Hampton Gay: Small Place, Big History

Hampton Gay is one of those unusual and fascinating places where railway, canal and river all meet, to indicate every possibility of progress and prosperity. But these days, Hampton Gay is a hamlet down a simple track, a few cottages, a church, and several shapes in the ground which are all that is left of former dwellings. A major feature is the ruined 16th Century manor house, now a scheduled monument, which answers to any description such as "picturesque", "haunting", "eerie" or "evocative". 

The Manor

We took a few hours on the last day of 2019, to explore this place, walking from the nearby village of Hampton Poyle in December half-light. The idea was to visit the ruined manor, but also to pay small homage to my grandfather, who spent a couple of years with his wife and growing family, as a cowman here just before the Great War

Like many villages nationwide, Hampton Gay's population was more numerous in medieval times. Post-Black Death, the decline was almost complete by 1428 when the village was exempted from taxation because it had fewer than 10 householders. 

But there was always the mill. And the development of the wool trade. These two elements to the growth of Hampton Gay were the source of its prosperity from the 16th Century, until a series of 19th century disasters overtook the village and brought it to its current incarnation, a place of memories, but also of contemplation and a livelihood for a few families in the current, prosperous-looking households.

Economic and Social History 
Hampton Gay had a water mill on the River Cherwell by 1219, when it became the property of Osney Abbey. It was converted to a paper mill in 1681, working with the converted corn mill at Adderbury Grounds, 12 miles upstream of Hampton Gay. The mills originally produced pulp, and from this, the paper was made in batches by hand until 1812. 
Then in an upgrade, Hampton Gay mill was re-equipped to manufacture paper mechanically and continuously. Then even more development and prosperity came in 1863–73 when the paper mill was rebuilt with a gasworks, steam engine and other machinery. 

But then, a disaster: in 1875 the mill was destroyed by fire. But it was restored to production in 1876, and further to this, in 1880 it had both a water wheel powered by the river and a boiler-fed steam engine. Production rose to about a ton of paper per day. 

The Mill and the Manor
The tenants running the mill during these upgrades, were a J. and B. New. With the manor house nearby gradually going past its prime, it was divided, and the New partners became tenants of one side. However, by 1887 - coincidentally with the terrible fire which ripped through the manor in that year - the News went bankrupt and the mill and associated property were sold to settle unpaid rent. 

The Manor
The Barry family built the manor house in the 16th century. Their money came from wool, and the fortunes of the manor and its upkeep followed the pathway of the demise of the wool trade with the development of the Northern cotton mills. And so, the manor kept its Elizabethan style until the 19th century, but by 1809 it was in a state of neglect, and well past its former glory. 

And so it was, in the 1880s the house was divided, and its final demise came in that fire of 1887. The house has never been restored and remains an ivy-clad ruin. 

Enclosure and Agrarian Revolt
In the mid-16th Century, with wool still a major source of wealth, the Barry family enclosed land at Hampton Gay for sheep pasture. In 1596 Hampton Gay villagers joined those from Hampton Poyle to join a revolt against the enclosures. 

The rebels planned to murder members of the landowner family and then to march on London. But the plot was foiled, and five ringleaders were arrested and taken to London for trial, and one was sentenced to death. But the Government of the day also recognised the cause of the rebels' grievance and determined that "order should be taken about inclosures...that the poor may be able to live". Parliament duly passed an Act to revert the land enclosed since 1588 to arable. The problem of enclosed land, of course, reared its head again in the late 18th century, but by then the focus of prosperity in Hampton Gay had firmly switched to the mill. 

Rail Disaster
The Oxford and Rugby Railway, built  in 1848–49 ran between Oxford and Banbury and adjoins Hampton Gay. The nearest station at Kidlington was closed in 1964, but the railway remains open as the Cherwell Valley line.

The Shipton-on-Cherwell train crash, one of the worst accidents in British railway history, occurred near Hampton Gay on Christmas Eve 1874.  Workers at the paper mill in Hampton Gay assisted the injured, and the inquest took place at Hampton Gay manor.
Full details appear in an Oxford Mail retrospective here. 

The Church
Hampton Gay had a parish church by 1074, with restorations and additions during the 13th Century.  It was completely rebuilt in 1767–72, though the architectural style is somewhat piecemeal and unprepossessing. In the context of the current state of the village, it has its own charm and is a reminder of busier and more fortunate times.



