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.

Police man questioning a Thames Trader Tipper driver in the early sixties.

Pentalexandrine’s Manifesto:

Contrast: The first line of five syllables must present a strong statement or image, while the following alexandrine must respond to or contradict it, creating a marked contrast.

Rhyme: The fifth syllable of the first line must rhyme with the last syllable of the alexandrine.

Metric: The alexandrine must be composed of two hemistiches of six syllables each, with a mandatory caesura in the middle.

Theme: The pentalexandrine should address themes of deep reflection or existential questioning.

Language: The use of at least one archaic or seldom-used word is encouraged to enrich the vocabulary and texture of the poem.

Freedom: If the poem is beautiful, disregard the first five rules

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.

Ink and inkwash on paper

Ira Glass

"This hot dog plant, Jim Bodman says, replaced the company's original facility, which is all the way down on the south side of town, which was a kind of warren of buildings that had been bought up gradually on one block over the course of 70 years as the company grew".

I loved this short story that I heard on the radio program: This American Life from July 2003. The title of the episode is

"Call in Colonel Mustard For Questioning." It reminds me of a character I have created, except this guy is the real thing, so I felt I had to draw this story. I once thought sending it to TAL as a completed pamphlet but alas it has sat in my file drawer so here it is. Text is transcripts from TAL's website.

iP4S + Slowshutter > Snapseed, Image Blender, Noir Photo, Camera Awesome, Photofx Ultra

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.

More on the BLOG

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.

Young girl is questioning my she can't have more to take home, as seen at the Hawaiian Shaved Ice Truck.

Front page Explore#192. June 22,2009

Neither clown nor child nor black

nor white but verticle

and a questioning innocence

dressed in night and snow:

The mother smiles at the sailor,

the fisherman at the astronaunt,

but the child child does not smile

when he looks at the bird child,

and from the disorderly ocean

the immaculate passenger

emerges in snowy mourning.

I was without doubt the child bird

there in the cold archipelagoes

when it looked at me with its eyes,

with its ancient ocean eyes:

it had neither arms nor wings

but hard little oars

on its sides:

it was as old as the salt;

the age of moving water,

and it looked at me from its age:

since then I know I do not exist;

I am a worm in the sand.

the reasons for my respect

remained in the sand:

the religious bird

did not need to fly,

did not need to sing,

and through its form was visible

its wild soul bled salt:

as if a vein from the bitter sea

had been broken.

Penguin, static traveler,

deliberate priest of the cold,

I salute your vertical salt

and envy your plumed pride.

Pablo Neruda

Magdalena Island (Spanish: Isla Magdalena) is a small island in the Strait of Magellan, Chile. It is located in Magallanes Region northeast of the regional capital Punta Arenas. The first sheep introduced to Patagonia came to the island from the Falkland Islands in the 1800s. In 1982 it was declared national monument as part of Los Pingüinos Natural Monument. The penguin colony on the island hosts over 60,000 breeding pairs of the Magellanic Penguin. The island is currently uninhabited.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

.found objects

www.michiyo-kurosawa.com

Where The Journey Begins

© 2026 Kurosawa Michiyo

Stonehenge has a long, partly mythical history associated with solstice celebrations, and many experts still do not fully explain how or why it was built. Among these gatherings, the summer solstice remains one of the most well-known celebrations at the site.

Testimony

This journey begins with exploration and evangelism.

In 2012, before social media widely helped share cultural and heritage practices, some individuals criticised the summer solstice celebration at Stonehenge as being “just for hippies” and “weirdos.” They described it as inappropriate, particularly due to accounts of people running around in the nude, followed by arrests carried out by on-site police. My response to those who discouraged travellers from visiting Stonehenge during the summer solstice was, ‘I do not believe being or not being a hippy justifies not exploring and travelling to different sites.’ I remember friends telling me they were concerned that being labelled a “hippie” would create a negative impression and discourage people from stepping outside rigid social expectations.

I believe our current generation started to practice the notion of internationalism, questioning traditional and stereotypical ideas that exclude, isolate, or filter out other perspectives out of fear of the labelling effect, criticism, stepping beyond discomfort, being or thinking differently and challenging the fixation of “outside the box” about what the cultural and social norms interpret in our lives.

