewarded with the distinctive role of Girl, a female Tarzanesque she-beast character, in episode 3.14 of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series.
Lured back from the U.N.C.L.E. set by Irwin Allen, Vitina was next cast in the role of Athena (a.k.a. Lorelei), the green space girl with the inverted lucite salad bowl hat, in episodes 2.2 and 2.16 of the revered Lost in Space TV series.
And with this, Vitina reached the pinnacle of her career. For her many unparalleled displays of thespian pageantry, she leaves us forever in her debt as she exits the stage.
For those who would still question the genius of Irwin Allen, I defy you to find a better casting choice for the character of Lord John Roxton than that of Michael Rennie. Mr. Rennie, who earlier starred as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, went on to even greater heights, starring as The Keeper in episodes 1.16 and 1.17 of the revered Lost in Space TV series. Throughout his distinguished career, Mr. Rennie often played highly cerebral characters with
unique names, such as Garth A7, Tribolet, Hasani, Rama Kahn, Hertz, and Dirk. How befitting that his most prolific roles came to him through a man named Irwin, a highly cerebral character with a unique name.
The selection of David Hedison to play Ed Malone was yet another example of Irwin's uncanny foresight. Soon after casting him in The Lost World, Irwin paved Mr. Hedison's path to immortality by casting him as a lead character in his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series. Although Voyage ended in 1968, Mr. Hedison departed the show with a solid resume and a bright future.
In the decades following Voyage, Mr. Hedison has been a veritable fixture on the small screen, appearing in such socially influential programs as The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy and The A Team. Mr. Hedison's early collaborations with Irwin Allen have left him never wanting for a day's work in Hollywood, a boon to the legions of discerning fans who continue to savor his inspiring prime time depictions.
Irwin selected Fernando Lamas to play Manuel Gomez, the honorable and tortured soul of The Lost World who needlessly sacrificed himself at the end of the movie to save all the others. To get a feel for how important a casting decision he was to Irwin, just look at the pertinent experience Mr. Lamas brought to the table:
Irwin knew that such credentials could cause him to lose the services of Mr. Lamas to another project, and he took great pains to woo him onto the set of The Lost World. And even though Mr. Lamas never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his talent is not lost on us.
Jay Novello was selected by Irwin Allen to play Costa, the consummate Cuban coward who perpetually betrays everyone around him in the name of greed. In pursuing his craven calling, Mr. Novello went on to play Xandros, the Greek Slave in Atlantis, The Lost Continent, as well as countless other roles as a coward.
Although Mr. Novella never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his already long and distinguished career as a coward made him the obvious choice for Irwin when the need for an experienced malingerer arose.
Jill St. John was Irwin's pick to play Jennifer Holmes, the "other" glamour girl in The Lost World. Not to be upstaged by glamour-cave-girl Vitina Marcus, Jill played the trump card and broke out the pink go-go boots and skin-tight Capri pants, the perfect Amazonian summertime jungle wear.
Complete with a perfect hairdo, a killer wardrobe, a little yip-yip dog named Frosty, and all the other trappings of a wealthy and pampered prehistoric society, Jill's sensational allure rivaled even that of a certain cave girl appearing in the same film.
With the atmosphere rife for an on-set rivalry between Jill and Vitina, Irwin still managed to keep the peace, proving that he was as skilled a diplomat as he was a director.
Claude Rains, as Professor George Edward Challenger
And our cup runneth over, as Irwin cast Claude Rains to portray Professor George Edward Challenger. His eminence, Mr. Rains is an entity of such immeasurable virtue that he is not in need of monotonous praise from the likes of me.
I respectfully acknowledge the appearance of Mr. Rains because failure to do so would be an unforgivable travesty. But I say nothing more on the subject, lest I state something so obvious and uninspiring as to insult the intelligence of enlightened reader.
Irwin's casting of the cavemen mustn't be overlooked, for their infallibly realistic portrayals are unmatched within the Pleistocene Epoch genre of film. Such meticulous attention to detail is what separates Irwin Allen from lesser filmmakers, whose pale imitations of his work only further to underscore the point.
To be sure, it is possible to come away with the unfounded suspicion that the cavemen are really just a bunch of old white guys from the bar at the local Elks lodge. But Irwin was an absolute stickler for authenticity, and would never have allowed the use of such tawdry measures to taint his prehistoric magnum opus.
