Author Archive

the barrow and the tent

June 12, 2013 Leave a comment

In my efforts to find the E=MC2 of religious architecture, I’m now playing with the idea that the whole shebang can be boiled down to two ur-forms: though they are in some ways misleading, I call these the barrow – the hemispherical burial mound; and the tent – the temporary enclosure set aside for worship.

Both are truly ancient – barrows are such an obvious side-effect of burial that they occur in a great many cultures, going back several millennia BC; while all the earliest axial temples, whether in Egypt, or Mesopotamia, or much later in Greece or India, demonstrate architectural motifs clearly derived from earlier structures made of temporary materials. More to the point these two ur-ideas embody the great themes that unite religious buildings of all kinds.

The barrow, from this point of view, is there to service the practical need for burial, the very act of which suggests this monumental form: an earth mound over a body, neatened up. By its function it stands as a cipher for the questions of the unknown, of the spirit world, whether that refers to the dead or to the divine, which is one chief uniting theme of all religion. And by taking on a geometrically simple form, and not requiring an interior, and being imbued by its function with a given culture’s ideas about invisible worlds, afterlifes, etc, it becomes an early carrier of another key quality of religious architecture: that embodies meaning. And of course symbolic forms in the landscape can attract a huge range of such meanings, and often symbolically embody landscape forms in their own right.

The tent, by turn, is there to service the practical need to provide a venue for ritual, a shelter for activity, a setting-aside of a place so that certain things can be done within it. This, then, does have an interior, and its form reflects the nature of a given faith’s ritual: for example, axialplaces of worship are popular because most rituals involve some demarcation between congregation/supplicants/worshippers and idol/idea/priesthood (or whatever). The tent/axial enclosure then stands for the liturgical, performative, living, human aspects of religious activity; and as it develops it is likely to acquire an architecturally theatrical aspect, to be a stage set — simple or elaborate, manipulating the emotions or passively permitting silent communion – reflective of a given culture’s ideas about worship itself.

From these two ideas can be developed all the great variety of religious buildings, including the formal building blocks such as the ‘man made mountain’, ‘the hall’, etc that I’ve posited in an earlier post (and in my forthcoming book). Many of the formal details of religious architecture derive from them, too. And rather neatly, they are summed up in the two buildings which, as again I’ve posted before, can be regarded as the oldest religious building-types on the planet still to be in use: the stupa, Buddhist but originating as a barrow, and carrying with it much of the cosmology of an ancient and polytheistic/early Hindu India, influential across central and eastern Eurasia; and the synagogue, Jewish and thus by definition monotheistic, but stretching back to the Temple and before it to the Tabernacle, the dwelling place of God for the ancient Hebrews, one of the root buildings (though here the earlier and grander architecture of the pagan middle east is important, too) of the middle-eastern and western traditions: the original tent in the desert.

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east coast Decorated

June 9, 2013 Leave a comment

Boston - E window

Boston – E window

The great Curvilinear Decorated works that line the north and east coasts of England, from Carlisle’s east end through York and Selby and the parish churches of Lincs and north Norfolk to Ely’s lady chapel and on, can seem like a curvilinear boiler-plate Dec when viewed from the point of view of the pyrotechnical experiments of the Court and the south west. But the more I look at them, the more I think this is an underestimation.

These chaps coined some of the most original things in the genre, such as (at Lincoln, if a little earlier) the flying rib. They also, in spite of the dozens of buildings produced by them, can do sophisticated things time and again: change mode, so that a supporting part of the building is plain even when an sacred part if rich (Snettisham, Michaelhouse, Cambridge); and in liturgical set pieces come over as original as anything in the south west: the galilee porch at Snettisham, Norfolk is just one example; the bosses and Prior’s Door in the e walk of the Norwich cloister another, the entire church at Patrington, especially the (Marian image-cult related?) detailing of the south transept and its approaches, is a third.

More to the point, their work begs a whole load of questions. Just how many workshops are churning this stuff out, given its ubiquity across east Anglia, Lincs, and south/east Yorks, and its strong commonality, and astonishing maintenance of quality throughout? if this great strip, with its extraordinary epicentres of wealth and scale around the Wash and the Humber estuary, is the homeland of Curvilinear, what is its relationship with Continental Flamboyant? The experiments of the west country have been mined for their relationship with central European architecture, but this question is equally significant.

