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There are places that never fail to amaze me no matter how many times I visit.
The door at St. Mary and St. David, Kilpeck, Herefordshire is almost 900 years old and displays the tree of life, beakheads and beasts. The jambs are alive with twisted serpents and warriors.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
Loenard Cohen, Anthem
The Shutter Button
It is the strangest feeling to stand in the same place where I stood 20 years ago and find that absolutely nothing has changed. I suppose that this is the power of places like St. Mary and St. Barlok in Norbury, Derbyshire: they anchor me in the quicksand of the present.
My job makes me particularly open to this sort of thing, as I am witness to the cycle of conservation and refurbishment of old buildings - a cycle with no imperative but to help them remain the same.
In a fast-paced world increasingly governed by profit and loss, it is deeply comforting to find a place that has profited from no loss of its material fabric, and whose character has not been shaped by commercial imperatives. I think it is so reassuring because it tells us that there are parts of our society - parts of what it is to be human - that cherish the long view. A view that measures success not by what we take, but by what we leave behind.
This church, in its ever-present silence, is resoundingly vocal in that.
Tucked into the sharp bend of a country road, the church huddles beside an ancient manor house, enfolded by a bucolic landscape of farmland and woodland. There’s not a single ‘drive-thru’ in sight.
In 2006, Robin Stummer, editor of Cornerstone magazine, asked me to photograph the remarkably complete survival of grisaille glass at Norbury thought to have been installed in 1306.
It was to be, perhaps, one of the most difficult commissions I’ve had - even though it was to be for a small case-work article. Norbury was one of what I call the ‘ring of fire’ churches - churches that I visited during difficult times. Having overcome a breakdown, and completely changed my career, I was wracked with anxiety and doubt about my worth and ability.
At Norbury, I put my head above my heart. I remember spending hours agonising over the photography - how I might show off my skills and put myself into the photograph. It was as if I was creating something that was to be judged. I felt judged - a heavy sense of being pressed upon, in spite of there being only kindness and encouragement from Robin. I took all of the gubbins - even a set of step ladders to gain height and eventually I took some photographs of the interior and exterior.
Looking back on them - I can sense the angst in them - the intersecting and interfering line of tombstones on the exterior shot and the wide open, catch-all shot of the interior from the step ladder.
There are some locations, places that might be overwhelmingly beautiful, that hold a sting within them. I know of a few for me - one where a girlfriend told me that she no longer loved me - another where I heard of Dad’s cancer. Here it is in a specific location - the view from beside Nicholas Fitzherbert’s tomb towards the grisaille - it’s where, frustrated by my own clumsiness, and worried that depression might rear its ugly head, I almost gave up on my career amidst an overwhelming sense of being crumpled into the earth.
But I didn’t, and I wasn’t. I continued to press the shutter button, and that was all that mattered - to struggle through the steel press, the rack of self-doubt, until it was no more.
It has taken the 20 intervening years - the gap in my relationship with Norbury - to realise that all I needed to do was take myself out of the equation and let the building speak for itself.
The steadfast presence of this humble church has held up a mirror to the significant changes in me. I am so grateful for places like this - for their ever-present nature - and for the people, largely volunteers, who work silently in the background to maintain this concoction of materials, put together centuries ago in ways that continue to enliven us - so that individuals like me might find purchase in their own lives.
And so, on my second visit, I let it all go and follow the light - let the building speak. I walk into the chancel (which is as large as the nave) and think that I’m so privileged to be part of the colour and hue of the light levels that they experienced so long ago from 1306.
The building curates my movements and, for a moment, I sit down against the alabaster of one tomb to steady my hand in order to photograph the detail of a mourner on the tomb opposite - and then something catches my eye - a little tired face resting upon a hand - a man with a rosary, set atop a lion beneath Ralph Fitzherbert’s feet and supporting the curve of the insole with such delicacy.