There were only a couple of hundred people who visited the sites. They brought a subcultural instrument to appreciate nature. These individuals were open-minded and showed a warm welcome to their beliefs, contradicting the criticism of them being weird and not following the robotic social patterns of ordinariness. I witnessed individuals painting their bodies with glowing paints on their nude bodies and circulating the site before the police had to remove them. There was space to walk around to explore the stones and stand on the stone as one wished to see the sunrise between people. It was a small festival that the ‘ordinary’ would not want to attend.

One would choose to stay in the restricted zone area of the site away from the stone till it was opened for the ticketed visit surrounding the site only. I was able to assist the volunteers and staff to clean up the trash after the festival alongside the visitors. The entire visit was beautiful and peaceful.

Returning to Stonehenge for the second time in 2026, I witnessed the positive effect of social media that brought Stonehenge to different audiences and broke down stereotypes, which encouraged people from diverse backgrounds to explore the beauty of historical sites and heritage practices across the world. At Stonehenge, the summer solstice celebration connects with a wide range of spiritual traditions. People dress in diverse ways, and some bring instruments to play subcultural music. The event also attracts individuals from different backgrounds and spiritual beliefs, united—at least in part—by their wonder at the meaning of what Stonehenge represents to the ancestors who built it. There were so many people at the site, completely packed, competing for a spot just to witness the beauty of a summery sunrise.

There was intensified security after years of disorder/ criminal damage, as well as the dramatically incrase of visitors, forcing the escalation of enforcement of security and safety. We were also forced to leave the sites by guards without the opportunity to stay longer than usual to assist in cleaning up the site.

Before becoming a follower of Jesus Christ in 2018, I also sought positivity through various spiritual practices. I felt that something essential was missing within me, and I tried practices intended to “cleanse” negativity—such as incense, white sage, and palo santo. Many who use these rituals believe in confronting darkness and evil with a positive intention: to bring light, joy, and peace. They view these practices as distinct from harmful “cursing,” or efforts to bring misfortune upon others.

I was part of that search. I continued to look for ways to remove negativity and rebuke darkness. I used tarot cards, and I believed certain symbols indicated demonic influences—something I believed could not be used safely without inviting spiritual danger. I was still questioning God as I explored these ideas more deeply. I sought out angel cards to better understand Heaven and what angels might mean, and I practised with white sage incense and crystals. I remember feeling a warmth associated with those angel cards, and it led me to ask: if angels are real, then the Creator behind them must also be real.

So I ordered an English Standard Version Holy Bible from Amazon. When it arrived, I opened it to a random page—and I felt an immediate warmth at the centre of my heart. My fear, worries, and anxiety lifted at once. I had not fully understood what the Bible said in detail, but what I “knew in my heart” was that this book felt real, powerful, and unmistakably different from anything else I had tried. Even opening it seemed to rebuke darkness instantly, without me needing to study a single passage.

That same night, I dreamed a completely white dream. I saw a crowd of people—so bright that I could only make out the shapes of their bodies. They stood around another human-shaped figure, also intensely bright, with only the outline of His form visible. He was preaching to the crowd. Then, suddenly, his very bright face turned to his right, and although I couldn’t see clearly, I knew he was looking at me. When I woke, I understood that I had seen God, and had been describing them, ‘the very bright people’. I did not yet know anything about who Jesus Christ was, but I knew I had seen heaven. I did not know anything about the book called the Holy Bible, but I knew to my heart that as long as this book is with me, I was safe and I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. I relied on the book and brought it everywhere with me agaisnt darkness.

Later, I compared the methods I had used to “rebuke negativity.” In my personal experience, white sage might remove negative energy while it burns, but the negativity returns once the incense stops. Palo santo seemed to restore spiritual abundance temporarily. I never fully understood the purpose of crystals, but I appreciated their beauty and connected them with nature and creation. The cards are too limited, with only a few explanations when Jesus Christ shows me both the past, the present, and future events altogether beyond a few cards, but of all-knowing at the scope of the world and beyond. Compared to the Holy Bible, these methods did not bring the same lasting sense of peace, freedom, love and the complete shield from darkness and deceptions. With Jesus and the Holy Bible, the rebuke of all darkness and restoration of the fruit of the Spirit is completed. He is the only way for a complete and eternal abundance compared to the temporary methods.