Epilogue!

Why did I record this here? I guess only as a small homage to my Grandfather, and his time here which I first learned about, as most of us with Ag Lab forebears do, from research into family ancestry. 

Edwin Betterton at Hampton Gay 

. Here is his image, from a larger photo of his father and brothers, in the Oxford Journal Illustrated August 30th 1916.  

Edwin Betterton August 1916

Naunton Dovecote, Glos.

In another of those dull wintry days which seem to be the norm this season, we took a trip out across the Gloucestershire borders with no particular aim in mind. We saw the signpost to Naunton on the A436 past Bourton-on-the-Water and decided to take that road. And so by serendipity we chanced upon the Naunton Dovecote, a site I had not known about,  but one which repaid a visit, especially as the light lifted awhile and the sun shone on the ancient stonework to create an inviting scene to explore awhile.

A notice-board has the following guide to the past and present incarnations of this quite special place by the river.

The Naunton Dovecote is reputed to be 15th century in origin but sadly there is no documentary evidence to confirm this.  Its architectural style suggests that it was built in the early 1600s but only dendrochronology would be able to establish this with any certainty and the tests carried out to date have been inconclusive.

Whatever its age the Naunton Dovecote is an important building, being Grade 2 listed and an Ancient Monument. It is typical of the stone-built Four Gabled style of dovecote and is particularly large, having 1,175 nestholes. Inside, the bottom tier was filled in during the Second World War to prevent the chickens, which were housed there, laying their eggs in the back of the nestholes! Most dovecotes had this adaptation made when brown rats became a pest around 1750.

Nestholes

There are 903 open nestholes now form the basis of a nesthole sponsorship scheme. Donors who have made gifts to help purchase and restore the building. Additionally, friends of the Naunton Dovecote Trust have sponsored some of the nestholes inside the building.

View on arrival

Ownership of a dovecote was limited to a privileged few in earlier times: in this case to the Lord of the Manor of Naunton. The young “quabs”  were farmed as a luxury meat for the table and their by-products (known as guano) were considered the finest fertilizer known at the time.

A dovecote was also something of a status symbol for the Lord of the manor and so tended to be in a prominent position and built to the highest standards of the day.

In those days also, the pigeons feasted freely on the surrounding crops - whether or not they belong to the Lord of the Manor. This caused hardship and bad feeling among the peasant classes.

The Naunton Dovecote is unusual in that it lies in a Valley by a river and is, fortunately for the general public, visible from all around. Dovecotes were normally built on prominent ground so that the pigeons could keep an eye out for predatory hawks.

The Louvre or Lantern at the top of the building was designed to allow the Doves in and out, but not the hawks, who could not negotiate the vertical flight pattern needed to enter and leave. The Louvre of the Naunton Dovecote was redesigned when it was restored in 2001 as there were no visual images remaining of the original arrangements.

When corn became very expensive 1794 to 1918 the dovecotes fell into disuse and many of the 20,000 dovecotes originally recorded in Britain fell down or lost their original features by conversion to other uses.

Not so the Naunton dovecote which, because it lay by a river, was converted to a mill for grinding corn for animal feed. The door was moved from the east elevation facing the manor to the South a window or doorway was built in the North elevation and a 1 storey extension on the South side covering the door was built. It was dug from the river into the Western side of the mill and the large wheel was driven by the force of the water.

The most recent project, completed in July 2018, included excavating the head race where the water entered the lean-to on the Western side, and this can now be seen by visitors.

 in 1952 due to a decrease in the volume of river flow and thus pressure, the wheel was removed and the dovecote was used to house cattlemen's chickens and pigs for general agricultural purposes.

The currently ruined turbine house by the sluice was built in 1929 to supply electricity to the Manor House. One recent project included repairing the turbine house as a ruin, removing and reinstating the turbine machinery and digging out the first section of the head race exit leat from the building. Again, visitors can now see these features which lie beyond the dovecote building by the river.

Turkey: Cappaddocia – Near Goreme

 

 This spectacular landscape was relatively unknown to UK-based travellers in the early 1980s, when these pictures were taken. At the time, there were very few hotels, with tourism restricted by the extremely limited hospitality infrastructure. I was working with a company which was offering specialist art- and religious tours, attracting people who were interested particularly  in the huge underground cities in this area (esp. Derinkuyu to the south) and the many underground churches, richly decorated from as far back as the  10th  century and earlier.  There is beauty and edginess here in equal measure, as we think of whole populations disappearing underground in the event of threat.