In truth, Irwin's on-screen cavemen were borne of many grueling years of anthropological research, so the explanation for their somewhat modern, pseudo-caucasian appearance lies obviously elsewhere. And in keeping with true Irwin Allen tradition, that explanation will not be offered here.
1964 - Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Season One, Episode 7 - "Turn Back the Clock", featuring Vitina Marcus as The Native Girl. Produced by Irwin Allen.
And then there was Irwin Allen's masterful handling of the reptilian facets of The Lost World, most notably his inimitable casting of the dinosaurs. His dinosaurs were so realistic, so eerily lifelike, that they almost looked like living, breathing garden variety lizards with dinosaur fins and horns glued to their backs and heads.
The less enlightened viewer might even suppose this to be true, that Irwin's dinosaurs were indeed merely live specimens of lizards, donned in Jurassic-era finery, vastly magnified, and retro-fitted into The Lost World via some penny-wise means of cinematic trickery.
But those of us in the know certainly know better than that, as we are privy to some otherwise unpublished information about The Lost World. The lifelike appearance of the Irwin's dinosaurs can be attributed to a wholly overlooked and fiendishly cunning approach to the art of delusion, which is that the dinosaurs didn't just look real, they were real.
While the world abounds with middling minds who cannot fathom such a reality, we must follow Irwin's benevolent leanings and temper our natural feelings of contempt for this unfortunate assemblage of pedestrian lowbrows. In spite of Irwin's superior intellect, he never felt disdain toward the masses that constituted his audiences. He simply capitalized on their unaffectedness, and in the process recounted the benefits of exploiting the intellectually bereft for personal gain.
The purpose of all this analysis, of course, is to place an exclamation point on the genius of Irwin Allen, the formation of his dinosaur exposé being a premier example. Note how he mindfully manipulates the expectations of his unsuspecting audience, compelling them to probe the dinosaurs for any signs of man-made chicanery. Then, at the palatial moment when the dinosaurs make their entry, he guilefully supplants the anticipated display of faux reptilia with that of the bona fide article.
Upon first witnessing the de facto dinosaurs, some in the audience think they've been had, and indeed they have. Irwin, in engineering his masterful ruse, had used reality as his medium to convey the illusion of artifice. His audience, in essence, was blinded by the truth. It was the immaculate deception, and none but Irwin Allen could have conceived it.
Indeed, the matter of where the live dinosaurs came from has been conspicuously absent from this discussion, as the Irwinian technique of fine film making strongly discourages the practice of squandering time on extraneous justifications and other such trite means of redundant apologia. For the benefit of the incessantly curious, however, just keep in mind that Irwin Allen wrote and produced The Time Tunnel TV Series, a fact that should provide some fair insight into his modis operandi.
Carl R.
The Lost World (20th Century Fox, 1960).
youtu.be/h1CLA-gJbmA?t=5s Trailer
Irwin Allen, the producer who would go on to make the disaster film a huge success in the seventies, brought us this Saturday afternoon fodder with giant lizards posing as dinosaurs. Starring Michael Rennie, David Hedison, Claude Rains and Jill St. John.
Intended as a grand sci-fi/fantasy epic remake of Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novel. The first film adaptation, shot in 1925, was a milestone in many ways, but movie making and special effects had come a long way in 35 years. Irwin Allen's Lost World (LW) & 20th Century Fox version was derailed on the way to greatness, but managed to still be a respectable, (if more modest) A-film. Allen's screenplay followed the book fairly well, telling of Professor Challenger's expedition to a remote plateau in the Amazon upon which dinosaurs still lived. Aside from the paleontological presumptions in the premise, there is little "science" in The Lost World. Nonetheless, dinosaur movies have traditionally been lumped into the sci-fi genre.
