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The all new re-engineered and rigorously tested MakerBot Replicator+ 3D printer. Single PLA extruder. Large build volume. New, flexible build plate. Controlled via LCD screen and jog dial. On-board camera for remote monitoring. Connect it with USB cable, Wi-Fi, USB memory stick, or Ethernet. Internal power supply. See more at makerbot.creativetools.se
The all new re-engineered and rigorously tested MakerBot Replicator+ 3D printer. Single PLA extruder. Large build volume. New, flexible build plate. Controlled via LCD screen and jog dial. On-board camera for remote monitoring. Connect it with USB cable, Wi-Fi, USB memory stick, or Ethernet. Internal power supply. See more at makerbot.creativetools.se
The all new re-engineered and rigorously tested MakerBot Replicator+ 3D printer. Single PLA extruder. Large build volume. New, flexible build plate. Controlled via LCD screen and jog dial. On-board camera for remote monitoring. Connect it with USB cable, Wi-Fi, USB memory stick, or Ethernet. Internal power supply. See more at makerbot.creativetools.se
The all new re-engineered and rigorously tested MakerBot Replicator+ 3D printer. Single PLA extruder. Large build volume. New, flexible build plate. Controlled via LCD screen and jog dial. On-board camera for remote monitoring. Connect it with USB cable, Wi-Fi, USB memory stick, or Ethernet. Internal power supply. See more at makerbot.creativetools.se
The all new re-engineered and rigorously tested MakerBot Replicator+ 3D printer. Single PLA extruder. Large build volume. New, flexible build plate. Controlled via LCD screen and jog dial. On-board camera for remote monitoring. Connect it with USB cable, Wi-Fi, USB memory stick, or Ethernet. Internal power supply. See more at makerbot.creativetools.se
I made a product box and tested it out using this old bold and washer. The picture was good but boring so I decided to have some fun using some Topaz plugins I recently purchased. This is using Lens Effects package and the Prism effect.
ODC2 - Attempt to replicate something that has been on ODC explore
12/09/11
At first I thought, wow this will be fun, then I couldn't find an image that I thought I could replicate, then I thought it was a bit boring copying someone elses image...lol I went for a fairly easy one.......just because. Here is the link to the original by Iclower 19 www.flickr.com/photos/lclower19/5350194772/
Concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers rest on an old cattle farm now an area of critical environmental concern managed by the BLM in southwest Oregon, Sept. 26, 2018. BLM video: Toshio Suzuki
A quiet oak savanna in southwest Oregon has a World War II story to tell.
It was the summer of 1942 when thousands of young American troops started arriving in Oregon to prepare for battle.
Only months prior, immediately after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into WWII, the U.S. Army broke ground on Camp White, a massively ambitious training ground for troops north of Medford.
The national war effort was ramping up, and from the rationing at home to the drill sergeants yelling at new draftees, the task at hand was unified: Get America prepared for war as fast as possible.
At Camp White, in the heart of the Rogue River Valley, it got loud very quick.
Construction crews worked 24 hours a day until the base, consisting of 1,300 structures, was complete. Barracks, mess halls, a railroad, full electrical grid and sewer system were all built in six months.
And then the troops arrived.
The newly reinstated 91st Division went on 91-mile-long hikes.
They fired bazookas, mortars and tanks.
And they attacked concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers.
Despite creating what was then Oregon’s second most populous city at 40,000 people, there are now only a few lasting structures proving Camp White ever existed. Sadly, there are even fewer first-hand memories.
The pillboxes are still standing, though. They simultaneously represent a mostly forgotten military legacy and since 2013, an opportunity for historic preservation.
After decades of private cattle farming, Camp White’s pillboxes now rest on public land.
Read the full story about the Camp White pillboxes that rest on the northeast side of Upper Table Rock, an area of critical environmental concern for the BLM: www.facebook.com/notes/blm-oregon-washington/the-wwii-leg...
Take a virtual tour of the pillboxes via this 360-degree video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgHu5y-TtAw
Oddly starting out briefly as an Audi product before becoming VW's most successful supermini, the original 1970's Polo has rarely been modelled in 1/64 scale. The most notable of course was by Corgi for their Juniors range and a casting which didn't appear to have such a long life compared to many of its siblings, barely making it much into the 1980's.
That clean solid look of the original vehicle was replicated pretty neatly and even stretching to opening front doors too. This mint green colour, if you'll pardon the pun, is one i've never seen before and was found recently in a late 1970's Accident themed set. Mint and boxed.
Concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers rest on an old cattle farm now an area of critical environmental concern managed by the BLM in southwest Oregon, Sept. 26, 2018. BLM photo: Matt Christenson
A quiet oak savanna in southwest Oregon has a World War II story to tell.
It was the summer of 1942 when thousands of young American troops started arriving in Oregon to prepare for battle.
Only months prior, immediately after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into WWII, the U.S. Army broke ground on Camp White, a massively ambitious training ground for troops north of Medford.
