Each week I send out a short, fresh reflection from the road – photographs, sketches, and observations from old places that still have something to teach us. What follows is a moment from those travels.
'I want to break free
I want to break free from your lines
You're so self wonkified, I don't need you
I've got to break free.'
Queen: I Want To Break Free (with a few additions inspired by Lavenham).
The timber framed houses along High Street all have a wonk on and when you find yourself singing and cauterising the words of a Queen classic, you know it's time to move on. I’ve been here since first light and my sense of balance needs levelling up. So I head for the church.
People rarely talk of how places are revealed and concealed during movement. The path to St. Peter and St. Paul is dotted with neatly clipped yews and the mere act of walking lifts the church above the yew-line like a majestic swan. The movie-maker in me walks it a few times for effect.
As soon as I arrive at the porch I regain my balance. Order is restored through the parallel lines that rise into the ether, for this building represents the height of Gothic perpendicular architecture.
I’m too early, the porch gate is locked, so I skirt around the church and watch its tower pirouette in the sunlight; until I hear the jingle of keys - somebody is opening up the church an hour before the public listings. The vicar is at the door. He offers a warm welcome and invites me in. Other than the vicar I’ve got the place to myself.
It’s that time of day where the sun reveals and conceals. Pockets of light pepper gnarled and ancient surfaces. At times like this I get caught between my urge to date and categorise and the unadulterated joy of simply observing the pattern of things.
The aesthete wins out and I get deep into my task, until I notice the parclose in the north aisle. It has the most intricate wood carving. I can feel it beckoning. Like a fly being drawn to a web of mesmerising lines I start to walk towards the screen.
Until I hear a cough, and I’m stopped in my tracks before I’m completely immersed in the spidery spandrels. The vicar is standing next to me.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ He says. ‘I wonder if you might help me dust the chancel arch?’
Plucked from the parclose, I’m hurled into the clerestory, a murky world of spider's webs, dust motes and detritus.
From one web of intrigue to another.
Readers of the Genius Loci Digest
What stays with readers
That aura, those echoes - the muted light is transporting. What a space to feel rooted in history. I'd love to make that journey myself; you've stirred the opera lover and architectural dreamer in me.
From the heritage portfolio
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