One door closes, another opens

5 January 2016

With a feeling of disappointment, CJ and I turned to leave St Edward the Confessor church. We’d expected to see stones from Netley Abbey at the base of the tower but there were none. I’d hoped to find a longer footpath but I hadn’t. We were heading back to the path and the gates when I saw what I thought were gargoyles at the base of the arch of one of the doors. A closer look, showed there was no pipe for water to come out so technically they were chimeras or bosses, used to frighten evil spirits. They were quite badly weathered but I took a picture of the best one anyway. This was when I noticed the door was open. It felt like my lucky day after all.

 

“What is it with you and churches?” I said to CJ. “The doors are never open when I’m on my own but they always seem to be when I’m with you. Shall we go inside?”
“Why not?”
So, with the slightly nervous feeling I always get when I go into a church, we crept inside. The first thing was saw was the font. Unfortunately information about the church and its history is unusually sparse so all I can deduce is that it’s probably marble with a stone stand, possibly Purbeck. It looks fairly modern but the flags above it, which look like British Legion flags, are old, how old and why they are there is anyone’s guess.

When we walked into the nave, music was playing softly, Susan Boyle according to CJ, who sees to know more about X Factor winners than I. It was obvious the door was open because someone was in there cleaning. A woman was at the other end of the church with her back to us, she appeared to be polishing and I spotted a vacuum cleaner. I looked guilty at my boots. Thankfully they weren’t muddy. Children’s toys and a play mat were spread about and there were rows of wooden chairs set out, each with a comfortable looking tapestry cushion, although they may have been for kneeling on, my knowledge of the things that go on in churches is sparse to say the least.

Disappointingly, the windows on the south side, facing the front of the church, were plain glass. On the wall an interesting tapestry of the abbey almost made up for this lack. I imagined the women of the parish sitting working on it together. The light coming through the plain glass didn’t help with the photo though.

The stained glass is my favourite thing about the inside of churches and right away I could see there was some, if not as much as I’d hoped. Ahead, in the sanctuary, a richly decorated gothic triptych depicted Christ and the apostles I think. There were two more triptych windows in the north transept both dedicated in memorial according to the lettering at the bottom, and one diptych window in the south transept, depicting  St Louis and St George as Knights.

There were other little gems to look at too. The wooden nativity made me smile. The shepherds had such contented expressions and one of the sheep appeared to be butting a king. Obviously someone in the church has a sense of humour as I’m sure it didn’t get like that by chance. On a wall in the south transept a beautiful carved representation of da Vinci’s Last Supper was spoiled only by the glass covering that reflected the light and made a decent picture impossible. There was also a painted plaster relief of the crucifixion with a rather gruesome skull below Christ’s feet. Dim light didn’t make for a good photo.

While I was trying to get a photo of the crucifixtion picture CJ had discovered something.
“Look at this Mum. Do you think it’s one of the stones you were looking for? The tower is above us after all, maybe it meant at the base inside?”
When I went to look I had to admit he was right. On the wall at the base of the tower but inside, not outside as I’d thought, was a very weathered stone knight with a sword and a shield. Underneath was a sign that told us this was the tomb of a monk and crusader from the ruins of Netely Abbey.

Very slowly and carefully I looked  around all the walls of the transept, peeking into every nook and cranny but there were no other stones, at least not ones I could see. Perhaps the information from the British History website was wrong. It had said there were two stones, a small Purbeck marble knight with a shield and sword, probably a tombstone, and the other an incised slab with a figure of a Cistercian monk. Hmm, the text below the single stone I’d found said this was both monk and crusader, could the two discriptions actually be about one stone?

While I was pondering this I looked up, maybe I was seeking divine intervention. That was when I noticed the beautifully painted ceiling. It wasn’t quite the Sistine Chapel, but still… The ceiling in the sanctuary was even more intricate. It must have taken a long time to paint, even if It wasn’t the work of Michaelangelo.

With one last photo of the bell ropes hanging down from the rafters I turned back to the nave for a shot of the organ pipes in the sanctuary. There was just one more thing to check out and I’d been saving it until last. The rose window had been behind us since we entered the church and I’d purposely not turned to look at it until now. When I did it turned out to be another disappointment. Instead of the stained glass I’d expected this too was plain. A closer look showed the design was pretty enough but I still would have preferred colours. Oh well, you can’t have it all and, when we set out, I wasn’t expecting to go inside the church at all.

As I was taking the picture the lady cleaning the church, who was working somewhere out of sight, began to sing along to the music. She had a good voice but I thought she might be embarrassed if she came out and found us there listening to her. It was time to leave. There was one last surprise before we went outside. In the small porch, just inside the door, were two more small windows. They were leaded but didn’t have stained glass, instead the small diamonds were filled with the same kind of thick, tough glass I’d seen in the church in Twyford, in shades of pale green randomly placed. The dim light coming through the glass gave the scene a haunting quality, completed by a sprig of ivy someone had placed there. It was a thing of beauty and I left the church smiling.

Before we turned for home I wanted one more walk around the church just in case there really was another ancient stone around somewhere. Although I’d already looked I double checked around the tower door and in the dark corners around the tower base. There really was nothing. I stood back and looked up, just in case, still nothing, although I did notice a secondary circular tower I liked the look of.

Stepping back a way I took a shot of the whole of the back of the church and the one window I hadn’t been able to see from the inside. Then, very slowly, still looking for that stone, we walked around the back. We found steps leading down to a small door which told me the church probably had a crypt or cellar of some kind. It was blocked off though and a sign warned of asbestos so there would be no chance to take a look. Further on we found another door and then we were back facing the path with nothing more to see.

We were walking back towards the leaning trees when CJ said, “better hurry up, it’s starting to rain.”
“I can’t feel anything,” I said, “you must have some kind of rain detecting superpowers. Besides, the weatherman said it wouldn’t rain today. This is meant to be the best day of the week.”
“And the weatherman is always right.” was CJ’s sarcastic reply.
As it happened I thought I did feel a spot or two of rain so I had to concede CJ was right and we began to hurry.

“I do seem to remember a certain Michael Fish saying ‘don’t worry, there is no hurricane,’ the day before the great storm of 1987. When I woke up our apple tree was down and half the city had lost their roofs. It was like walking through a war zone when I took Philo to school,” I said.
“Exactly, we’re probably in for a torrential downpour,” CJ laughed, “come on, hurry up or we’ll get wet.”
By the time we got to the sailing club it was drizzling, but nothing more and we both relaxed our pace.
“It’s probably just a shower,” I said.
Then I spotted something orange in the tree that seems to attract galls. It looked like it might be a jelly fungus of some kind or maybe a slime mould but it was too high in the tree for me to get a close up shot. We stopped and I tried but I was just too short. Laughing, CJ took my phone and reached up to take the shot his short mother couldn’t. He does have his uses.

The drizzle turned to real rain as we reached the stream on the shore. CJ tutted as I took a picture of the rain falling on the still water and urged me to run. He was right too. We half ran back to the car as the rain got steadily harder. As I was putting on my seat belt the heavens opened in the torrential downpour CJ had warned about. It really was our lucky day.