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.

Encounter Near Cefn Coed : A Memory

This picture by Van Gogh, painted in 1890, two months before his death, appeared in the recent (May 2019) Van Gogh and Britain exhibition at Tate Britain. It is called “At Eternity’s Gate: Sorrowing Old Man” and was made in the institution at St. Remy de Provence. 

At Eternity’s Gate: Sorrowing Old Man

At the exhibition, it appeared below a paraphrased quotation by the artist, written in 1880. The paraphrased quotation  was:

“You may not always be able to say what it is that confines you and yet you feel I know not what bars … and then you ask yourself Dear God, is this for long? Is this forever? Is this for eternity?”

The word “bars” triggered in me a memory of a ditty I wrote 45-odd years ago now, where the word “bars” also appears. The ditty follows below.

Encounter Near Cefyn Coed

Cefn Coed Hospital is a mental health facility in the Sketty area of Swansea, Wales. It is currently managed by the Swansea Bay University Health Board.

A man was a joker and wandered the park
And he met with a stranger, alone
He asked, in a hurry, in the lateness and dark
For a hint of the secrets he’d known

He should have been wiser, but nevertheless
His mind was the kind that would roam
The reason was hard, it was everyone’s guess
He’d not come from a broken up home

“Won’t you tell me, my friend” he said as he stopped
“What you’re doing out here in the night?
And can you explain why your hair is all cropped
And your coat isn’t buttoned up right?”

“It’s not easy for me,” the other replied
“To show you the place I have been
All my life I have tried, to finish the ride
On an endless and circular dream

I was born in a pain, as I think, I don’t know
I cannot remember so well.
These strange things you see I had hoped would not show
They belong to another, you can tell?

Now I amble alone all over the earth
Though my wisdom would reach for the stars;
And all because of a difficult birth
Which has put my whole world behind bars.”

A man was a joker, and wandered the park
And he met with a stranger alone
He learned in a hurry, in the lateness and dark
How secrets are a burden, once known

Swansea: May 1973

The Rhapsody of Time Passing

Today I thought about time measured objectively by a watch or clock, and the uncertainty behind the act of observing the device. , I always marvelled at that strange experience of looking at a wrist watch, and how the second hand briefly appears to go into reverse when we check  for the time. A common experience I think, but with much to educate us on how our physiology is not always giving us the right - or rather, any consistent - conduits to reality.

An approach to the problem is to consider this: if the arrow of time moves from past to future in units of days, hours, seconds, nanoseconds and so on, is there any smallest unit beyond which time can be divided no further? And if there is such a smallest unit, does the essence of time consist in the flicking by of such units like the beads on some vast cosmic abacus? (This image, and this idea is entirely lifted from the remarks of a good friend with whom I discussed the subject).

And if time proceeds thus – as my friend pointed out - then two big questions arise: What happens within the units? and what happens between the units?   That moment between the decision to observe the time, and to consciously identify its measure, is a place where it is possible to believe in a dimension which is outside of both time itself, and is indecipherable by the time-bound mind of the individual.

Some of these thoughts have been prompted through a recent reading of a new critique of T.S. Eliot's "Rhapsody on a Windy Night”. This poem is the one which describes an arc of time in which a flâneur is wandering the streets with an ostensible purpose: to get to his numbered apartment at the end of his wandering. 

On the way, we are given time checks.  But we are also given a stream of unconscious memories filtering and surfacing in his mind. The poem sets up a juxtaposition on the one hand between objective moments - " 12 o'clock ", "half-past one", etc: and on the other hand a subjective flow of memories which by definition are elastic, qualitative, time-indeterminate, coming from, as it were, "nowhere". And so also a juxtaposition of "habit" and "dreams" where time has two (at least) separate qualities. 

I learnt from reading Jewel Spears Brooker's 2018 critique on Eliot, that Eliot wrote the poem after becoming disillusioned with the teachings of Bergson, whom he briefly championed, and whose lectures he attended in 1910/11 in Paris. The tension between pure consciousness and the challenges of a time-bound, time-dictated existence is palpable in these lines at the end of the poem.

      The bed is open; the toothbrush hangs on the wall,
      Put your shoes by the door, sleep, prepare for life.

      The last twist of the knife.

Bergson’s lectures in Paris in 1910–11 featured a concept of ‘pure duration’, contrasting it with the rigid demarcations of the clock. In ‘Rhapsody on a Windy Night’, written in 1911, the clock time is announced at regular intervals and again, there is a tension and a discrepancy between those objective markers of time and the speaker’s experience of pure duration in these lines:

     Twelve o’clock.
     Along the reaches of the street
     Held in a lunar synthesis,
     Whispering lunar incantations
     Dissolve the floors of memory
     And all its clear relations
     Its divisions and precisions,
     Every streetlamp that I pass
     Beats like a fatalistic drum  

The progress of time through the deep of night drives Eliot’s speaker forward like a ‘fatalistic drum’, through ‘Half-past one’, ‘Half-past two’, ‘Half-past three’ and finally ‘Four o’clock’.

By contrast, the speaker’s consciousness points backwards, as every new thing he encounters takes him back though linked associations, to painful, difficult or banal memories. 


For Eliot, in this poem, the ‘divisions and precisions’ of the clock, its ‘clear relations’, conflict with a human consciousness which can only exist from retrospective constructs, insulated against fresh experiences by a time-bound crust of memory. No “pure duration” here. 

