A Parable for out Time

'The uninvited guest from an unremembered past'

 

This is part of a large installation made from dead organic materials meandering through the house.  To me it looks nothing more or less than a gargantuan bowel movement, but I'm glad to be corrected. “These materials hold traces of memory, exploring ways of listening to past, present and future, inviting us to reflect on Tyntesfield’s history.” I’m trying to get my head around ‘listening’ to this. Is it accompanied by bowel movement sounds?

For all the ‘word salad’ interpretations, let’s not beat about the bush. This is poo oozing its way through the house. And why? The hapless Gibbs family—all four generations—owned no slaves so they can’t be ‘got’ at on that score. Their vast wealth was based upon imported guano (sea-bird poo) from South America. As they say, ‘there’s money in sh-t,’ but in fairness they invested in beauty. judge for yourself.

House and chapel

Drive and entrance

Hall, hearth in distance

Hearth close up, its statues representing the four virtues. 

The rooms lend themselves to film and TV work and if you ever see Trollope’s Dr Thorne, Agatha Christie’s Crooked House, Dracula, The Famous Five, Sherlock (The Abominable Bride) and even Dr Who (Hide) you may recognise some of the rooms shown above and below.

A library to die for – well at least experience a slight cold.

The Games Room

The oratory, ie a room once dedicated to family and staff prayer. Now superseded by a grand victorian gothic chapel.

Hall, stairs and landing from different angles

The gothic corridor to the chapel

The family Chapel

                                And an evocative exit from the chapel to the gardens outside.

 Tyntesfield reflects late Victorian gothic at its finest—an idyllic country retreat for a country gentleman with taste and a fortune from guano. Earlier representatives of the National Trust recognised its beauty and significance. It was saved for the nation in 2022 and a public appeal resulted in 77,000 people donating over £8 million in a 100 days. It also benefited from a grant of £17.4 million from the National Heritage Memorial Fund. The National Trust today sees guano. A parable for our times perhaps.  

 

Sexburga and Heat Pumps

Whenever I go to church, I always browse an opened book near the entrance. It lists the feast days  of the saints for that week, and rarely am I bored. Who could not be intrigued with saints such as: Werburga, Withburga, Notburga, and my favourite (because I’m basically very childish) Sexburga. 

Wer —Not —With— Sex. There’s a story in there somewhere.

My favourite saint has to be St Christina the Astonishing. 

At the age of twenty-two, she suffered a seizure, was assumed to be dead and carried in an open coffin for her funeral service. Halfway through the mass, Christina sat up and soared to the roof where she perched on a beam. (There is quite a history of levitating saints.) When the mass was over, the priest persuaded her to come down and she explained. She had experienced death, visited Hell, Purgatory and finally Heaven, but on her return she found the stench of humans so foul she could no longer live amidst them.

From that point on she sought solitude—on tops of trees, in dark caves, and desolate towers. She even fled into a hot oven unscathed to avoid a fellow human. She died in a convent aged 74. As to why she is a saint, God knows.

This whole business came to mind because there’s a new book out, which I’ll probably buy when it comes down in price—Saints: A New Legendary of Heroes, Humans and Magic by Amy Jeffs.

It is by all accounts a thoughtful book, though what appeals to me are the stories: ships sailing through turf, resurrected birds, trees bowing to offer their fruits ( I wish my damson trees did that). These two also tickle my fancy: a quarrelling husband and wife wake up to find every inch of their bodies covered with penises and vaginas. I’m thinking party games, a new variant of ‘Twister.’ I’m also wondering whether they had one to spare for the unfortunate man the devil tricked into castrating himself.

It seems to me it’s a poorer age without such stories to tell over the fire. It’s an even poorer age when we’re discouraged from lighting them. It's not the same huddled over a heat pump.

 

Tewkesbury Abbey

 

The Abbey is reputed to be haunted by slain warriors, along with  monks dispossessed by Henry VIII. It is also the backdrop to the most savage battle of the War of the Roses, the battle of Tewkesbury 1471. Fleeing from an advancing Yorkist army but trapped by the rising waters of the Avon and Severn, Margaret of Anjou and the Lancastrian heir Prince Edward fought to the last man. Those Lancastrians who fled into the Abbey were hunted down and slaughtered, blood running thick down the aisles.

The ceiling dates from 1340, its grace a nice counterpoint to the heavy Norman columns. The architectural historian Nicholas Pevsner had his own take: ‘beautiful (but) producing a somewhat crushing effect.’

Above shows ‘The Sun in Splendour,’ the symbol of Yorkist kings added after the battle of  Tewkesbury. Rubbing salt into the wound is the grave of the Lancastrian,  seventeen year old Edward Prince of Wales with the inscription:

Here lies Edward Prince of Wales, cruelly slain whilst but a youth  Anno Domini 1471, May fourth. Alas the savagery of men. Thou art the soul light of thy Mother, and the last hope of thy race.

Other than Yorkist triumphalism and the tragedy of the slain prince, what truly knocked me out were the glorious stained glass windows, a happy marriage of the Medieval, Victorian, and the C21^st  in the form of Thomas Denny.

In the past, my photographs of stained glass have always proved unsatisfactory with washed out colours and poor definition. My new iPhone 15 pro max was a revelation, and I make no apology for posting so many, but if you zoom and slowly flit through them, the effect is hallucinatory. Some Gregorian chants and a good bottle of port will heighten the effect. 

Close ups of altar windows

Scenes from Christ's life, many instantly recognisable

And because so much might otherwise be missed in Thomas Denny’s brilliant work, I’m including context and explanation below—for those who like to explore stained glass.