As landscapes go, it is all breath-taking and other-worldly. These days, mass tourism has arrived ( mea minima culpa!) , and I would have to  go back knowing that the moments of wonder I experienced here in those visits is likely to be forever compromised. But I think I would be willing to give it a try.

Photos © David Betterton 1983

Image ©  https://www.goreme.com/goreme-open-air-museum.php 

Image ©  https://www.goreme.com/goreme-open-air-museum.php 

Image ©  https://www.goreme.com/goreme-open-air-museum.php 

The Church at Kilpeck: Random Observations

During a day on the Welsh borders near Hereford, I made a visit to the famous church at Kilpeck. A place I had visited before, the last time perhaps 20 years ago.

The church is dedicated to St Mary and St David – although this St David a local St David and is not the patron saint of Wales. The church at Kilpeck is quite fascinating. To my mind, this church deserves absolutely, the obvious attention it has enjoyed over time. It repays repeat visits. I do not think any similar example exists anywhere in the UK of a church with such an extraordinary mix of Celtic, Saxon and Viking art all vying for a place in the visitor's imagination.

Rooted even further into the past, there is an example of the Manticore, a mythical beast out of Persia, via India, brought to northern latitudes by the Celts over time. It is a beast with the head of a man and the body of a lion, and momentarily I wondered whether W.B.Yeats thought of the Manticore when in his poem "The Second Coming" he writes:

             somewhere in sands of the desert  

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  

Is moving its slow thighs,

The Manticore

Some discussion of this can be found  here .

The South Door with Tympanum

The Marticore sits broodingly on the left-hand pillar of the exquisitely-framed entrance to the church, amidst a plethora of exotic iconography. These carvings derive from the Herefordshire school of sculpture, a 12th Century group of artisans, whose work is visible in several other churches nearby. Despite its overtly religious nature, Herefordshire School work also has a playful, occasionally bawdy approach.

The motifs – no less than 89 corbels - which populate the four sides of the church are a fascinating example of this art, and they have attracted debate, intrigue and deep interest over time. Here are a few samples:

Lovers or Wrestlers?

A Pig with Protruding Tongue?

Hound ( intelligent and loyal) and 
Hare (representing faith in God and not the self)

Much has been written about these images, and the official website of Kilpeck church is a mine of information and detail, with a downloadable guided tour. Full details are here  

Corbel No 28: The Sheela Na Gig

In general terms the presence of the Sheela Na Gig in church architecture attracts, one could argue, more than its fair share of comment. For me, two fragments grabbed my attention, in the set of brochures and other literature laid out for visitors. 

The first one was the reproduction of a letter from a Mary Rose O’Reilly PhD of the University of St Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota. I make no further comment, but record only a recognition of a valid interpretation. After all, what do we really know? She writes:

 “a number of scholars and researching comparative iconography in (especially)  Ukrainian and Central American weaving and needlework are inclined to relate the Sheela figure to a recurrent symbol of women giving birth. (Ukrainian girls until recent years embroidered a similar figure on long draperies which were part of their trousseau – drapes which were held onto by a woman during childbirth). The figure represents, then, not fertility in the lascivious aspect, but a patroness of women seeking an open womb, an easy delivery. P.S. I add this for whatever corrective it may be to the male view that the figure has to do with women vis a vis men, whereas more likely its significance was entirely within women’s culture".

The second fragment was this, from an older brochure describing the corbels.

[A female exhibitionist  goddess (Sheela-na-gig) with huge bald head, puny diminutive body and long arms which pass behind the legs to open the grossly beautifully enlarged vulva (Fig 78) . This represents low morals. female creative power ]

Indeed, more power to that person who made these revisions, one might say.

Woollen Shrouds: A Grave Case of Closed Shop Practices



Start of the Easter Story Sequence:  South Newington

Occasionally it happens that an oddity emerges during a visit to any number of the churches I come across in my increasingly unstructured attempts to understand more about these buildings. The church of St. Peter ad. Vincula in South Newington near Banbury was and is no exception. I expected to see its marvellously-preserved wall paintings and was not disappointed. They are sometimes breath-taking in their detail, and have clearly been the subject of a great deal of care and skill to keep them as they are today.