And I can’t help but think that this hidden homunculus, carved more than 500 years ago, holds both the prison and the release. In him I recognise the part of me that visited 20 years ago - caught beneath a weight I could hardly bear. But the man who noticed him, and more importantly is able to photograph him, is the new man who stands here today: no longer pressed upon, but at peace with himself. This isn’t just a photograph of a little man, but also a record of the distance between who I was and who I have become. It could only be made because, this time, I was free enough to respond; and I’m so grateful to St. Mary and St. Barlok, Norbury - for its its unbidden permanence, its propensity to stay the same has allowed me to see how much I have changed.
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St. Mary and St. Barlok, Norbury
This is such a beautiful place, nestled in the heart of Derbyshire. The church of St Mary and St Barlok is listed at Grade I and has fabric dating from the twelfth, fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.
Built in sandstone, it contains a large 14th century chancel, substantial medieval glass, Fitzherbert alabaster tombs, carved timber roofs, a fourteenth-century font and two ninth-century cross shafts. It sits in a delightful location nestled adjacent to a Manor House.
The 'lantern' chancel is magnificent.
To find out more and plan your visit:
Ashbourne Group of Churches
The adjacent Manor House is a National Trust Holiday Location:
I've added the tower at Norbury to my concertina sketchbook of church towers:
Cornerstone Magazine - Led by Light
I’m also so grateful to people like Robin Stummer for seeing the potential in me. He also commissioned a piece on my work in which I was interviewed by Naomi Marks.
Reading through it, I can see the seeds of the Genius Loci Digest (although I do look like a member of a boy band). I can also see what was to become of my vocation in the face of so much beauty that I saw in the built environment around me, even as a child in an industrial town.
The article is dear to me because it is another record of how things change and how we always hold the seeds of something inside us that might blossom later on. The photographs of me were taken by a friend who is no longer with us, David Morris - and I’m so grateful for the memories and the fun we had in setting up the shots. He gave his time and skill freely and willingly.
You can read the whole article here via the pdf download:
Summer Hotspots
The Churches of The Romney Marsh
Andy Marshall
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The Ilkley Loop and Bolton Abbey
Andy Marshall
I lodged over at the Carsington Water CAMC. It's a five minute walk to the reservoir - lovely views - so much so, that I sketched it.
Andy Marshall
Admin
Another 'ring of fire' church.
"He entered not knowing how utterly his perception of himself, and of the world, would be altered - how the light raking the stone would steady him, and how this place would begin to teach him how to see."
Continued:
Andy Marshall
For Members - Mesmerising VR of Norbury Interior and the ancient Yew on the exterior
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Kind words from a subscriber:
Andy your work is becoming wonderful, remarkable. A so-called breakdown has been milled into its constituent parts, becoming profound construction: through perception, architecture, the lens and the pen. In your Repton crypt essay a deep description of our social anxiety - and our reason to be....
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Andy Marshall
Friends of Friendless Churches Need Your Help
Recently, I had the privilege of photographing two churches for Friends of Friendless Churches that were in a poor state of repair. Spending time in these extraordinary places only deepened my admiration for the work they do.
These buildings comfort me because they reveal a truth that is increasingly easy to forget: not everything of value is measured by immediate return. They exist because countless people, over hundreds of years, believed that some things were worth caring for simply because they would outlast them. To me, that is one of the finest expressions of what it means to be human.
The Friends of Friendless Churches continue that tradition today. They rescue remarkable churches that might otherwise be lost, caring for them so they remain open to anyone seeking beauty, silence, history or simply a place to measure themselves against. They are not just conserving old buildings; they are keeping alive that deeply human instinct to think beyond ourselves and care for generations we will never meet.
They are currently running a match-funding appeal, which means that every pound donated during the appeal will be matched, doubling its impact and helping safeguard more of these remarkable places. If this week’s reflections on Norbury have resonated with you, I hope you might consider making a donation. It is a rare opportunity to make your generosity go twice as far while helping carry the long view a little further.
More information here:
Thank you.
Andy
Thank You!
Photographs and words by Andy Marshall (unless otherwise stated). Most photographs are taken with iPhone 17 Pro and DJI Mini 5 Pro.
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