I was disinclined to kneel

There has to be a reason for everything, whether you know it or not. In this case, it was two pictures bequeathed to us by my wife’s aunt, the indomitable Madge. Both pictures depict Llandaff Cathedral, one a very old print, the other a watercolour of the modern interior.

I had never been there before, even though it is almost on our doorstep; my wife has been a few times, but long ago.  Pilgrimage or just a day out, perhaps both.

Some churches exude ancient peace, a sense of the sacred. Llandaff left me cold, and this is no slur. Feelings are subjective, though there was one small irritant—more than a feeling—which I’ll come to. 

First the positives. It’s a very pretty building, almost Disneyesque. It’s privileged with an ancient history. The cathedral stands on one of the oldest Christian sites in Britain. In the C6th St. Dyfrig founded a community close to where a Roman road crossed the River Taff and his body is buried where the Cathedral now stands.  He was succeeded by St Teilo and then Teilo's nephew, St Euddogwy. 

 

The present building was begun by Bishop Urban in 1120. In 1220 the present West Front was built, the cathedral finished by 1280 or so with the completion of the Lady Chapel. The original windows were replaced by pointed windows a hundred years later.  Henry VIII was its nemesis. He brought an end to pilgrims visiting the shrine of St Teilo, perhaps more importantly brought an end to their offerings which financed the upkeep of the cathedral.

 Over the years the building fell into disrepair. Victorian prosperity saw renewal and the Cathedral restored to its former glory with a new southwest tower and spire. 

Two steps forward, one step back. In 1941, the cathedral and much of its windows were damaged by German bombs. The story perhaps explains the importance of benefactors and ‘friends’ of the Cathedral. What you see here is a tribute to them, but at the same time explains why the Cathedral is akin to a phoenix, in one sense, more modern than old.

The Victorians  rebuilt parts of it.  Since then benefactors and ‘friends,’ past and present have fought to make the cathedral  ‘relevant’ and reverencing God with great works of art: a Rossetti Tryptic, an Epstein installation and some beautiful Burn Jones tiles.

 But here explains my annoyance.

The explanatory signs and/or lack of them, which perhaps reveals more than intended. Obscure C19th prelates of passing importance boast fine, clearly labelled monuments. More modern prelates and benefactors share a similar privilege.

Note the contrast here. The victorian cleric named and entombed. But who is the far more interesting medieval chap in the foreground? Me neither. 

And who are they?

And this chap, lost amidst chairs. 

Or these? Is that Fu Manchu?

or a monk with a cold?

In short, the truly interesting, the enigmatic and ancient with stories to tell,  the medieval and sixteenth century tombs, random gargoyles and mysterious stone carvings: nothing. No discreet brass labels explaining who these people were. There's a lack of accessibility. Below illustrates my point. The one exception.

A substantial, framed piece of text on the floor, too heavy to comfortably lift and read. I was disinclined to kneel.