Madonna & Child
South Newington

Martyrdom of Thomas Becket

South Newington





But what caught my eye among all this medieval ecclesiastical finery, were a set of small, framed black-and-white documents on the wall of the north aisle. These turned out to be 17th and 18thcentury certificates of "burial in shrouds made of wool". These rather macabre documents recall a period when it was a legal requirement to bury the dead in woollen shrouds, and of no other material.

Burial in Wool Affidavit: South Newington

The certificates are decorated with symbols of death and mortality, including hourglasses, skeletons, coffins, a scythe, arrow, and bodies wrapped in shrouds.

The Burial in Woollen Acts 1666-80 were Acts of the Parliament of England which required the dead, except plague victims, to be buried in pure English woollen shrouds and never any foreign textiles. The driver for this restrictive practice was the perceived and real decline of the woollen industry throughout England. For centuries the woollen trade had been important to the wealth and prosperity of the country, but with the introduction of new materials and foreign imports, the wool business was under threat.

So, the idea was to create and to protect a new market for woollen cloth. It was a requirement that an affidavit be sworn in front of a Justice of the Peace (usually by a relative of the deceased or some other credible person) confirming burial in wool, with the punishment of a £5 fee for noncompliance.  Parish registers were marked with the word affidavit or with a note 'A' or 'Aff' against the burial entries to confirm that affidavit had been sworn, or marked 'naked' for those too poor to afford the woollen shroud. 


The declarations included the words:  "No corpse of any person (except those who shall die of the plague) shall be buried in any shift, sheet, or shroud, or anything whatsoever made or mingled with flax, hemp, silk, hair, gold, or silver, or in any stuff, or thing, other than what is made of sheep’s wool only."

Failure to comply meant a fairly hefty £5 fine. Half of this money was paid to the informer. The other half was handed over to the Poor Fund of the parish where the body was buried. Within 8 days of the burial, an affidavit had to be provided declaring that the burial complied with the Act. The affidavit had to be sworn in front of a Justice of the Peace or Mayor by two worthy persons. If the parish did not have a JP or Mayor, the parson, vicar or curate could administer the oath.


This Act was obviously unpopular with many people as they wanted to buried in their finery as opposed to a cheaper garment or shroud in an off-white colour and of very thin material. And so here's a trick... Many were prepared to pay the £5, and a member of a family would become an informer so that in effect only half of the fine would be paid.


This concern at being buried in wool can be found ridiculed occasionally in literature.


"Harkee, Hussy, if you should, as I hope you won't, outlive me, take care
 I ain't buried in flannel; 'twould never become me, I'm sure.

Richard Steele: The Funeral, a play 1700.

"‘Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke!’
(Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke).
 'No! let a charming chintz and Brussels lace
 Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face"
 Pope: Moral Essays, Ep. I.


Narcissa was a Mrs. Oldfield, an actress, who died 1731. Pope wrote this after reading that she was buried in "a Brussells lace head dress; a Holland shift with tucker and double ruffles of the same lace, and a pair of new kid gloves."


The Act was repealed in 1814, but was generally ignored after 1770.

Paths from a White Horse

As an introduction to an author of whom I had been hitherto ignorant, this one was a gentle and pleasant surprise. In April 2012 I was in the Salvation Army shop in Histon, near Cambridge. I believe us males, when pushed by wives or by circumstance into such stores, are known always to make a bee-line for the CD racks or the bookshelves. This wintery February day was no exception for me as I made for the far end of the warm mustiness within. My eyes scanned the row of books before me,. I checked out the covers on the few volumes which had been chosen for special display. As I did so, a rather fine-looking tome caught my gaze – a hardback with a deep green cover with the unmistakable image of the Uffington White Horse emblazoned upon it. I was looking at the cover of Peter Vansittart’s “Paths From a White Horse”, his memoirs.

I paid my 50p and felt enriched. All things associated with this iconic figure deliver to me warm feelings of connection.  Never mind that I had no idea who this man was, shame on me ( * … but see below). But the opening paragraph of the memoirs made sure I knew I was in good company. Here was a man who knows was it is like to have this creature embedded in his consciousness.