I threw away the cards and stored the incense to embrace the Holy Bible and Jesus Christ daily. I can pray to a God who orders and moves His angel servants. Why do I need to understand His servants when human beings hold more authority in Jesus’ name than His servants do? The most powerful personal experience of walking with Jesus is witnessing every dark force run and flee instantly, without hesitation, under the authority of Jesus Christ, and even seeing the control of weather movement in His name for His children to enjoy His creation in this world. I would use the remaining incense and the wood to lighten up the indoor smell without the necessity to rely on them for negative energy removal.

The name of Jesus Christ is my white sage and palo santo—yet smoke-free; my nature and crystals, my oracle cards, my recorder of past events and revealer of what is to come; the most powerful rebuker of dark forces; my Love, Nurturer, Friend, Listener, Father, Teacher, Carer, Shelter, Protector, Provider, Advsier, and the Everything of everything. Why would I need anything else when I have Jesus Christ?

What I found most striking was this: keeping the Bible open felt like it calmed fear and restored my heart. When I did eventually read and pray, I felt God was forming a protective shield or a solid dorm—shielding against darkness and negativity—especially when I prayed for spiritual and environmental protection. Over time, I came to believe that the Holy Bible is more powerful than any other ritual tool for confronting fear and darkness. And I came to understand that the name of Jesus Christ carries a unique authority for us—bringing love, peace, and abundance in a way that far exceeds the power of spiritual rituals such as white sage and palo santo.

My ego blocked me for a while from reading and understanding God’s words through personal interpretation. Yet God continued to show me visions, even when I did not know the Scriptures. About three years after I bought the Bible, I prayed to Him for wisdom to prevent deception. Then I was finally able to read and understand Scriptures. I learned that ‘the very bright people’ I had seen in my dream the night I bought the Bible are called “lampstands” in the Bible—and that the people of God themselves are the light source.

Revelation 22:5 “There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever.”

Matthew 7:7–8 “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.”

The Bible did not expand my understanding of who Jesus Christ is in my life, but the confirmation of His existence, which I had already been revealed about Heaven and the Creator through visions and miracles before the Holy Bible, a guide for the spiritually blind, mute, and the deaf. I regard the Bible as a daily guide, helping me stay grounded and ensuring I am not lost. I already believed in my heart that the Creator and His Love are real, without needing the Bible to “prove” it in the first place. Hence, I have a firm foundation to know the Bible is real and He is the truth without lies, not through the written words, but His revealing of Himself that matches everything the scriptures say about God in the Holy Bible that I learned later.

The purpose of the Holy Bible is to convey to us the necessity of receiving Jesus Christ for salvation and describe a bit about what He does and His power to His little children, whom we are all ignorant about His existence, blinded by every distraction from the fallen. He did not need a small written book to prove His magnificent existence. He can simply show up to prove how powerful He is, with the power that is enough to turn the whole world upside down, if He wants to. In fact, He did not need us at all. He revealed Himself and gave us the Holy Bible because He gave His Son, Jesus Christ, so that we would not fall into the same fate He destined for Satan and all the fallen angels, so that we would continue to walk according to how He chose to create us in the first place. We can be so insignificant in His creation, but because He is a Loving God and a merciful God, He sends His Son and continues to interfere with human life just to rescue all of us from falling astray. Hence, the Bible is a little teaching book aiming to rescue all of us and free us from slavery rather than the boast of who He is, or the Holy Bible is too understated and undermines our Creator, but the Holy Bible to His existence is merely a cute and small booklet to guide His little ones.

Psalm 38: 13-15 I am like the deaf, who cannot hear, like the mute, who cannot speak; I have become like one who does not hear, whose mouth can offer no reply. Lord, I wait for you; you will answer, Lord my God.

Matthew 18:12, “What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?”

Our Creator created this world with different elements and us to hope that we will appreciate and enjoy the world that He admires and adores. Hence, it is important to enjoy every part of this world that God created for us to enjoy, including the warmth of the sun. Nonetheless, the deceivers produce endless distractions for many to overlook the most essential longing of all: love. The purpose of gathering at Stonehenge was to seek positivity and love. They were seeking love and attempting to find it through many different avenues. If anyone ever challenged me for being “hypocritical”, as a Christian standing alongside people who practise different spiritual traditions, I understand why that question may arise. However, I was (and I remain) a seeker in the same way they are. Jesus accepted me as I was, so I see no reason not to offer joy, welcome, and acceptance to others who are pursuing the same kind of search.