Synopsis
When his plane lands in London, crusty old professor George Edward Challenger is besieged by reporters questioning him about his latest expedition to the headwaters of the Amazon River. After the irascible Challenger strikes reporter Ed Malone on the head with his umbrella, Jennifer Holmes, the daughter of Ed's employer, Stuart Holmes, offers the injured reporter a ride into town. That evening, Jenny is escorted by Lord John Roxton, an adventurer and big game hunter, to Challenger's lecture at the Zoological Institute, and Ed invites them to sit with him. When Challenger claims to have seen live dinosaurs, his colleague Professor Summerlee scoffs and asks for evidence. Explaining that his photographs of the creatures were lost when his boat overturned, Challenger invites Summerlee to accompany him on a new expedition to the "lost world," and asks for volunteers. When Roxton raises his hand, Jenny insists on going with him, but she is rejected by Challenger because she is a woman. Ed is given a spot after Holmes offers to fund the expedition if the reporter is included. The four then fly to the Amazon, where they are met by Costa, their guide and Manuel Gomez, their helicopter pilot. Arriving unexpectedly, Jenny and her younger brother David insist on joining them. Unable to arrange transportation back to the United States, Challenger reluctantly agrees to take them along. The next day, they take off for the lost world and land on an isolated plateau inhabited by dinosaurs. That evening, a dinosaur stomps out of the jungle, sending them scurrying for cover. After the beast destroys the helicopter and radio, the group ventures inland. When one of the creatures bellows threateningly, they flee, and in their haste, Challenger and Ed slip and tumble down a hillside, where they encounter a native girl. The girl runs into the jungle, but Ed follows and captures her. They then all take refuge in a cave, where Roxton, who has been making disparaging remarks about Jenny's desire to marry him solely for his title, angers Ed. Ed lunges at Roxton, pushing him to the ground, where he finds a diary written by Burton White, an adventurer who hired Roxton three years earlier to lead him to the lost diamonds of Eldorado. Roxton then admits that he never met White and his party because he was delayed by a dalliance with a woman, thus abandoning them to certain death. Gomez angrily snaps that his good friend Santiago perished in the expedition. That night, Costa tries to molest the native girl, and David comes to her rescue and begins to communicate with her through sign language. After Gomez goes to investigate some movement he spotted in the vegetation, he calls for help, and when Roxton runs out of the cave, a gunshot from an unseen assailant is fired, nearly wounding Roxton and sending the girl scurrying into the jungle. Soon after, Ed and Jenny stray from camp and are pursued by a dinosaur, and after taking refuge on some cliffs, watch in horror as their stalker becomes locked in combat with another prehistoric creature and tumbles over the cliffs into the waters below. Upon returning to camp, they discover it deserted, their belongings in disarray. As David stumbles out from some rocks to report they were attacked by a tribe of natives, the cannibals return and imprison them in a cave with the others. As the drums beat relentlessly, signaling their deaths, the native girl reappears and motions for them to follow her through a secret passageway that leads to the cave in which Burton White lives, completely sightless. After confirming that all in his expedition perished, White tells them of a volcanic passageway that will lead them off the plateau, but warns that they must first pass through the cave of fire. Cautioning them that the natives plan to sacrifice them, White declares that their only chance of survival is to slip through the cave and then seal it with a boulder. After giving them directions to the cave, White asks them to take the girl along. As the earth, on the verge of a volcanic eruption, quakes, they set off through the Graveyard of the Damned, a vast cavern littered with dinosaur skeletons, the victims of the deadly sulfurous gases below. Pursued by the ferocious natives, Roxton takes the lead as they inch their way across a narrow ledge above the molten lava. After escaping the natives, they jam the cave shut with a boulder and, passing a dam of molten lava, finally reach the escape passage. At its mouth is a pile of giant diamonds and a dinosaur egg. As Costa heaps the diamonds into his hat, Challenger fondles the egg and Gomez pulls a gun and announces that Roxton must die in exchange for the death of Santiago, Gomez' brother. Acting quickly, Ed hurls the diamonds at Gomez, throwing him off balance and discharging his gun. The gunshot awakens a creature slumbering in the roiling waters below. After the beast snatches Costa and eats him alive, Ed tries to dislodge the dam, sending a few scorching rocks tumbling down onto the monster. Feeling responsible for the peril of the group, Gomez sacrifices his life by using his body as a lever to dislodge the dam, covering the creature with oozing lava. As the cave begins to crumble from the impending eruption, the group hurries to safety. Just then, the volcano explodes, destroying the lost world. After Roxton hands Ed a handful of diamonds he has saved as a wedding gift for him and Jenny, Challenger proudly displays his egg, which then hatches, revealing a baby dinosaur. The End.
The 50s had seen several examples of the dinosaur sub-genre. LW is one of the more lavish ones, owing to color by DeLuxe and CinemaScope. The A-level actors help too. Claude Rains plays the flamboyant Challenger. Michael Rennie plays Roxton, perhaps a bit too cooly. Jill St. John and Vitina Marcus do well as the customary eye candy. David Hedison as Malone and Fernando Lamas as Gomez round out the bill.