And closer to home, what is their relationship with Perp? On the surface again, it is Bristol, Wells and Gloucester which take up the ideas coined in St Stephen’s chapel, Westminster and run with them; yet William Ramsey, coming up with Old St Paul’s chapter house in the very year of the Gloucester south transept, was a Norwich man. And, while the genre has significant roots in the C13 (Grantham), it is in the early C14 that the great barn churches which in the Perp guise we call wool churches become widely accepted, from Cley to Hull. There is repetition here, and spaciousness: one of the reasons for E. coast Dec’s boiler-plate image: but the search for such effects may be precisely the point, and also the reason why east coast architects did not abandon Dec motifs when Perp came along, or not to the extent of those to the south and west. As far as they were concerned, perhaps, they were already halfway there.

Heckington - Easter sepulchre

Heckington – Easter sepulchre

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Petrify! The great stone mystery

May 25, 2013 1 comment

It seems obvious, today, when every serious building that predates concrete and brick is made of cut stone, but it’s not. There are plenty of ways of building things without excavating the planet’s hardest, deadest, most presenceful material, cutting it into squares, transporting it to a building site and putting it all together. The proof of this is that some societies have barely done it all: countless non-urban cultures, of course; but also the Chinese, who primarily used cut stone to shore up earthen platforms (Great Wall, anyone), leaving their buildings predominantly timber framed; or the ancient civilisations of Mesopotamia (baked brick) and the Americas, the latter of whom did serious architecture for a millennium or more before turning to stone.

And then, to prove my point that this is a Significant Thing to Do, creating an unnerring architecture of cut stone without possessing a single metal tool to cut it with.

The reason for my interest, of course, is that there seems to be a particularly strong link between the origins of cut stone buildings and religious architecture. Indeed in most early socieities that developed the technique — from India to Egypt – stone was reserved for temple buildings and burial places and nothing else.


So it’s worth emphasising: at its point of origin, this is not an obvious thing to do. It’s an imaginative leap, requiring some level of explanation.

Egypt and India are cases in point. Indeed India, under the pharaoh Djoser and the architecture Imhotep in the third millennium BCE, seems to be effectively where it starts chronologically, though the resulting tomb/temple/pyramid complex seems to see all the possibilities of the technique in a single glimpse, even as it petrifies existing motifs from a lost (as standing buildings), but mature, architecture of timber and mud-brick. The entire complex seems to have been designed as a kind of palace for the spirit of the dead pharaoh to inhabit, and this thinking, relating to the fixing of things for eternity, surely drives its creation.

Much the same could be said of the Hindu temple, whose fascinating origin in the C5CE comes after a millennium in which Indians experimented in illuminating ways with sculpting existing timber religious spaces into stone, in the form of cave-temples; many early Hindu temples are then sculpted out of living rock, a technique seen everywhere from south-east asia to Ethiopia to the Maya, but nowhere as developed as it was in India. Scholars have speculated that, again, there is some conscious, almost theological process at work here, a thinking about permanency and creation, reflected in a stone architecture that started as life-size sculpture of temporary buildings/highly designed man-made caves before it became standalone temples.

Certainly these structures set off various lines of enquiry: about the simple act of moving and shaping stone, vividly illustrated by the great prehistoric stone settings of north-west Europe; about the ways in which ancient Mesopotamians and Greeks made models of themselves as thank-offerings to leave in and around temples, the Greeks doing so as precisely the time — the C8-C5BCE – when they were transforming an architecture of brick and timber to an architecture of stone, and inventing the naked standing statues as a result. About making the impermanent permanent, then, and expressing or channelling some kind of creative power, even as one offers thanks to a greater one; and other lines, in which these spaces are inspired by nature’s own permanent architectonic places, the caves and the mountains that remained sacred in many traditions.   

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world’s oldest religious building types: stupa vs synaogue

May 2, 2013 2 comments


So which types of religious building have been around longest? It’s a straight draw, and an illuminating one, too.

In the ‘east’ corner, we have the stupa. As all stupas are legendarily derived from the burial mound requested by the Buddha himself, one might say that its invention can be dated to 4485BCE, the year of his death. But the size and significance of this particular monument at the time is unknown (as, indeed is the veracity of the account itself, though I understand the earliest accounts of the Life of the Buddha probably dates to within a century of Shakyamuni’s death); and even more so the extent to which it differed in either respect from other high-status burials — though we do know the Buddha anticipated some kind of pilgrimage dimension, requesting it to be situated at a cross roads so it could be more easily accessed. The Indian landscape contained other such mounds, and perhaps, too some others were so posiitioned and so used.

The next milestone in its story is the C3BCE, when, especially under the emperor Ashoka, a step-change occurs: stupas are built in their thousands, they are built of, or have an outer shell of, stone, and they are major focuses of pilgrimage and worship, equipped for rites of circumambulation. Arechaeology, as far as I know, tends to support the idea that is something new: a permanent form of religious building, on a scale that — given India did not at that point have a permanent religious architecture — must have transformed the landscape of the subcontinent.