The national war effort was ramping up, and from the rationing at home to the drill sergeants yelling at new draftees, the task at hand was unified: Get America prepared for war as fast as possible.
At Camp White, in the heart of the Rogue River Valley, it got loud very quick.
Construction crews worked 24 hours a day until the base, consisting of 1,300 structures, was complete. Barracks, mess halls, a railroad, full electrical grid and sewer system were all built in six months.
And then the troops arrived.
The newly reinstated 91st Division went on 91-mile-long hikes.
They fired bazookas, mortars and tanks.
And they attacked concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers.
Despite creating what was then Oregon’s second most populous city at 40,000 people, there are now only a few lasting structures proving Camp White ever existed. Sadly, there are even fewer first-hand memories.
The pillboxes are still standing, though. They simultaneously represent a mostly forgotten military legacy and since 2013, an opportunity for historic preservation.
After decades of private cattle farming, Camp White’s pillboxes now rest on public land.
Read the full story about the Camp White pillboxes that rest on the northeast side of Upper Table Rock, an area of critical environmental concern for the BLM: www.facebook.com/notes/blm-oregon-washington/the-wwii-leg...
I created this dress and garland to replicate the look of the real Alice. It is made of Bearissima batiste which is lovely to work with and the trim is all hand painted silk ribbon -- I tried my best to duplicate the look of her real fashion. There are 8.5 yards of handpainted trim on this dress. Whew!
Replicate the web link for a possibility to win the reward: giveaway.amazon.com/p/53fbc84770742142 Premium quality plastic container to make use of with traveling toiletries, cosmetics or various other usages. Product: PP Weight: 96g Bundle: 1 x 50ml pump container (12.5 * 3.2 centimeters) 2 x 80ml flip-cap container (11 * 3.5 centimeters) 1 x 50ml
Concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers rest on an old cattle farm now an area of critical environmental concern managed by the BLM in southwest Oregon, Sept. 26, 2018. BLM video: Stephen Haney and Matt Bonsi
A quiet oak savanna in southwest Oregon has a World War II story to tell.
It was the summer of 1942 when thousands of young American troops started arriving in Oregon to prepare for battle.
Only months prior, immediately after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into WWII, the U.S. Army broke ground on Camp White, a massively ambitious training ground for troops north of Medford.
The national war effort was ramping up, and from the rationing at home to the drill sergeants yelling at new draftees, the task at hand was unified: Get America prepared for war as fast as possible.
At Camp White, in the heart of the Rogue River Valley, it got loud very quick.
Construction crews worked 24 hours a day until the base, consisting of 1,300 structures, was complete. Barracks, mess halls, a railroad, full electrical grid and sewer system were all built in six months.
And then the troops arrived.
The newly reinstated 91st Division went on 91-mile-long hikes.
They fired bazookas, mortars and tanks.
And they attacked concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers.
Despite creating what was then Oregon’s second most populous city at 40,000 people, there are now only a few lasting structures proving Camp White ever existed. Sadly, there are even fewer first-hand memories.
The pillboxes are still standing, though. They simultaneously represent a mostly forgotten military legacy and since 2013, an opportunity for historic preservation.
After decades of private cattle farming, Camp White’s pillboxes now rest on public land.
Read the full story about the Camp White pillboxes that rest on the northeast side of Upper Table Rock, an area of critical environmental concern for the BLM: www.facebook.com/notes/blm-oregon-washington/the-wwii-leg...
Take a virtual tour of the pillboxes via this 360-degree video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgHu5y-TtAw
Shakaland Village Shaka Zulu Kraal Cultural Replication of a Zulu “Umuzi” or Homestead Normanhurst Farm Nkwalini Kwazulu-Natal South Africa May 1998
Sadly, Shakaland has now permanently closed in 2025
www.southafrica.net/au/en/travel/article/aha-shakaland-ho...
This is my journey of recreating the scenes of my favorite film, Stand By Me, with my customized American Girls. I traveled to several of the actual shooting locations of the movie to replicate my shots. It has been one of the most incredibly fun, yet challenging, projects I have ever attempted. So much love and hard work was put into each one of these.
An attempt at replicating the swivelling torso mechanism that the 2016 iterations of the Toa are speculated to possess.
The 3D model: www.thingiverse.com/thing:69491
The 3D printer: makerbot.creativetools.se
For more information creative-tools.com
From a single print, the swivel works and the face has incredible detail. Results below.
“Difficult to see. Always in motion is the future.” — Yoda
I've had 3 printing at once, but never all four. Yet.
From left to right:
- RepRap Kossel
- RepRap Prusa i3
- Ultimaker 2
- MakerBot Replicator 1 XL
We, the intricate sacks of self replicating, ever learning and decaying meat, seek to explore and decode the mechanisms of our external reality as it that which feeds us with an evolving sense of self.
We live in order to collect experience from the interactions held upon our surroundings as it is that, alongside the predeterminations of our genetic code in which our brain is mapped, fueling the conventional illusion of free will within character.