“1923: I was three. A White Horse lay bare and solitary, cut into a hillside. It changes whenever I return to it, like a book, painting, friend, but remains fixed in my imagination, a reminder of the multiple transformations that enthuse life. All is provisional. Memory contracts and enlarges as if in a dream that does not cease in the morning”.

Vansittart’s words resonate. Being North Berkshire (now Oxfordshire) bred, and with various members of my extended family living in villages in the Vale of the White Horse, how could they not? The image of this unique creature was and is everywhere: on milk bottles, vans, church magazines, dry cleaners’ shop fronts, cafes. Living away from the downland on which the hill is dominant, my early experience was always of the printed image, which beguiled me.

 It was to be many years before I could stand on the hill itself, for reasons which I still hardly understand. But travelling on the A420 from the age of six, in the truck  laden with pigs and driven by my father to the slaughterhouse at  Stratton-St-Margaret, I had glimpses on the unmistakable contours of the hill. On good days, I could make sense of the fleeting outline of the beast itself, always incomplete, always demanding a closer look. My father is not here to tell me why he never took time to take me to get that closer look. I had to wait for boarding-school days. But I have a lesson from Vansittart when I read this:

“Adults seemed strangely unaware of the White Horse, or reluctant to mention it. Here, already, was the first of the countless secrets that helped to awaken me. The Horse, existing without breathing or eating, though, in days of shadow and sun, it sometimes appeared to move, seemed mysteriously more real than an actual white horse assiduously cropping the pastures.”

In those few words, I am given permission to believe absolutely in the value of symbols.

White Horse Hill, Uffington June 2010

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* .. or perhaps not. This is the intro to the obituary by the Daily Telegraph

Peter Vansittart, who has died aged 88, was among the most prolific writers of historical fiction, with 15 such novels to his credit; but while he attracted much critical acclaim his books achieved only modest commercial success, none selling more than 3,000 copies.

“My novels have been appreciated, if not always enjoyed, more by critics than the reading public, which shows no sign of enjoying them at all,” he ruefully observed. “This must be partly due to my obsession with language and speculation at the expense of narrative, however much I relish narrative in others.” >>> more

Read more in; Peter Vansittart Biography – Peter Vansittart comments: – London, Owen, York, and Historical – JRank Articles

Round Towers and Scratch Dials

Round-towered churches are, of course a feature in many Norfolk villages. Having time on my hands on a crisp February day in 2014 I decided it was high time to take a look at another one. I had heard of a small and ancient church not far away and settled on a plan to see it.

St. Margaret's Church, Worthing

The Church of St. Margaret in the Norfolk village of Worthing, just off the road from Holt to Dereham, is associated with the Elmham group of churches. The group is part of the Sparham Deanery in the Diocese of Norfolk. This is an ancient building of great charm, standing in peaceful solitude. It is some distance south west of the village, which has moved steadily away over the centuries. In summer St. Margaret’s must be easy to miss, situated as it is behind the roadside hedgerow. On a cold winter day, the simple outline of the church emerges into view from the road past the village through the leafless trees ahead. A short drive on a track to the left reveals the churchyard gate.


The round tower of St. Margaret’s is barely as high as the nave to which it is attached. It was not always like this. The tower belfry has disappeared, following a collapse lost to memory. But it is substantial for all that, and gives the whole building a unique “feel”. Old as the tower is, built in the Middle Saxon period 900-1000 AD,  the nave is older still. In the quiet isolation there is a sense that this structure has absorbed the secrets of time. There is another sense also, that in deference to this absorbed wisdom, the village itself has moved away to make respectful space for a holiness of silence.

The South Porch - Norman Archway

The south porch reveals reminders of busier and more prosperous times. There is a fine Norman arch with zig-zag moulding which represents a major devotional investment in a modest building which otherwise reflects the humble location it was built to serve. But also, to the left of the door, are the familiar markings of a medieval scratch dial – of the type which proliferate and survive in so many churches. These sun dials were of a specific purpose, before the arrival of mechanical clocks.

Scratchdial - South Porch

A scratch dial ( also known as a mass-dial), is usually in a circular shape, carved into the exterior church wall and used to tell the time of church services. At the centre of the dial is a hole where a small peg ( a “style” or “gnomon”) was inserted to act as a simple sundial marker. Usually they have only three or four radiating sections, rather than a full 360 degree of lines, as it was only necessary to tell the time (or more specifically, the hour) of services, so extra lines were unnecessary.