The first film version of LW was a silent movie shot in 1925: screenplay by Marion Fairfax. The film featured stop-motion animated dinosaurs by a young Willis O'Brien. Fairfax followed Doyle's text, but Fairfax added a young woman to the team, Paula White. Ostensibly trying to find her father from the first failed expedition, she provided the love triangle interest between Malone and Roxton.
Allen's screenplay tried to stick to Doyle's text as much as Hollywood would allow. It carried on Fairfax's invention of the young woman member of the group as triangle fodder. Fairfax had Doyle's ape men (ape man) but omitted the native humans. Allen had the natives, but no ape men. Allen revived the Gomez/revenge subplot, which Fairfax skipped. Doyle's story had Challenger bringing back a pterodactyl. Fairfax made it a brontosaur who rampaged through London streets (spawning a popular trope). Allen suggested the baby dinosaur traveling to London.
Willis O'Brien pitched 20th Century Fox in the late 50s, to do a quality remake of LW. He had gained much experience in the intervening 35 years, so his stop-motion dinosaurs were to be the real stars. Fox bass liked the idea, but by the time the ball started rolling, there was trouble in studioland. Fox's grand epic Cleopatra was underway, but was already 5 million dollars over budget. Cleo would nearly sink 20th Century Fox when it was finally released in 1963. To stay afloat, all other Fox films' budgets were slashed. Allen could no longer afford the grand O'Brien stop-motion.
Allen's production is often criticized for its "cheap" dinosaurs, which were live monitor lizards and alligators with fins and plates and horns glue onto them. (more on that below) These were already a bit cheesy when used in the 1940 film One Million B.C.. O'Brien is still listed on the credits as "Effects Technician," but all Allen could afford was lizards with glued on extras. Somewhat amusingly, the script still refers to them as brontosaurs and T-Rexes.
The character of Jennifer Holmes starts out promising. She's a self-assured to the edges of pushy, and is said to be able to out shoot and out ride any man. Yet, when she gets to the Amazon jungle, she's little more than Jungle Barbie, dressed in girlie clothes and screaming frequently. She even does the typical Hollywood trip-and-fall when chased by the dinosaur, so that a man must save her.
Bottom line? FW is a finer example of the not-quite-sci-fi dinosaur sub-genre. The actors are top drawer, even if some of their acting is a bit flat. Nonetheless, FW is a fair adaptation of Doyle's
classic adventure novel, given the constraints of Hollywood culture.
The Movie Club Annals … Review
The Lost World 1960
Introduction
There was absolutely nothing wrong with Irwin Allen's 1960 production of The Lost World. Nothing. It was perfect in every way. I therefore find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of having to write a rave review about a Movie Club movie that was entirely devoid of flaws.
Faced with such a confounding task, I half-heartedly considered faking a bad review, then praying my obvious deceptions would go unnoticed. But the patent transparency of my scheme convinced me to abandon it posthaste. After all, leveling concocted criticisms at such an unassailable masterpiece would be a futile and tiresome exercise, the pretense of which would escape nary a semi-cognizant soul.
Thus, having retreated from my would-be descent into literary intrigue, I start this review in earnest by borrowing a quote from the legendary Shelly Winters, spoken during the 1972 filming of Irwin Allen's The Poseidon Adventure:
"I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Allen.” Shelly Winters, 1972
Review
A bit of research into the casting choices of Irwin Allen, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lost World, begins to reveal the genius behind the virtuosity.
The first accolades go to Irwin for his casting of Vitina Marcus, the immaculately groomed Saks 5th Avenue cave girl with exquisite taste in makeup, jewelry, and cave-wear. No finer cave girl ever graced a feature film.
Vitina Marcus, as The Cave Girl
She was the picture of prehistoric glamour, gliding across the silver screen in her designer bearskin mini-pelt, her flawless coiffure showing no signs of muss from the traditional courting rituals of the day, her perfect teeth the envy of even the most prototypical Osmond. Even her nouveau-opposable thumbs retained their manicure, in spite of the oft-disagreeable duties that frequently befell her as an effete member of the tribal gentry.
By no means just another Neanderthal harlot, Vitina had a wealth of talent to augment her exterior virtues. Her virtuoso interpretation of a comely cave girl in The Lost World certainly didn't escape the attention Irwin Allen. In fact, he was so taken with her performance that he later engaged her services again, casting her as the Native Girl in episode 2.26 of his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series.
Leery of potential typecasting, Vitina went on to obtain roles with greater depth and more sophisticated dialogue. This is evidenced by the great departure she took from her previous roles when she next portrayed the part of Sarit, a female barbarian, in episode 1.24 of Irwin Allen's The Time Tunnel TV series.