They are brothers and sisters in Christ through my eyes. I do not want to exclude, isolate, or discriminate against them. If some describe these practices as “hippy” traditions to burn sage or palo santo with oracle cards, wouldn’t the “most hippy element " be having the most powerful Holy Bible to witness the rebuke of darkness instantly? I believe Jesus calls people toward the light, not toward separation.

Ephesians 6:12 “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.”

I have also heard accounts at the Stonehenge gathering that some misrepresented Christianity in the historical contexts to oppress many, together with their cultural practices, rather than to set them free from slavery. These stories deeply saddened me. I believe the message of the Bible is to free His people from every form of slavery. It grieves me when people exploit Christianity, distort Jesus, or twist the purpose of love to justify bondage. I believe my duty as a follower of Jesus Christ is to understand others, stand alongside them, and spread the Good News of the name of Jesus Christ, not to impose beliefs or control people’s hearts, but to invite people toward love. Ultimately, it is Jesus’s perosnal and intimate relationship with them that brings genuine transformation.

In addition, I urge the public not to be misled and deceived by forces of darkness that exploit the language of inclusion and diversity to embrace extremism and enact oppression and slavery. There is a singular type of ideology that one cannot find in the photographs and the videographs of the Stonehenge festival, which has been publicly calling for inclusion while refusing to voluntorily participate in the diverse festivals with others, but to demand acceptance from all to centralise themselves. This active inconsistency can reveal a deeper exploitation, but mock other groups of faiths while using our past to launch personal attacks agaisnt us and our faiths, as well as grasp obvious kindness and Love for one another for weaponisation to uplift extreme ideology. For instance, in 2025, that particular spiritual extremist who worships satan but did not attend the Stonehenge festival looked at me with disgust to claim I used oracle cards ( over a decade ago). satan is the accuser who refuses to forgive, but keeps us captive in our past to shame our faith in Christ through all forms of deception they themselves added in this world to enslave us before putting us all astray.

Revelation 12:10, “Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say: ‘Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Messiah. For the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them before our God day and night, has been hurled down.”

2 Corinthians 2:11 “so that no advantage would be taken of us by Satan, for we are not ignorant of his schemes.”

Galatians 6:7, “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.”

As seen on Beattie St. I'm continually impressed with how the camera

on this phone treats saturated greens.

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.

A questioning look. It's a rapid take and I'm annoyed I missed the top of this pretty girls hat.

Sharing some behind the scenes moments from the gathering =).

Getting the chance to meet, collaborate, and spend five days with 30 incredible and beautiful souls has forever changed me for the better. My heart is filled with love for 30 new people, and I can honestly say they are now part of my family. The adventures that took place during that week on a beautiful farm in Indiana will never be forgotten. I will forever look back on these moments with fondness, and I am still questioning whether or not it really happened. I cannot wait to see all of these beautiful people again.

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."

Someone questioning the authority of the Obey sticker on the back of a street sign in downtown Toronto. As Dylan once sang "Don't follow leaders and watch your parking meter"

www.youtube.com/watch?v=srgi2DkDbPU

More about the "Obey" stickers here:

obeygiant.com/about

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

All images available for licensing via me. I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database with thousands of hand-picked images of dogs, cats, as well as horses, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.

For licensing and commission requests: info{at}elkevogelsang.com -

FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE

© Elke Vogelsang

licensing dog images

licensing dog photos

licensing dog photo

licensing pet photos

licensing pet photos

stock images of pets

stock images of dogs

commercial dog photographer

commercial pet photographer

commercial dog photography

commercial pet photography

commercial dog photograph

commercial pet photograph

commercial dog photographs

commercial pet photographs

studio dog photograph

studio dog photography

studio dog photographs

studio pet photograph

studio pet photography

studio pet photographs

license images of dogs

license images of pets

commercial license

commercial licenses

commercial licenses for dog photos

commercial licenses for dog photos

buy commercial license for dog photos

buy commercial license for dog photo

buy commercial license for pet photos

buy commercial license for pet photo

commercial licenses for pet photos

commercial licenses for pet photo

pet image archive

dog image archive

stock photos of dogs

stock photos of pets

buy dog photos

buy pet photos

buy cat photos

buy dog images

buy pet images

buy cat images

Fujifilm X camera

Hundefotos

Hundefotos kaufen

kommerzielle Hundefotografie

kommerzieller Hundefotograf

Haustierfotos

Haustierfotos kaufen

Lizenzen für Fotos kaufen

Bildagentur

Haustierbildagentur

Bilderagentur für Haustierfotos

Bildagentur für Hundefotos

Katzenbilder

Katzenfotos

Bildagentur für Katzenfotos

Lizenzierung von Katzenfotos

All pictures: © Elke Vogelsang

20190925_Fernando_FernandoIsQuestioningThis

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.