At St. Margaret’s, the dial is well worn and ragged, but unmistakably bears witness to the diurnal round of worship: active, measured and regular.

The East Wall

But there is more. It starts with the fact that the east wall of the church has no window. It seems that the chancel which would have incorporated a window has long since disappeared, replaced by an expanse of flint supported by recycled stone, and some interesting brickwork which identifies these works as happening within the past couple of centuries. Amongst this re-organised rubble is another scratch dial, this one at head-height in one of the stones. It is better preserved than the south porch example. But here, of course, its presence reflects its redundancy in the centuries of the mechanical clock. But the recycled stone on which it is embedded continues to be useful.

A time for every purpose.

This article is reproduced in the magazine of the Round Tower Churches Society  in their March 2018 edition. A PDF of the magazine can be downloaded here.

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Sundial at Wolvercote: “Redeem the Time”
A few weeks after this visit, I was wandering in Wolvercote village near Oxford, and took this picture of the sundial at St Peter’s church.

This is a modern example of an old tradition. As I understand it, the motto “Redeem the Time” ( c.f. Ephesians 5: 15-21; and T S Eliot “Ash Wednesday“) appears scratched between two ancient mass-dial examples in the tower. Here in this far more visible incarnation those same words are incorporated to follow the tradition of mottoes on sundials. Tradition and circular time in two February days.

Geological Time and Cigarette Papers

 Yesterday (one of those sunny September afternoons in clear light on shimmering flat sea and no breeze), Clare and I went  on a  Geology tour at West Runton beach  (Norfolk, twixt Sheringham and Cromer). It was led by a former curator of Cromer Museum, who was part of the group which discovered the Steppe Mammonth on this beach in the early 1990s.

He was excellent at explaining  the classification of Geological time since the Big Bang. He used the location to do so

We were standing on the concrete mooring platform at West Runton. From this mooring, our guide pointed to  Cromer Pier in the distance, some 2.5  miles away. His illustration went like this:

Cromer Pier from West Runton Beach

Imagine, he said, a timeline where the start is Cromer Pier representing the Big Bang, the start of our Universe. Then he pointed to a half centimetre crack at the edge of the concrete mooring upon which we were standing. At  some point in this crack, he said, would have occurred the latter stages of Pleistocene Epoch in the Cenozoic Era,  2.5 million – 12,000 years ago. The Holocene, our current Epoch in the Cenozoic Era, and the end of the timeline, would have been a fag-paper’s width within this crack....

Twelve thousand years and a fag-paper's width. A momentary perspective on our sense of what's important, our place in the scheme of things

Flag Fen

Britain’s ancient settlements, burial mounds and sites of ancient ritual are always attractive, enticing and enjoyable in their mysterious associations. The sense of mind activity in the ether (one way of putting it) is always a great driver for walks and visits to such sites. There are few such ancient sites where it is impossible not to feel some fallout from the buzz of a way of thinking and living which long preceded the scientific age.

Flag Fen, Towards Reconstructed Village

Recently, we came back from a visit to Flag Fen on the way back from Stratford-on-Avon. This is the site of Bronze age ( c 2500 BC and after) activity – a settlement of early farmers, who eventually (due to climate change, flooding etc)  built a 1 km causeway across a flooded plain, so as to continue inhabiting and managing the landscape.

Flag Fen - Old and New Crossings

This causeway eventually disappeared over time: so much so that the Romans built their own road about 100 yards parallel to it, not knowing the existence of a road already buried there from 1000 years previously. In recent times it has been rediscovered, after modern fenland draining.

Flag Fen - Original Timbers Preserved

Archaeology has unearthed many artefacts in the region, but especially large quantities of tools and personal items, deliberately broken and pegged down into the mud all along the causeway. These clearly were not “lost”, but deliberately offered up as a gift or sacrifice.

Real-world reflection - or a world beyond?

It is surmised that the rituals involved here, were emblematic of offerings to a world beyond the water. One can imagine the non-scientific mind and the  way it might interpret the rules of image reflection / refraction  in water. On the smooth surface appears a world in replica, populated by figures which move in time with the viewer. What world is this which lies beyond? What does it ask of me? Over time the answers are lost in mystery, but the gifts of precious objects are a witness to a very real conversation these minds were having.