We are but the mere interaction between mind and matter as it follows the collage of our past and the narrative of adaptation.
It is in this cycle of information processing itself through the medium of life in which not only life itself evolves but also the concepts surrounding it.
Concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers rest on an old cattle farm now an area of critical environmental concern managed by the BLM in southwest Oregon, Sept. 25, 2018. BLM photo: Matt Christenson
A quiet oak savanna in southwest Oregon has a World War II story to tell.
It was the summer of 1942 when thousands of young American troops started arriving in Oregon to prepare for battle.
Only months prior, immediately after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into WWII, the U.S. Army broke ground on Camp White, a massively ambitious training ground for troops north of Medford.
The national war effort was ramping up, and from the rationing at home to the drill sergeants yelling at new draftees, the task at hand was unified: Get America prepared for war as fast as possible.
At Camp White, in the heart of the Rogue River Valley, it got loud very quick.
Construction crews worked 24 hours a day until the base, consisting of 1,300 structures, was complete. Barracks, mess halls, a railroad, full electrical grid and sewer system were all built in six months.
And then the troops arrived.
The newly reinstated 91st Division went on 91-mile-long hikes.
They fired bazookas, mortars and tanks.
And they attacked concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers.
Despite creating what was then Oregon’s second most populous city at 40,000 people, there are now only a few lasting structures proving Camp White ever existed. Sadly, there are even fewer first-hand memories.
The pillboxes are still standing, though. They simultaneously represent a mostly forgotten military legacy and since 2013, an opportunity for historic preservation.
After decades of private cattle farming, Camp White’s pillboxes now rest on public land.
Read the full story about the Camp White pillboxes that rest on the northeast side of Upper Table Rock, an area of critical environmental concern for the BLM: www.facebook.com/notes/blm-oregon-washington/the-wwii-leg...
Concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers rest on an old cattle farm now an area of critical environmental concern managed by the BLM in southwest Oregon, Sept. 26, 2018. BLM photo: Matt Christenson
A quiet oak savanna in southwest Oregon has a World War II story to tell.
It was the summer of 1942 when thousands of young American troops started arriving in Oregon to prepare for battle.
Only months prior, immediately after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into WWII, the U.S. Army broke ground on Camp White, a massively ambitious training ground for troops north of Medford.
The national war effort was ramping up, and from the rationing at home to the drill sergeants yelling at new draftees, the task at hand was unified: Get America prepared for war as fast as possible.
At Camp White, in the heart of the Rogue River Valley, it got loud very quick.
Construction crews worked 24 hours a day until the base, consisting of 1,300 structures, was complete. Barracks, mess halls, a railroad, full electrical grid and sewer system were all built in six months.
And then the troops arrived.
The newly reinstated 91st Division went on 91-mile-long hikes.
They fired bazookas, mortars and tanks.
And they attacked concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers.
Despite creating what was then Oregon’s second most populous city at 40,000 people, there are now only a few lasting structures proving Camp White ever existed. Sadly, there are even fewer first-hand memories.
The pillboxes are still standing, though. They simultaneously represent a mostly forgotten military legacy and since 2013, an opportunity for historic preservation.
After decades of private cattle farming, Camp White’s pillboxes now rest on public land.
Read the full story about the Camp White pillboxes that rest on the northeast side of Upper Table Rock, an area of critical environmental concern for the BLM: www.facebook.com/notes/blm-oregon-washington/the-wwii-leg...
Concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers rest on an old cattle farm now an area of critical environmental concern managed by the BLM in southwest Oregon, Sept. 26, 2018. BLM video: Toshio Suzuki
A quiet oak savanna in southwest Oregon has a World War II story to tell.
It was the summer of 1942 when thousands of young American troops started arriving in Oregon to prepare for battle.
Only months prior, immediately after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into WWII, the U.S. Army broke ground on Camp White, a massively ambitious training ground for troops north of Medford.
The national war effort was ramping up, and from the rationing at home to the drill sergeants yelling at new draftees, the task at hand was unified: Get America prepared for war as fast as possible.
At Camp White, in the heart of the Rogue River Valley, it got loud very quick.
Construction crews worked 24 hours a day until the base, consisting of 1,300 structures, was complete. Barracks, mess halls, a railroad, full electrical grid and sewer system were all built in six months.
And then the troops arrived.
The newly reinstated 91st Division went on 91-mile-long hikes.
They fired bazookas, mortars and tanks.
And they attacked concrete pillboxes built to replicate Nazi bunkers.
Despite creating what was then Oregon’s second most populous city at 40,000 people, there are now only a few lasting structures proving Camp White ever existed. Sadly, there are even fewer first-hand memories.
The pillboxes are still standing, though. They simultaneously represent a mostly forgotten military legacy and since 2013, an opportunity for historic preservation.
After decades of private cattle farming, Camp White’s pillboxes now rest on public land.