Vitina, as Sarit
Vitina's efforts to avoid typecasting paid off in spades, as she was soon rewarded with the distinctive role of Girl, a female Tarzanesque she-beast character, in episode 3.14 of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series.
Lured back from the U.N.C.L.E. set by Irwin Allen, Vitina was next cast in the role of Athena (a.k.a. Lorelei), the green space girl with the inverted lucite salad bowl hat, in episodes 2.2 and 2.16 of the revered Lost in Space TV series.
And with this, Vitina reached the pinnacle of her career. For her many unparalleled displays of thespian pageantry, she leaves us forever in her debt as she exits the stage.
For those who would still question the genius of Irwin Allen, I defy you to find a better casting choice for the character of Lord John Roxton than that of Michael Rennie. Mr. Rennie, who earlier starred as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, went on to even greater heights, starring as The Keeper in episodes 1.16 and 1.17 of the revered Lost in Space TV series. Throughout his distinguished career, Mr. Rennie often played highly cerebral characters with
unique names, such as Garth A7, Tribolet, Hasani, Rama Kahn, Hertz, and Dirk. How befitting that his most prolific roles came to him through a man named Irwin, a highly cerebral character with a unique name.
The selection of David Hedison to play Ed Malone was yet another example of Irwin's uncanny foresight. Soon after casting him in The Lost World, Irwin paved Mr. Hedison's path to immortality by casting him as a lead character in his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series. Although Voyage ended in 1968, Mr. Hedison departed the show with a solid resume and a bright future.
In the decades following Voyage, Mr. Hedison has been a veritable fixture on the small screen, appearing in such socially influential programs as The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy and The A Team. Mr. Hedison's early collaborations with Irwin Allen have left him never wanting for a day's work in Hollywood, a boon to the legions of discerning fans who continue to savor his inspiring prime time depictions.
Irwin selected Fernando Lamas to play Manuel Gomez, the honorable and tortured soul of The Lost World who needlessly sacrificed himself at the end of the movie to save all the others. To get a feel for how important a casting decision he was to Irwin, just look at the pertinent experience Mr. Lamas brought to the table:
Irwin knew that such credentials could cause him to lose the services of Mr. Lamas to another project, and he took great pains to woo him onto the set of The Lost World. And even though Mr. Lamas never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his talent is not lost on us.
Jay Novello was selected by Irwin Allen to play Costa, the consummate Cuban coward who perpetually betrays everyone around him in the name of greed. In pursuing his craven calling, Mr. Novello went on to play Xandros, the Greek Slave in Atlantis, The Lost Continent, as well as countless other roles as a coward.
Although Mr. Novella never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his already long and distinguished career as a coward made him the obvious choice for Irwin when the need for an experienced malingerer arose.
Jill St. John was Irwin's pick to play Jennifer Holmes, the "other" glamour girl in The Lost World. Not to be upstaged by glamour-cave-girl Vitina Marcus, Jill played the trump card and broke out the pink go-go boots and skin-tight Capri pants, the perfect Amazonian summertime jungle wear.
Complete with a perfect hairdo, a killer wardrobe, a little yip-yip dog named Frosty, and all the other trappings of a wealthy and pampered prehistoric society, Jill's sensational allure rivaled even that of a certain cave girl appearing in the same film.
With the atmosphere rife for an on-set rivalry between Jill and Vitina, Irwin still managed to keep the peace, proving that he was as skilled a diplomat as he was a director.
Claude Rains, as Professor George Edward Challenger
And our cup runneth over, as Irwin cast Claude Rains to portray Professor George Edward Challenger. His eminence, Mr. Rains is an entity of such immeasurable virtue that he is not in need of monotonous praise from the likes of me.
I respectfully acknowledge the appearance of Mr. Rains because failure to do so would be an unforgivable travesty. But I say nothing more on the subject, lest I state something so obvious and uninspiring as to insult the intelligence of enlightened reader.
Irwin's casting of the cavemen mustn't be overlooked, for their infallibly realistic portrayals are unmatched within the Pleistocene Epoch genre of film. Such meticulous attention to detail is what separates Irwin Allen from lesser filmmakers, whose pale imitations of his work only further to underscore the point.
To be sure, it is possible to come away with the unfounded suspicion that the cavemen are really just a bunch of old white guys from the bar at the local Elks lodge. But Irwin was an absolute stickler for authenticity, and would never have allowed the use of such tawdry measures to taint his prehistoric magnum opus.
