ROOFS

Up The Scaffold

Last week the scaffolding inside the church finally reached the painted ceiling, and I was able to go up and discover that much of what I have been repeating to visitors for years is simply not true! My explanation (taken from Fr Stephenson's history of the church) was that the roof was divided into twelve compartments, and that each represented a month of the year and had saints depicted, each in the month in which their feast falls. I didn't have to get to the top to discover that this was not true, as on the lower level of figures some were from the Old Testament, so not saints at all! It turns out that Adam and Eve appear at the west end, and then there are a number of Old Testament figures before the saints start. We do seem to be correct that the north side are female figures and the south side male, though there is an Annunciation group about halfway down the north side, which is a bit odd. They don't appear to be in months either. It may be a more complex scheme, or possibly just random! One thing that the conservators have discovered is that the figures are painted onto canvas that has then been stuck onto the boards. I had always said we thought everything was painted directly onto the boards, as the boarding seemed visible once we got decent lighting a few years ago, but no-one was sure. The conservators' other big discovery of the first couple of days is that they are not the first to go up there. Someone has removed varnish from the flat sections of the ceiling, apparently by scrubbing, and this has clearly removed paint as well at times. The whole roof was originally varnished, and the ribs and frames are clearly still covered in dark varnish, which in places seems tacky to the touch, though I wonder whether that might be the result of incense residue rather than just the varnish itself. The varnish was a surprise, though I suppose it shouldn't have been, as the conservators' trials in the chancel vault a few months ago had revealed that not only was there a layer of twentieth century varnish (as I had always said) but that this was on top of nineteenth century varnish that was probably original. At some point in the past they clearly had a go at cleaning the roof.  

We had no idea that there had been a previous restoration of the roof, and it's hard to imagine when that might have been. The point at which gas light was replaced by electricity seems most likely, as you would presumably want to get up to the gas pipes which ran through the tie-bars at roof plate level. We don't know when that was, though, so that's not much help. It might not be so long ago, as the flat sections of ceiling don't seem very dirty. The ribs and frames, on the other hand, are clearly very colourful under the varnish, in fact the flat surface of each rib seems to be gilded, and there are little flowers with gilt centres on the sides of the ribs, so there is plenty to be revealed. The varnish may make it more complicated, though, as that will presumably require the use of solvents, which makes it much more difficult for volunteers to do (and raises health and safety issues), and we had hoped that cleaning the nave ceiling was going to be the big volunteering opportunity. Hey ho.


Street's Inspiration

I had a week away in Belgium, in Flanders to be accurate, and had a great time. I hadn't realised how much I would like Flanders, but that was dense of me: bike racing, art, architecture, beer, chips, chocolate, marzipan, what's not to like? The other thing that I hadn't realised was how far G E Street was inspired by medieval Flemish buildings. I kept on going round saying, "Now I see," to my friends, who must have got a bit bored with it. I came back and fulsomely went on about it to our architect, who just said, "Yes." Clearly this was not news to people who genuinely knew about architecture, but it was an eye-opener for me.

In Flanders you see churches with immensely steeply-pitched slate roofs, like ours, which is very unEnglish (St Amand, Geel, for example) and indeed the churches in general are very lofty, towering over their urban settings. It's easy to forget how St Mary Mags must have towered over the surrounding houses, now that there are tower blocks around, but its principal feature is still its great height. In those steep Flemish roofs they often have little dormers with pointed gables, presumably for ventilation, as we do (Bruges, Geel). You also see polygonal apses, like ours, again very unEnglish. Most striking was to see, in Geel, medieval churches built of brick and stone; in fact St Amand is "streaky bacon" all over, Street's famous decorative effect. I've always mentioned Siena in this context, but it turns out Flanders is a much more obvious precedent, using the very same materials. The final eureka moment was when I saw statues above nave pillars, very like ours, at St Walburga, Oudenaarde. The church of Our Lady in Bruges has a similar arrangement as well, but they're lower down the pillars, and rather less pleasing. It's unquestionably a baroque device, but Street gives them little gothic canopies, and I dare say there may be medieval examples as well. So, although I was away, I was thinking of home, but in an energising way, for a change.