Read the full story about the Camp White pillboxes that rest on the northeast side of Upper Table Rock, an area of critical environmental concern for the BLM: www.facebook.com/notes/blm-oregon-washington/the-wwii-leg...
Take a virtual tour of the pillboxes via this 360-degree video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgHu5y-TtAw
Words continued from previous two shots...
For a moment I surveyed the octagonal room trying to find my bearings and steady my over-heated nerves. In the centre lay a marble slab which replicated the shape of the room. At four points around the slab the masseuses were stationed with their buckets of water, pillows, clothes and those hulking, bulky arms. Beneath each of them lay a participant, or as I saw it, victim. Those trunk like arms were putting the victims through a very visual, very real demonstration of all the positions of the pain-pleasure principle. Everyone in the room was clad in rags, the masseuse with it tied around his waist, the victim with it bundled tightly up around their groins. I could not yet deduce if they were clad in anything else beneath. The torment continued.
Around the outside of the room was a marble bench, interrupted by 10 marble sinks with water permanently running into their overflowing basin. There were 5 or 6 men sitting around various sinks (the woman thankfully having disappeared) occasionally using silver bowls to slosh water all over their bodies. I managed to pierce a ray of sense through the cloud of nerves and establish that I was to sit next to a sink and await my turn on the marble slab. I sat down, selecting the sink furthest away from everyone else, partially due to nerves and partially due to a hope that from a distance I could subtly establish some clarity regarding their underwear situation.
Placing myself down on the bench, legs firmly closed, I picked up a silver bowl, filled it with water, poured it over my head and promptly let out an almighty yelp. Freezing cold water and the remnants of my facemask dribbled down my body. My body temperature dropped from near cremated to Scottish winter in seconds. I sat mutely for a moment, vainly hoping that my cry of surprise was not as audible as had first seemed but one of the Turks was already slowly padding his way across the room towards me. A look somewhere between amusement and sympathy on his face. He patted my head in a gesture of patronising friendship and turned the hot tap on. He then sat down on the other side of the sink and proceeded to drown himself in bowl after bowl of water, gesturing for me to mimic him. I did just that and this is when my trip began to come to life. This is when I fully felt immersed in another world, far from home, far from what I know but at one with my surrounds.
The cleansing water rushed over my face, down my body and splashed across the chamber. It seemed to calm that thunderous cloud of nerves. Slowly my shoulders relaxed, my head sank back against the marble wall and I let the water and the steam heat me through. Closing my eyes I heard the slaps, cracks and laughs from the marble slab. Those hulking arms were working their wonders just yards away, just as they had done for centuries. The room seemed filled with pure release. The endless flow of water, the gentle sigh of quiet breaths, the swirl of the soporific steam, the plaintive cries of 'I Want to Know What Love Is' and the yielding creak of the massaged bodies took me away from myself. Away from my ideas of what this should have been and allowed me to finally become just another part of that most aged and venerable tradition. And then I was beckoned.
Somehow I knew the noise was for me. I can't recall now if it was a grunt or a word but my eyes opened and standing a mere 6 foot away was the perfect embodiment of every Hammam cliché. Thick, proud hair stood atop a mirthless face. Dark eyes bored out from that face without a hint of emotion or empathy. His chest swelled proudly in front of him, his stomach bulged. Huge yet taut with muscle. As for his arms, his tools of the trade, well they were adequate to terrify any man. A mass of sculpted form and hair. They hung down by his sides, resting in quiet preparation for their next task, their next body; my body. As I stood from the bench my helpful friend with the water bowl gave me a gentle slap on the back. I turned back and he smiled and nodded towards the centre. Making my way, slowly, towards the central slab the MOR gods kicked in again. As I looked towards, into and through the dead eyes of my torturer to be, Phil Collins began bleating 'Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me, we got a groovy kind of love'. I smiled in wry recognition, the masseuse didn't.
Standing by the edge of the slab my torturer ushered me to lie down on my front. I meekly obliged and slid awkwardly down onto the slab, my chin resting on a leather pillow, my body lying on the marble. The large hands tapped my shoulder and uttered one word. I didn't have a clue what that word meant and nodded with a gesture that meant neither yes or no, vainly hoping he might just go away. He tapped my shoulders again and then pointed at my rag. Once again he uttered the word and I realised then what was happening, he was asking if I had underwear on or not. Now was the time of reckoning, judgement day was upon me. The cloud of nerves arose once more and two words echoed and reverberated around my head 'pants' and 'why?'. I shook my head shyly and winced immediately, awaiting the sound of sirens or the crack of a fist across my face. Instead my masseuse smiled kindly, just for a second. 'Good' he said 'tourist shy, no good massage' and with that he flipped the loin cloth out from under me, scrunched it into one condensed bundle before, and there is no gentle way to say this, cramming it firmly into the line of my buttocks.