In truth, Irwin's on-screen cavemen were borne of many grueling years of anthropological research, so the explanation for their somewhat modern, pseudo-caucasian appearance lies obviously elsewhere. And in keeping with true Irwin Allen tradition, that explanation will not be offered here.
1964 - Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Season One, Episode 7 - "Turn Back the Clock", featuring Vitina Marcus as The Native Girl. Produced by Irwin Allen.
And then there was Irwin Allen's masterful handling of the reptilian facets of The Lost World, most notably his inimitable casting of the dinosaurs. His dinosaurs were so realistic, so eerily lifelike, that they almost looked like living, breathing garden variety lizards with dinosaur fins and horns glued to their backs and heads.
The less enlightened viewer might even suppose this to be true, that Irwin's dinosaurs were indeed merely live specimens of lizards, donned in Jurassic-era finery, vastly magnified, and retro-fitted into The Lost World via some penny-wise means of cinematic trickery.
But those of us in the know certainly know better than that, as we are privy to some otherwise unpublished information about The Lost World. The lifelike appearance of the Irwin's dinosaurs can be attributed to a wholly overlooked and fiendishly cunning approach to the art of delusion, which is that the dinosaurs didn't just look real, they were real.
While the world abounds with middling minds who cannot fathom such a reality, we must follow Irwin's benevolent leanings and temper our natural feelings of contempt for this unfortunate assemblage of pedestrian lowbrows. In spite of Irwin's superior intellect, he never felt disdain toward the masses that constituted his audiences. He simply capitalized on their unaffectedness, and in the process recounted the benefits of exploiting the intellectually bereft for personal gain.
The purpose of all this analysis, of course, is to place an exclamation point on the genius of Irwin Allen, the formation of his dinosaur exposé being a premier example. Note how he mindfully manipulates the expectations of his unsuspecting audience, compelling them to probe the dinosaurs for any signs of man-made chicanery. Then, at the palatial moment when the dinosaurs make their entry, he guilefully supplants the anticipated display of faux reptilia with that of the bona fide article.
Upon first witnessing the de facto dinosaurs, some in the audience think they've been had, and indeed they have. Irwin, in engineering his masterful ruse, had used reality as his medium to convey the illusion of artifice. His audience, in essence, was blinded by the truth. It was the immaculate deception, and none but Irwin Allen could have conceived it.
Indeed, the matter of where the live dinosaurs came from has been conspicuously absent from this discussion, as the Irwinian technique of fine film making strongly discourages the practice of squandering time on extraneous justifications and other such trite means of redundant apologia. For the benefit of the incessantly curious, however, just keep in mind that Irwin Allen wrote and produced The Time Tunnel TV Series, a fact that should provide some fair insight into his modis operandi.
Carl R.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day.
—"Old Man's Advice to Youth: 'Never Lose a Holy Curiosity.'" LIFE Magazine (2 May 1955) p. 64”
― Albert Einstein
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
I wanted 1942 to serve as an experiment, questioning what stereotype if any surrounded the ‘skinhead.’ Within days I received comments of ‘racist’ and ‘Nazi’ signifying prejudice against a shaven head, when in modern day society diversity is usually praised and encouraged. The origin of the term ‘skinhead’ is not rooted in racism, the term being corrupted in the 1970’s by the neo-nazi movement. The term actually stems from the Jamaican skinheads such as Bunny Wailer, who populated Reggae in the1960’s, some decade previous. By 1968/69, the ‘skinhead’ wasn’t just a hairstyle but a way of life. To these working class people, cleanliness, stylish clothes and good music were dominant. The increasing popularity of Ska music, a branch of reggae bred the skinhead in their straight jeans, large boots, white shirts, braces and nylon or leather jackets and were regularly seen at Judge Dread gigs. Doc Marten, Ben Sherman, and Vespa scooters were typical designers of the ‘skinhead’ movement, which dwindled in the mid 70’s. This is around the time the neo-nazi movement became prominent, as the ‘mod generation’ became divided and those racist, political hating, violent youths were the new face, the new stereotype. They popularised themselves throughout the 80’s and 90’s with bands such as ‘Skrewdriver’ and were akin to increased violence on Adolf Hitler’s birthday. The number of ‘skinheads’ in Britain today is in decline, as in essence the skinhead is a youth organisation for the youth. Thus upon reaching full maturity, starting a family and encompassing different values the need to be in such a group no longer exists and without the experience and knowledge of older members their ‘skinhead’ values are degenerate. This is why I felt my experiment was necessary. Would the youth of day, born after the domination of the neo-nazi still be aware of their values and the attributes, which contribute to their stereotype? The answer lies within you the spectator. Consider what you first felt upon viewing 1942. Did it bring back fond memories of dancing to reggae, Bob Marley and the ‘Chelsea haircut’ or did it make you envisage violent racists? Movements begin, grow and they pass. The real reason the ‘Mods’ shaved their head was to avoid lice, for hygiene. Surely the time close cut hair symbolising a racist has passed.
