St Adhelm's Chapel & 17th Century Graffiti
In February this year, I walked from Renscombe Farm, just beyond Worth Matravers, to visit St Adhelm's Chapel - the day was icy cold - the sky above me was light blue and almost cloudless - I walked along a trackway, skirting frozen puddles - the ice was very thick, like sheets of clouded glass - you could see where tractors had driven over the puddles, splintering the ice -
By the side of the trackway were small leafless trees - their branches were shaped by the wind - a tall slim stone, patterned with lichen, leaned into a tangle of thorns -
On each side of the trackway were fields, some recently ploughed, others left to grass - dry stone walls marked the boundaries of the fields -
I passed a quarry - large pale blocks of stone were piled up below me - a derrick of some kind stood amongst the piles of stone - no one was around -
A dry valley, with a seasonal stream, framed the sea - the horizon of sea and sky was a vague shining blur -
The stone chapel dates from the late 12th Century, and stands on a headland - there are white coastguard cottages and a coast guard look out station nearby - the volunteer look out told me that he was once almost blown off the cliff whilst measuring the wind -
The chapel is a very substantial structure, with what Pesvner calls a pyramid roof - butresses reinforce its thick dark walls - you enter the chapel through a rounded Norman arch -
Inside, narrow pointed windows let in shafts of light - a central pier, like the trunk of a huge stone tree, supports the roof -
There are a few wooden benches - there is a small altar, with its cross caught in beams of light, a modern looking font, made of white stone, with a vase of ivy and dried out flowers -
Carved very deeply in the stone of the central pier, are many initials, names and the dates of years - many of the dates are from the late 17th Century - some are carved with delicate lettering -
When I stood in the chapel, still chilled to the bone, I imagined the carvers standing before me - they believed, I'm fairly sure, in the afterlife and the judgement - I saw their stout coats and their powdered hair - I imagined their lives, like songs, being sung by angels -
I wondered that if I concentrated my mind enough - if I opened my eyes and ears enough - then I might hear some of their songs, or catch a glimspe of a marvellous wing, scenting the damp stone above me -
In February this year, I walked from Renscombe Farm, just beyond Worth Matravers, to visit St Adhelm's Chapel - the day was icy cold - the sky above me was light blue and almost cloudless - I walked along a trackway, skirting frozen puddles - the ice was very thick, like sheets of clouded glass - you could see where tractors had driven over the puddles, splintering the ice -
By the side of the trackway were small leafless trees - their branches were shaped by the wind - a tall slim stone, patterned with lichen, leaned into a tangle of thorns -
On each side of the trackway were fields, some recently ploughed, others left to grass - dry stone walls marked the boundaries of the fields -
I passed a quarry - large pale blocks of stone were piled up below me - a derrick of some kind stood amongst the piles of stone - no one was around -
A dry valley, with a seasonal stream, framed the sea - the horizon of sea and sky was a vague shining blur -
The stone chapel dates from the late 12th Century, and stands on a headland - there are white coastguard cottages and a coast guard look out station nearby - the volunteer look out told me that he was once almost blown off the cliff whilst measuring the wind -
The chapel is a very substantial structure, with what Pesvner calls a pyramid roof - butresses reinforce its thick dark walls - you enter the chapel through a rounded Norman arch -
Inside, narrow pointed windows let in shafts of light - a central pier, like the trunk of a huge stone tree, supports the roof -
There are a few wooden benches - there is a small altar, with its cross caught in beams of light, a modern looking font, made of white stone, with a vase of ivy and dried out flowers -
Carved very deeply in the stone of the central pier, are many initials, names and the dates of years - many of the dates are from the late 17th Century - some are carved with delicate lettering -
When I stood in the chapel, still chilled to the bone, I imagined the carvers standing before me - they believed, I'm fairly sure, in the afterlife and the judgement - I saw their stout coats and their powdered hair - I imagined their lives, like songs, being sung by angels -
I wondered that if I concentrated my mind enough - if I opened my eyes and ears enough - then I might hear some of their songs, or catch a glimspe of a marvellous wing, scenting the damp stone above me -
No comments:
Post a Comment