For the next twenty minutes I was folded and cracked, snapped and flipped. My bodyweight seeming no impediment to the dextrous hands of my masseuse. Muscles moved in ways I didn't think possible. Bones cracked in a way that didn't seem feasible and best of all, my thoughts drifted away to softer climes. I was all but naked. I was in the middle of Turkey. I was all alone far from home with another 3 months of travel ahead of me, and I was happy. So very, very happy. Mostly because I hadn't been thrown in jail for having no pants on, but also because this was too real, too new and too good to be anything but enjoyed to the full.
As my time on the slab came to a close my masseuse slapped my chest with a cupped hand. A common, oft repeated and painful gesture that seemed to be done purely for his amusement. I opened my eyes and through the steam I could see him leaning right over me. He was it, there was nothing else. There were the black eyes, the thick hair and that knotted face. Nothing more could be viewed. 'Good?' he asked. 'Good' I replied and smiled up at him, feeling so small and so grateful for all that he had done. It was then that the MOR anthems kicked in one last time. As I looked doe eyed and dazed into his unyielding eyes, my every move a gesture of thanks, relief and gratitude, Bryan Adams began to sing his song:
'There's no love, like your love...'
I could not have said it better. After a few more seconds of unreciprocated man love, I slid woozily off the marble slab, gathered my strength and went off to find my pants.
I was born in Norfolk and lived in Suffolk. So I thought I knew those two counties. But of course there is more to Norfolk than Norwich, Cromer, Yarmouth and Kings Lynn, as there is to Suffolk than Ipswich, Lowestoft, Stowmarket and Bury St. Edmunds. And so on My friend, Simon K, runs a fabulous website, which I link to on EA churches, and on his Suffolk Church page he has visited 707 Suffolk churches, and 909 Norfolk churches. That is a lot of churches for two counties to share, and many of those churches are ancient, flint built, round towered or have wall paintings, wooden roof angels or something worth the effort of going to see or seeking out the keyholder to gain access.
What I mean is that there is no way someone who only had their own car until 1984, and had little interest in churches or parishes could have heard of most of the parishes in the two counties, and so a parish church like St George.
I saw St George from the main road, I was taking a short cut to join the A14 and from there to the A12 and south on what I hoped my my last trip of the year to lowestoft as Mother is now out of hospital and in the care of district nurses in order to get put back on her feet.
So I saw the tower of St George from about half a mile away, and thought I had enough time to go over and see inside if I could.
I parked at the end of a cul-de-sac of new bungalows, and as I walk up the bank to the gate into the churchyard, the clean lines of the tower, well, towered over me.
In the porch I tried the door and found it locked, but the keyholder list made it clear that the nearest one, at Christmas Cottage, was just over the road. So, why not try, Ian?
I went to the cottage and rang the bell. I had to fill out my details in a ledger, a sensible measure. But I showed by driving licence to prove that I was who I claimed. Little did I know the small village I lived in had been noticed. More of that in a minute.
Inside St George, you eye is stolen by the fabulous pew ends; animals of all kinds, real and imaginary, and most had not been defaced, only those of obvious human form. One with the body of a chicken but a clear human face had been left alone, thus is the madness of the puritan's mind.
I decided that I would record every pew end figure, and many whole pew ends so wonderful that they were.
There is the feint outline of a huge wall painting, Simon says it was of St. Christopher. It would have been most impressive when freshly painted. There is also a fine set of misericords.
St George's glory is the altarpiece, into detail Simon goes below. It is alarmed, so you cannot look at them too closely, sadly, but such is a sign of the times.
I took the keys back, and the lady of the house came to speak to me as she had been told by her husband that I was from Cliffe in Kent, which is where her family is from. Sadly, I am not from, nor live in Cliffe. For once there was indeed two Cliffs in Kent, one on the Hoo Peninsular, where her family is from, and one near to Dover. Many years ago, Cliffe near to Dover was called WestCliffe to differentiate it from its namesake further north. I explained this to her, but said St Helen in Cliffe is one of my favourite Kent churches, built of alternate layers of black and light flints and stone, in sunlight it glistens and sparkles.
Although St George here in Stowlangtoft is a fine church, it is in a poor state of repair, and is due to be made redundant in the new year. Always sad when that happens to a parish church, but it is likely to be taken over by the CCT, but then who will volunteer to keep it tidy when the old wardens and keyholders are too old.
Stowlangtoft is a fabulous church and so glad am I that I spent 40 minutes of my time to visit it. Go to see it now before it is too late!
-------------------------------------------
In the summer of 2003, this website became a six-part series on BBC Radio Suffolk. Something I said in the fourth programme, about Hessett, generated a fair amount of correspondence. Referring to the way many churches were restored in the 19th century, I observed that when we enter a medieval church, we are encountering a Victorian vision of the medieval; even when the actual furnishings and fittings are medieval, the whole piece is still a Victorian conception.
People wrote to me and said things like "but in that case, Simon, how do we know what was there originally and what wasn't?". To which my reply was the enigmatic "assume that nothing is as it first appears, as Sherlock Holmes said". And if he didn't, then he should have done.