This was a series i took a while back for a project i was doing on fashion and surrealism I must have took around 30 or so photographs to get the best images at different stages.
to take these shots i used a canon 20d propped up on a tripod with a self timer.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
This poster is about people questioning life and death, that's what my title is all about. I decided to keep the title the way it is, but what i really meant to do is to question "This loneliness won't *(will?)* be the end of me." And the movie will be about people who suffer with loneliness, depression, and anxiety, how they deal with it, what choices they make. And also about staying strong, not giving up, loving and accepting yourself, and helping each other get through it.
Last night was one of those days I really felt tired, and despite having my new camera I was questioning whether or not I wanted to go shoot. I didn't see any clouds over the ocean so I questioned if the sunset would be any good. Eventually I took a look at my new camera (Sony a7RII), and the opportunity to try out some more new features got me excited enough to head down to La Jolla.
Once I got down to the coast I noticed there were still no clouds over the water, but there were a lot of great wispy clouds to the north and the east. As the sun set they continued to get more and more colorful, and eventually I got to enjoy this colorful end to my day.
Photography is one of those things where sometimes I question if I want to put in the effort to go out and shoot. Then once I'm out shooting, I can't thing of a time I've regretted putting in the effort, even if the sunset ends up being a bust. There's something very calming and satisfying about being out shooting.
St Margaret, Sotterley, Suffolk
That poor Simon Jenkins. Not a day can go past without someone questioning the choices in his book England's Thousand Best Churches. But then, if you make such a claim and then miss out some which are plainly among the best, I suppose you leave yourself wide open to criticism. Here in Suffolk, he missed many peoples' favourites, but particularly three that are, for me, clearly county top twenty material: the amazing St Andrew at Westhall, grand St Mary at Redgrave, and here, St Margaret at Sotterley. Westhall has been described as Suffolk's best-kept secret, but in many ways Sotterley is more secretive, and is certainly less well-known. Indeed, some people would be surprised to learn that it has more figure brasses than any other church in Suffolk, not to mention much else of interest.
But first, you must get there. Sotterley is easily found on an Ordnance Survey map because it looks so darned curious. The roads between Beccles and Southwold swerve widely to avoid it, and it is marked as a large, round private park, about three miles in circumference. Houses scattered around the perimeter form the village, but the parkland itself is all open fields, lawns and a long ornamental lake. Near the centre of the parkland is the great house, and beside it the church of St Margaret. A private driveway reaches the house from near the turn off to Willingham, but it doesn't give access to the church except for services, and no public footpath crosses the park.
In addition, you cannot see the church from any public road, so unless you have the map or inside information, you won't even know it is there. However, just to the north of the private drive entrance, there is a gap in the hedgerow and a wooden stile. This is the start of a 'permitted access' path, a walk which is almost a mile long; it will take you across the fields and to the church.
You climb the stile, and set off across the fields. In summer and autumn you will find yourself walking through cows, but they are harmless enough. The way is marked by OS church symbols attached to trees, but they can get hidden by growth in springtime. After about a third of a mile, the path diverges rightwards down to a rickety wooden bridge across the infant River Blyth, and then into the field beyond. The path then skirts the righthand edge of a field for about a third of a mile and takes you round to another wooden bridge with sheep gates. Here, you can see the church for the first time, and across the next field, you enter the churchyard in its north-west corner.
St Margaret is a long, low building, with a tower that is at once simple and elegant. The lower stage is probably Norman, and the great rebuilding here happened unusually early for Suffolk, certainly before the Black Death.
The 18th century Hall sits immediately to the south, separated from the graveyard only by a low wall. St Margaret is a classic example of an estate church, one of few in Suffolk that retains its relationship with the Big House. The estate was the home of the Playters family until the middle of the 18th century, and it is their name you'll find all over the inside of the church. Earlier, it had been the seat of the Soterleys, and later it became the home of the Barne family, who we have already met at Dunwich. The families have been good guardians, because the building not only retains eight figure brasses and numerous other inscriptions, but some fascinating medieval glass, wonderful roof corbels, a good roodscreen (albeit completely repainted) and Suffolk's loveliest monument. All in all, it is a shame that Simon Jenkins missed it.