When you stop questioning & listen instead, your heart can tell you lots & gives you the courage to do whatever :)

Bangkok, Thailand

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.

St Leonard, Apethorpe, Northamptonshire

Oh little body, do not die.

The soul looks out through wide blue eyes

So questioningly into mine,

That my tormented soul replies

"Oh little body, do not die

You hold the soul that talks to me,

Although our conversation be

As wordless as the windy sky."

So looked my father at the last,

Right in my soul before he died,

Though words we spoke went heedless past

As London traffic-roar outside.

And now the same blue eyes I see

Look through me from a little son,

So questioningly, so searchingly

That youthfulness and age are one.

My father looked at me and died

Before my soul made full reply.

Lord, leave this other light alight

Oh little body, do not die.

John Betjeman, A Child Ill

From Woodnewton I cycled north accompanied by drifting red kites to one of the real goals of my journey, the church at Apethorpe. One of the pleasures of this part of the world is that, like much of south Cambridgeshire, east Norfolk and pretty much all of Suffolk, you are never more than a couple of miles from the next village, and I soon reached my first proper spire of the day, the church sitting beside the manor house, a war memorial forming a village cross in the street, and entered the church of St Leonard, Apethorpe.

This is an excellent church, full of interest, tightly set in its stone-walled churchyard which accentuates the height of the spire, the inner door wedged open. Best known for the Mildmay monument, which I'll come to in a moment, the most striking thing on entry, for me at least, are two tremendous windows in the south aisle, both by Christopher Whall. Each depicts three saints and commemorates two brothers of the Brassey family killed in the First World War. There is one Christopher Whall window in the whole of Suffolk. There are two here at Apethorpe.

Turning east, a faded doom painting surmounts the chancel arch, but beyond you step across the Reformation divide, for everything here was richly provided in the 17th and 18th Centuries. The chancel aisle is wider than the nave aisle, and here is the early 17th Century Mildmay memorial, one of the biggest monuments I've ever seen in an English country church. It towers some twenty feet into the air, the Mildmays asleep in bed in the middle and life-size sculptures of women representing virtues at each corner of the bed. Extraordinary. Nearby is a 15th Century memorial to a knight with a near-unvandalised Annunciation the Blessed Virgin above his head, and a sweet 19th Century memorial to a child showing him asleep in bed. But the most remarkable thing about this place is the early 17th Century English glass in the aisle east window. A most unusual date, of course, and a spectacular response to Caroline and Laudian piety, depicting Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection and the Day of Judgement. It must be one of the finest of its kind outside of an Oxford or Cambridge college chapel.

The east window of the chancel is also unusual, an 18th Century English representation of the Last Supper, and this period must have provided most of the money for refurnishing this place. Unfortunately, the Victorians put in big ugly pews in the nave, but the lady doing the flowers told me they are raising money to have them removed and replaced by simple wooden chairs as at Yarwell. All in all a wonderful church. Quite how Simon Jenkins only gave it one star is beyond me.

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.

Really questioning myself with this one.

Current owner since 2004.

A questioning scene in Montpellier cathedral...

© 2012 Marc Haegeman. All Rights Reserved

Web: marc-haegeman-photography.com/

Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Marc-Haegeman-Photography/40234249...

#AbFav_SHARE_LOVE_💝

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, (*_*)

For more: www.indigo2photography.com

IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY images or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission.

If you do, without accreditation, it is STEALING © All rights reserved

Valentine, petals, ribbon, pink, red, white, conceptual, "art”, heart, love, studio, black-background, colour, design, square, NIKON D7000, Magda indigo

2017 Liverpool Pride event.

I'm guessing that these young questioners were carrying out some sort of school/college project they had been set

DSC_1259-1