A prime example of a church that assumes a continuity that may not actually be the truth is here in the flat fields between Woolpit and Ixworth. This part of Suffolk can be rather bleak, especially in late October, but England's finest summer and autumn for decades had left the churchyard here verdant and golden, as beautiful a place as any I'd seen that year. The church is large, and sits on a mound that has been cut down on one side by the road. I walked up the slope, past the memorial to the art critic Peter Fuller and his unborn son, which never fails to move me. It is by the sculptor Glynn Williams, and Sister Wendy Beckett says of it that it cannot be pinned down and encapsulated, it defeats the categories of the mere mind and sings to us of our deeper self.
Overwhelmed as you may be by it, don't fail to spot the broken window tracery that has been used to build the wall here, for thereby hangs a tale.
St George, in case you don't know, is one of the great Suffolk churches. Although it may externally appear a little severe, and is by no means as grand as Blythburgh, Long Melford and the rest, it is a treasure house of the medieval inside. Unusually for a church of its date, it was all rebuilt in one go, in the late 14th century, and the perpendicular windows are not yet full of the 'walls of glass' confidence that the subsequent century would see. The tracery appears to have been repaired, and possibly even renewed, which may explain why there is broken medieval tracery in the churchyard wall. However, it doesn't take much to see that the tracery in the wall is not perpendicular at all, but decorated. So it may be that the broken tracery is from the original church that the late 14th century church replaced. But the wall isn't medieval, so where had it been all those years?
Another survival from the earlier church is the font. It also asks some questions. Unusually, it features a Saint on seven of the panels, Christ being on the westwards face. Mortlock dates it to the early 14th century, and the Saints it shows are familiar cults from that time: St Margaret, St Catherine, St Peter and St Paul, and less commonly St George. The cult of St George was at its height in the early years of the 14th century. Mortlock describes the font as mutilated, and it certainly isn't looking its best. But I think there is more going on here than meets the eye. Fonts were plastered over in Elizabethan times, and only relief that stood proud of the plaster was mutilated. These are all shallow reliefs, and I do not think they have been mutilated at all. To my eye at least, this stonework appears weathered. I wonder if this font was removed from the church, probably in the mid-17th century, and served an outdoor purpose until it was returned in the 19th century.
The story of this church in the 19th century is well-documented. In 1832, as part of his grand tour of Suffolk, David Davy visited, and was pleased to find that the church was at last undergoing repair. The chancel had been roofless, and the nave used for services. A new Rectory was being built. Who was the catalyst behind all this? His name was Samuel Rickards, and he was Rector here for almost the middle forty years of the 19th century. Roy Tricker notes that he was a good friend of John Henry Newman, the future Cardinal, and they often corresponded on the subject of the pre-Reformation ordering of English churches. It is interesting to think how, at this seminal moment, Rickards might have informed the thought of the Oxford Movement. Sadly, when Newman became a Catholic Rickards broke off all correspondence with him.
During the course of the 1840s and 1850s, Rickards transformed Stowlangtoft church. He got the great Ipswich woodcarver Henry Ringham in to restore, replicate and complete the marvellous set of bench ends - Ringham did the same thing at Woolpit, a few miles away. Ringham's work is so good that it is sometimes hard for the inexperienced eye to detect it; however, as at Woolpit, Ringham only copied animals here, and the wierder stuff is all medieval, and probably dates from the rebuilding of the church. The glory of Stowlangtoft's bench ends is partly the sheer quantity - there are perhaps 60 carvings - but also that there are several unique subjects; you can see some of them below.
The carvings appear to be part of the same group as Woolpit and Tostock - you will recognise the unicorn, the chained bear, the bull playing a harp, the bird with a man's head, from similar carvings elsewhere. And then hopefully that little alarm bell in your heard should start to go "Hmmmm....." because some of the carvings here are clearly not from the same group. It is hard to believe that the mermaid and the owl, for example, are from the same workshop, or even from the same decade. The benches themselves are no clue; it was common practice in the 19th century to replace medieval bench ends on modern benches, or on medieval benches, or even on modern benches made out of medieval timber (as happened at Blythburgh). Could it be that Samuel Rickards found some of these bench ends elsewhere? Could he have been the kind of person to do a thing like that?
Well, yes he could. As Roy Tricker recalls, the medieval roof at the tractarian Thomas Mozley's church at Cholderton in Wiltshire is one that Rickards acquired after finding it in storage in Ipswich docks. In the ferment of the great 19th century restoration of our English churches, there was loads of medieval junk lying around, much of it going begging. But was Samuel Rickards the kind of person to counterfeit his church's medieval inheritance?
Well, yes he probably was. Look at the medieval roundels in the middle window on the south side of the nave. The four evangelists are above and below two superb representations of the Presentation in the Temple and the Baptism of Christ. You can see them below; click on them to enlarge them. Unfortunately, they are not medieval at all, and it is generally accepted that they were painted by a daughter of Samuel Rickards himself. There is something similar the other side of Bury at Hawstead.