Although much of the fabric of the building is original, there was a substantial late 19th century restoration here, which filled the nave with middle-brow furnishings. The font is a good example of the typical 15th century East Anglian design, and there are four hatchments above the war memorial. This end of the church is little more dramatic than many other local churches, but don't miss the banner stave locker set in the wall to the west of the south door. These tall alcoves were supposedly designed for holding processional crosses and the like; there are about a dozen of them, but they are only found in the churches of the north-east of the county. Why here? Perhaps it was just a Lowestoft area thing, a need to tidy things up. What did people do elsewhere?
As you walk east, the building becomes more interesting, and once you are in the chancel it is fascinating. Here, the Soterleys and the Playters remembered themselves in brass and stone. Some of the brasses are set in the sanctuary, others in the centre of the chancel floor. There are six figure brasses, as well as numerous inscriptions. All the brasses except that on the tomb chest are covered by removable matting, but it would be easy to miss them if you did not know that they were there and did not think to investigate.
The same cannot be said for the grand 17th century monument to Sir Thomas Playters to the north of the sanctuary. It is probably the most famous in Suffolk, and I think it is the best. It was actually installed during the Commonwealth in 1658, and Mortlock says that the sculptor was Edward Marshall, who would become sculptor to the crown at the Restoration of Charles II in 1660.
Thomas Playters had died in 1638, and a brass inscription in the chancel floor remembers him. Here on the wall he is shown in the middle, with his two wives on either side, both conveniently called Anne. By Anne I he had two sons and two daughters, but Anne II bore him a jaw-dropping eighteen children. What makes the memorial so remarkable, though, is the way the 22 children are shown as weepers on the panel beneath. Instead of the usual uniform kneeling figures united in sorrow, each child is given its individual character - in short, they all look like different people, and are doing different things. Some kneel in formal prayer, but others are distracted; one turns round to chat to her sister, while others gaze out at the viewer. One poor little mite is wrapped in a blanket right near the middle of the panorama, to show that she died in infancy.
It has to be said that Sir Thomas's first family look more equal to the task of formal mourning than the second. The monument is rather hard to photograph, because the altar screen stands in front of part of it.
Stepping back through the screen, the nave is lighter than the chancel because of the two large windows either side. Presumably, they were intended to light the rood, but the one to the north is set in the closed entrance to a now-vanished transept chapel. Panels of medieval and continental glass have been set in them, surrounded by clear lozenges. Among them are a Lamb of God, Christ in Majesty, a pilgrim who may be St James, and a later Flemish Holy Trinity; God the Father sits on a throne with the crucified Christ on his lap, while a dove perches on his shoulder. It looks very unfamiliar in an English church.
There is some other good glass in the west window beneath the tower; a king with a sword walks towards a beckoning bishop, rather as if they were on their way to a chess match. I wondered if the person who set them there had imagined them to be St Paul and St Peter. Perhaps the best medieval glass in the church is behind the altar screen in the east window, so you may have missed it. Beneath the restrained Victorian saints is a reset 1470s portrait of Sir William Playters, with his sons grouped behind him, looking as if he is on holiday from the north aisle at Long Melford.
The screen, then. It is elegant and pretty in that way that only smaller screens are, but it has been heavily restored and repainted. This incurs the wrath of the likes of Cautley, but we have no way of knowing what was lost and in an case it is done here rather well. The original doors are in place, which is very unusual in this part of the county, and the cusping at the top was thought original by Mortlock. The Saints are in an early 20th century style, and are mostly easily identifiable from their symbols.
Looking through the screen, Sir Charles Nicholson's reredos is at once imposing and seemly, in that Anglican triumphalist style of between the two world wars. All that is missing is a font cover at the west end to balance it.
"Los Angeles Policewoman of the Year Fransis Sumner questioning suspected drug user. Photographs show Officer Sumner working and training; questioning people; with children and infants; at jail with women prisoners; at firing range with other policewomen; in hand-to-hand combat class; in judo class; on obstacle course. Also photographs of Sumner receiving award; with husband at restaurant; at home knitting and cooking."
Picture by Earl Theisen from the Look magazine assignment "Police Woman."
May 1955.