Bergson’s optimism that this artificial construct of clock-time, or time as an arrow, could be cauterised and dissolved in the experience of pure duration, is refuted in Eliot’s rhapsody. There is a much more pessimistic reality here, with the speaker’s thoughts ushering him robotically and despairingly forward, with no sense of a dimension where a creative peace might exist.

Raphael: Massacre of the Innocents

 Coincidentally, the day before the 100th anniversary of Paschedale, we visited the exhibition of drawings by Raphael at the Ashmolean Museum. These cartoons were well-described by experts who now know in great depth, how they emerged from various iterations on the paper by use of electronic screening and scanning processes.

Raphael: Massacre of the Innocents

Most affecting for me in terms of subject matter was No 70: a line drawing of "Massacre of the Innocents", the subject being the attempt by Herod to destroy all the male children in Bethlehem in an attempt to destroy the infant Jesus. The image had sharply defined short lines building up to the shapes of limbs, hands, arms and a composition of dramatic action which defied easy analysis. Simply speaking, a stark build-up of an emotional drama, made more vivid by the sense of an event encapsulated in a scratched-out moment of incompleteness, snatched out from a moment in time.

From the exhibition description: A woman is running towards us, mouth open in a scream, a baby cradled in her arms. The violence around her seems to part and give passage through the slaughter. What the open pathway through the heart of the horror really gives however, is a heartbreaking visual connection between our eyes and her pain. To look into that terrified face is to feel the full pity of her plight. It is impossible not to be gripped by an overwhelming compassion.

Paschendale Remembered: July 29th 2017

New every morning is the Love.
Paschendale remembered in the News:
It has been a hundred years since, but
There is the danger of the flaccid mind
As if those horrors were left behind.
Tell this to the people of Mosul,
Tell this to the people of Yemen.
Let us not be fed with too-comfortable methodologies
To tickle the sentimental core.
                                                                  - DB July 2017

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.

Island Records - Portrait of an Iconic Label

Artists such as U2, Roxy Music, Jethro Tull, King Crimson, Bob Marley and - initially and exceptionally: Millie Small - all have one major, creative platform in common - a unique record label founded in 1959. This record label, in spite of being swallowed up 20 years ago by Polydor and subsequently enveloped into the Universal brand, remains a byword for independent creativity. This was Island Records, founded in Kingston, Jamaica by Chris Blackwell and despite a modest beginning pressing discs on borrowed equipment at a nearby radio station and scratching together some office space on a tiny budget, the business grew following a move to London in 1962, bringing with it a consolidation of the new wave of ska and American R&B which lit a fuse in drab late-fifties / early 60's Britain.

Historians will say of course, that it was with the Beatles and the Mersey Sound, that popular music suddenly woke up to itself after the initial flush of Mid-50's Rock & Roll had long since waned into a balladeering wasteland and a renewed mish-mash of tame hybrid styles geared to "family entertainment" - and of course there is no doubt that that the early Mersey sound crashed through all this big-time. But this was also a period of a massive cross-fertilisation of styles, and for Island Records, the first big event was to achieve a crossover for ska music into the mainstream via a crackling, populist yet unquestionably "different" sound - Millie Small's "My Boy Lollipop" - a smash hit in 1964 and a harbinger of things to come in terms of breaking new acts with styles which were uniquely ahead of the curve of what was acceptably mainstream.

Thus 3 years after this, Island was focussing on Blues-based rock music / psychedelic folk crossovers from a crop of white musicians including the extraordinary John Martyn as well as Free (a major act of the festival circuit), Spooky Tooth and Stevie Winwood's Traffic. Later came progressive bands such as King Crimson and Jethro Tull featuring a demonic Ian Anderson fronting up with that archetypal rock music instrument - the flute!

By the late 60's the label was signing a wave of eclectic folk acts including Dr Strangely Strange, Nick Drake and Fairport Convention - each hugely individual and influential - and shortly afterwards adding a strand of art-pop to the mix, via Bryan Ferry's Roxy Music.

But of course, it does not stop there. Moving back to its Jamaican roots, the label signed a band locally feted in hometown Jamaica called Bob Marley and the Wailers. Convinced that they had found a "black rock star as big as Hendrix", according to Chris Blackwell, Island Records invested heavily on his instincts and produced Marley's first album "Catch a Fire". History was made. Soon, Bob Marley was to become Island Records' biggest selling act.

Following this reassertion of reggae as a musical force, many reggae acts followed, including Burning Spear, Toots and the Maytals and Steel Pulse. But alongside these were also Robert Palmer, Grace Jones and Tom Waits - and more tellingly, from the Dublin connections which started with Dr Strangely Strange and which influenced the development of acts such as Thin Lizzy, Island signed a new and raw act called U2 , who were, of course, to become the stellar rock act of the 1980's and some would say beyond.

The influence of Island Records is thus there for all to see. When looking at the major waves of creative forces against the explosive backdrop of changing popular music tastes in the decades after the 1960's, attention is grabbed by labels such as Island Records. Such labels took the commercial chances which ensured a raft of creative flowerings, and regular, risk-embracing forays into uncharted waters of creativity.

See iconic Rock Music Photography, including several Island Records acts at Rockarchive.com