Truly medieval is the vast St Christopher wall-painting still discernible on the north wall. It was probably one of the last to be painted. The bench ends are medieval, of course, as is the fine rood-screen dado, albeit repainted. There is even some medieval glass in the upper tracery of some of the windows. The laughable stone pulpit is Rickard's commission, and the work of William White. What can Rickards have been thinking of? But we step through into the chancel, and suddenly the whole thing moves up a gear. For here are some things that are truly remarkable.
In a county famous for its woodwork, the furnishings of Stowlangtoft's chancel are breathtaking, even awe-inspiring. Behind the rood screen dado is Suffolk's most complete set of return stalls. Most striking are the figures that form finials to the stall ends. They are participants in the Mass, including two Priests, two servers and two acolytes. The figure of the Priest at a prayer desk must be one of the best medieval images in Suffolk; Mortlock thought the stalls the finest in England. I was here with my friend Aidan of Sylly Suffolk fame, and he had previously photographed and written about these carving a a couple of years ago. But even he found something new to photograph, and a hush fell on the chancel as we explored.
The benches that face eastwards are misericords, and beneath them are wonderful things: angels, lions and wodewoses, evangelistic symbols and crowned heads. A hawk captures a hare, a dragon sticks out its tongue. Between the seats are weird oriental faces. Some of them are below; click on them to enlarge them.
Now, you know what I am going to ask next. How much of this is from this church originally? It all appears medieval work, and there is no reason to believe it might not have been moved elsewhere in the church when the chancel was open to the elements. What evidence have we got?
Firstly, we should notice that the only other Suffolk church with such a large number of medieval misericords of this quality is just a mile away, at Norton. I don't ask you to see this as significant, merely to notice it in passing. Secondly, I am no carpenter, but it does look to me as though two sets of furnishings have been cobbled together; the stalls that back on to the screen appear to have been integrated into the larger structure of stalls and desks that front them and the north and south walls.
However, if you look closely at the figures of the two Deacons, you will see that they are bearing shields of the Ashfield and Peche families. The Ashfield arms also appear on the rood screen, and the Ashfields were the major donors when the church was rebuilt in the 14th century. So on balance I am inclined to think that the greater part of the stall structure was in this church originally from when it was rebuilt. And the misericords? Well, I don't know. But I think they have to be considered as part of the same set as those at Norton. In which case they may have come from the same church, which may have been this one, but may not have been. Almost certainly, the stalls at Norton did not come from Norton church, and folklore has it that they were originally in the quire of Bury Abbey. Hmm....
Other remarkable things in St George include FE Howard's beautiful war memorial in the former north doorway, and in the opposite corner of the nave Hugh Easton's gorgeous St George, which serves the same purpose. It is as good as his work at Elveden. Back up in the chancel is a delightful painted pipe organ which was apparently exhibited at, and acquired from, the Great Exhibition of 1851.
But St George at Stowlangtoft is, of course, most famous for the Flemish carvings that flank the rather heavy altarpiece. They were given to the church by Henry Wilson of Stowlangtoft Hall, who allegedly found them in an Ixworth junk shop. They show images from the crucifixion story, but are not Stations of the Cross as some guides suggest. They date from the 1480s, and were almost certainly the altarpiece of a French or Flemish monastery that was sacked during the French Revolution. I had seen something similar at Baumes-les-Messieurs in the French Jura a few weeks before. There, the carvings are brightly painted, as these once were, and piled up in a block rather than spread out in a line. The niches, and crowning arches above them, are 19th century. My favourite images are the Pieta and the Mouth of Hell. Click on the images below.
One cold winter's night in January 1977, a gang of thieves broke into this locked church and stole them. Nothing more was seen or heard of them until 1982, when they were discovered on display in an Amsterdam art gallery. Their journey had been a convoluted one; taken to Holland, they were used as security for a loan which was defaulted upon. The new owner was then burgled, and the carvings were fenced to an Amsterdam junk dealer. They were bought from his shop, and taken to the museum, which immediately identified them as 15th century carvings. They put them on display, and a Dutch woman who had read about the Stowlangtoft theft recognised them.
The parish instituted legal proceedings to get them back; an injunction was taken out to stop the new owner removing them from the museum. The parish lost the case, leaving them with a monstrous legal bill; but the story has a happy ending. A Dutch businessman negotiated their purchase from the owner, paid off the legal bills, and returned the carvings to Stowlangtoft. Apparently this was all at vast cost, but the businessman gave the gift in thanks for Britain's liberation of Holland for the Nazis. No, thank you, sir.
Today, the carvings are fixed firmly in place and alarmed, so they won't be going walkabout again. But a little part of me wonders if they really should be here at all. Sure, they are medieval, but they weren't here originally; they weren't even in England originally. Wouldn't it be better if they were displayed somewhere safer, where people could pay to see them, and provide some income for the maintenance of the church building? And then, whisper it, St George might even be kept open.
St George, Stowlangtoft, is in the village high street. Three keyholders are listed, two of them immediately opposite. I am told that Wednesday is not a good time to try and get the key - it is market day in Bury.
