‘Red represents Matter over Spirit’…
We had assigned our second church, All Saints in the village of Piddletrenthide, to Mars, but nothing less warlike could you imagine than the tranquil stream and thatched cottages that surround one of the finest churches in the area.
Like the previous church, it has an inordinately tall tower, surmounted by more really intriguing gargoyles. Not for the first time, I am grateful for the long lens on the camera, which allows at least a glimpse of what is hiding in plain sight, just too high to see. It is an interesting church with a lot to see…
There is a plaque in the churchyard pointing out the Dumberfield graves… the family that was the inspiration for the D’Urberville family in Thomas Hardy’s book. Being a local man, Hardy crops up in many of the places we visited.
There are heraldic beasts perched on every protuberance around the exterior of the church… which, on closer inspection and in spite of their regal appearance, seem to be the symbols of the Evangelists… quite unusual they are too, given their placement. A sundial still casts a shadow to tell the time… and, like the one at Buckland Newton, it bears the ‘daisy-wheel’ symbol that had intrigued us at Cerne Abbas.
Beneath it, the Norman door is closed against the ingress of baby swallows. We watched their aerobatics… the parents seemed to be taking the babies out for a training flight and we were lucky enough to see them circling within the porch. For some reason, swallows seem to favour church porches as nesting places.
There are Norman carvings on the capitals of the pillars within the church, but most of the present building dates back only to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries… and was inevitably and heavily restored in 1852 by John Hicks, though he left the squint in place, through which worshippers in the side chapels could see the Host being raised and which, rather oddly, today seems one of the most vibrant details.
There are a number of very fine Victorian memorials, showing weeping women, broken pillars and all the usual visual tropes of grief from that era. Apart from their historical and artistic value, these elaborate memorials never draw me.
One memorial stood out, though, and that was a stained glass window dedicated to those fallen in battle, in memory of a young fusilier from the village killed, aged twenty-five, during WWII. He stands at the foot of the Cross, his sword has been laid down, and Jesus seems to look down with love and compassion.
Curiously, there are stars surrounding the Cross and, given some of the questions thrown up by our quest, this seemed appropriate. Another window shows the Christ within a vesica once more and the pulpit is carved with the hexagram.
All the stained glass, though, is magnificent, particularly the Madonna and Child and the West window in the Tower.
The Madonna is one of the most tender I have seen, while the great West window is a wonderful depiction of the Ascension with attendant angels.
This church has everything going for it. All the right historical and architectural details, a literary association, wonderful glass, Norman carvings and an idyllic setting. As we gathered to meditate on the colours and symbolism of our attribution of this beautiful church, I could not help thinking how inappropriate it seemed to assign this place to Mars… or how right it felt.
When we had first visited the church, I had been excited about everything we saw… but somehow, the place left me cold. It spoke to the mind, but failed to touch the heart. The next church, however, would be the complete opposite…