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.

Der Lesender Klosterschüler

This wooden sculpture is by Ernst Barlach (1870-1938), the German expressionist sculptor, printmaker and writer. I came across it in 1969 in the novel by Alfred Andersch “Sansibar oder der Letzte Grund” (Zanzibar or the Last Reason), and it made a deep impression on me.  I only saw the actual carvings by Barlach much later in Nuremberg in 2003: these were exciting to see, but the photo in the text book remained iconic in my mind.

The figure, made in 1930 is now in the town of  Güstrow, in Northern Germany,  where Barlach lived until his death in October 1938.   Though a supporter of the German cause in the First World War, Barlach grew to despise the futility of war and developed a pacifist position at odds with the rise of Nazism in the 1920s. His sculptures were seen as degenerate art, but Barlach did not passively accept the destruction of his sculptures, but protested the injustice, and continued to produce.


From 1933 Barlach’s sculptures were removed from churches and public spaces. In 1936 and 1937 the persecution grew more intense:  Barlach’s galleries were closed, public art collections removed and sculptures torn down. Even his collections of drawings were not allowed to appear in book form. This was tantamount to a complete ban on working and without doubt contributed to Barlach’s early death in 1938.

Sansibar oder der Letzte Grund

In the novel, the Reading Monk has a central role as a trigger of consciousness and is a starting-point for the external action. “Sansibar oder der Letzte Grund” is about moral choices in a tale of escape, pursuit, persecution, crises of faith and political disenchantment. The statue, which must be smuggled out of Nazi Germany as an act of defiance, is a focus for the inner dialogue or practical desires of each of the five protagonists in the tale.

Among those characters is  Knudsen the rough-and-ready fisherman to whom the task falls to take the figure to Sweden. He is touched by the figure as “a strange creature from wood in the dark”. The Boy, his helper and the seeker of the “Last Reason” to leave his home, is captivated by the aura of the character.

Helander the priest the sculpture embodies an age-old spirituality that is timeless, in stark contrast to the indifference of the populace to the rise of a godless and inhuman regime. To save the figure will be an act of defiance and a show of his faith. Not least, a show of faith to himself, which is sorely tried by the absence of God and His failure to act against the totalitarian state.
For Judith, the monk is one who can read all he wants, and is free to read anywhere. As a Jew in flight from Germany, this is emblematic of her bid to escape from a place where reading is done only in a background of fear and entrapment.

Gregor, the Communist Party official tasked with the safe removal of the figure to Sweden, is the character most in thrall to the Reading Monk.  He recalls his time at the Lenin Academy when the reading was intense, but all about getting lost in the uncritical acceptance of words echoing party ideology. Gregor can see that this monk is very different. He is not lost. He reads easily, attentively and closely. But he also one who is able to close the book, stand up and turn his attention elsewhere, and do something entirely different and of his own choosing.

Gregor’s reaction echoed my own in those days. But for me the emphasis was different. This Reading Monk was enjoying an engagement in study and a peace in spirit. There would be a time to walk away, to have new experiences.  But whatever these were, there would always be this place of serenity awaiting.

Images of the Lesender Klosterschler and Barlach

Barlach website:  http://www.ernst-barlach-gesellschaft.de/

Violins in the Modern Era

Popular music in the 20s and 30s, especially dance music, had the violin as an essential ingredient. At least 2 or 3 violins could be heard in a typical dance orchestra. Society bands would often include as many as 6 or 7. But in the mid 1930s, the Swing sound had arrived in the US, and soon all stringed instruments including the violin became surplus to needs. Since the 1960s, of course, the guitar and bass guitar has reigned supreme in pop and rock music. But the merging of folk with rock sounds in the late 1960s and early 1970s,meant that once again the sound of violin strings became part of the mix. Since then and over time in the 1970s, the arrival of disco also meant the inclusion of strings in the overall sound. But with advent of synthesiser in the 1980s, the violin lost its way for a time, whilst emulated string sounds reigned supreme.

But now the violin has made its comeback, and is being increasingly part of a new wave of mainstream pop. Independent artists such as Final Fantasy (aka Owen Pallett - example here) and Andrew Bird have developed a focused style, creating a subcategory of indie rock called “violindie”.

A favourite for me: Andrew Bird and “Danse Caribe on the album Break it Yourself