Simon Knott
The MakerBot Digitizer 3D-scanned Laser Cat model was used in this test of different layer thicknesses. The cat was scaled down to 50 mm in height and then 3D printed at the following layer heights:
- 0.40 mm (400 microns)
- 0.30 mm (300 microns)
- 0.20 mm (200 microns)
- 0.10 mm (100 microns) - Average width of a strand of human hair
- 0.05 mm (50 microns)
- 0.02 mm (20 microns)
All six cats where 3D printed on a MakerBot Replicator 2 with TRUE BLUE PLA plastic at 230 degrees C.
All layers where 3D printed with MakerWare's standard values as follows:
(400 microns) - 15% infill - perimeters 2 - speed 90 mm/s
(300 microns) - 15% infill - perimeters 2 - speed 90 mm/s
(200 microns) - 15% infill - perimeters 2 - speed 90 mm/s
(100 microns) - 15% infill - perimeters 2 - speed 90 mm/s
(50 microns) - 15% infill - perimeters 2 - speed 60 mm/s
(20 microns) - 15% infill - perimeters 2 - speed 40 mm/s
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The 3D scanner: bit.ly/1a7y8hG
The 3D printer: makerbot.creativetools.se
The 3D model: www.thingiverse.com/thing:146265
#3DBenchy printed on a MakerBot Replicator Desktop 5th Generation 3D printer.
The 3D-model: 3dbenchy.com/download
The 3D-printer: www.creativetools.se/index.php?route=product/search&f...
A comparison of four different common 3D-print layer heights.
• 0.34 mm/layer - Low (340 microns)
• 0.27 mm/layer - Medium (270 microns)
• 0.1 mm/layer - High (100 microns)
• 0.05 mm/layer - Super fine (50 microns)
These models where 3D printed with blue 1.75 mm PLA plastic filament on a MakerBot Replicator 2 3D printer.
The sample 3D model for this print is MorenaP's popular tree frog: www.thingiverse.com/derivative:34468
3D-printer: makerbot.creativetools.se
Laser-cut plate: www.thingiverse.com/thing:69351
#3DBenchy printed on a MakerBot Replicator Desktop 5th Generation 3D printer.
The 3D-model: 3dbenchy.com/download
The 3D-printer: www.creativetools.se/index.php?route=product/search&f...
#3DBenchy printed on a MakerBot Replicator Desktop 5th Generation 3D printer.
The 3D-model: 3dbenchy.com/download
The 3D-printer: www.creativetools.se/index.php?route=product/search&f...
#3DBenchy printed on a MakerBot Replicator Desktop 5th Generation 3D printer.
The 3D-model: 3dbenchy.com/download
The 3D-printer: www.creativetools.se/index.php?route=product/search&f...
Taken 18/03/23. Driving back from Cranmore I felt I needed a break and Breamore Station proved a convenient spot to stop at. Inevitably I then took a few snaps, but these will largely replicate photos I took in 2014.
Unfortunately I don't know if this was the up or down platform, but a history of the line through Breamore from the internet:
"The South Western's first major push westwards occurred after collaboration with Charles Castleman, a Wimborne solicitor and the opening of 'Castleman's Snake' from Northam to Dorchester during June and July 1847.
rom Lymington Junction, Brockenhurst, the line swept through Holmsley (known as Christchurch Road until 1888), Ringwood, West Moors, Wimborne and Broadstone before continuing southwestward to Wareham and Dorchester. Meanwhile, another independent line under the title of the Salisbury & Dorset Junction Company was promoted to link Salisbury with Wimborne: opened on 20 December 1866, the 19 miles of single track from Alderbury Junction (between Salisbury and Dean) to West Moors was also worked by the London & South Western Railway and absorbed in 1883. It served stations at Downton, Breamore, Fordingbridge, Daggons Road and Verwood and for much of its length followed the River Avon along the western edge of the New Forest. As with local trains over the adjoining line from Brockenhurst, the usual destination was Bournemouth West.
On summer Saturdays in Southern days both lines served as useful alternatives for some of the many holiday trains run at peak periods. A few through trains from Waterloo ran to Swanage, while the Fordingbridge line offered similar facilities for holidaymakers from South Wales heading for the coast. Traffic on the line was always light and closure had been proposed before the line was eventually axed under Beeching from 4 May 1964, although goods traffic continued to use the line to Ringwood from Broadstone Junction until October 1966, after which it was cut back to West Moors for occasional military requirements. For a brief period the station was known as Breamore.
Breamore Station has remained largely intact since closure despite easy public access to the station site. All the buildings have been boarded up and although somewhat dilapidated have remained free of vandalism. In 2004 a long lease on the station site was offered by the owner, Hampshire County Council with planning consent for office/workshop use. The property is protected in as much as it cannot be demolished and rebuilt or extended and that all materials have to be approved by the planning authority. The new tenants have restored the station building on the northbound platform retaining its canopy."