Turning to the ‘west’ corner, we have the synagogue. Its emergence is undated, but many have asked how the Jewish community would have continued to worship during the Babylonian exile of 586BCE, especially as their Temple in Jerusalem had also been destroyed. Would they have tried to continue some form of Temple or worship, given that they already (I believe this is true, rather than a later view read backwards) held that priestly sacrifice was only valid at one place on earth? And if they did not, would they then have found an alternative form of worship that was valid, one in which people met in small groups to pray and study the holy word, facing Jerusalem when they did so? The question is mired in more qualifiers and maybes about this stage of Jewish history than I have the expertise to unravel, but it raises the possibility that the synagogue was born at some point in this period, a few decades long. Even so, like the stupa it raises formal problems. By the time we have any sense of what shape synagogues are, they are axial buildings with the focus of prayer at one end of the long axis: rectangles with a visual focus at one end. Now as an architectural form, pure and simple, this goes back to ancient Mesopotamia, that is it reflects the simplest form of the kind of building that would have been around the exiled Jews in the Babylonian landsape: what is different about the synagogue is not its plan or general form so much as its use, which couldn’t be more different from that of a Mesopotamian temple: no sacred image, no sacrifice, no mighty priesthood, merely a hall for prayer and the study of the Word. Anyway, here, unlike with the stupa, the point of origin is entirely speculative: the synagogue is not *known* to exist, and even then its architectural form is rather unclear, until the end of the third century BCE. By then its context is going to be with the religious buildings of the post-Alexandrine eastern Mediterrean, ie a there will have been a massive dollop of Greek influence in the culture as a whole, though the leap in terms of function is no less profound.

In other words, its a draw. Stupa: reasonable case for emergence C5, in serious business C3; synagogue, rather speculative case for origin C6, in serious business C3. The origin of the stupa is later but also more solid; the synagogue older but very speculative, and neither become an established ‘religious building type’ until the c3, when current knowledge might even make the stupa the older of the two, if by a margin that is rather meaningless given the uncertainties.

Both have been used continuously ever since. The stupa had spread throughout the ancient world from central asia to Japan by the C6CE, and shape-shifted in a multitude of ways, from the Chinese pagoda to the south-east asian mandala-temples — I call them — from Pagan to Borobodur. The latter are, to me, the high-point of the ‘Indian origin’ tradition of aesthetic ideas about sacred space. The synagogue spread with the Jewish diaspora, and thus was commonplace in the Middle East and Europe alike, its reach increasingly wide during the first millenium CE and then became global with the globalisation of western culture from the C18. More to the point, without synagogues, no churches or mosques; in particular the fusion of Temple ideas about ritual with synagogue ideas about congregation (in the case of the church), and the Islamic pursuance on a scale never permitted to Jews of an art of the Word and an architecture of congregational prayer, fuelled several of the great creative achievements of the ‘Middle Eastern/Western’ tradition of religious architecture — not least the gothic church and the Timurid/Safavid and Ottoman visions of the mosque, arguably the greatest achievements of those cultures.

Here the inheritance is as much conceptual as to do with specific forms; just as existing east asian architectural traditions made the pagoda, and indeed the Buddhist temple as a whole, almost unrecognisably different from the stupa in China, Korea and Japan, so the colossal formal and patronal influence of ancient Rome – the dome, the arcade, the stone vault, the Constantinian basilica, the domed Greek-cross church – mean that, again, the synagogue DNA in the great churches and mosques of the high medieval era needs a little study before it can be discovered.

Still, these pereginations illustrate the extent to which these building types can form landmarks from which wider patterns of religious architecture, or ideas about sacred space, can be analysed. The ‘east’ and ‘west’ division illustrates the extent to which the middle east, with a strong redirection from Greece and Rome, and the Indian subcontinent (very broadly defined), is basically the fons et origo of most of what has comme to matter in the world, both in terms of religious ideas and in terms of religious architecture. The relative continuities of the eastern tradition, in which ideas can be traced about sacred space that are, ultimately undatably ancient, lost in time with the origin of the Vedas; the relative complexities and disruptions of the middle eastern/western one, in which the spread of monotheism and the loss of the Jewish Temple are but two of the more obvious points of increased complexity/trauma, can easily be overstated — but they are still worth pointing out. More to the point, these two building types embody two broad traditions in sacred space, traditions which occur in all cultures, but which they perfectly encapsulate.

From this point of view, the stupa, which has its roots in the simple act of raising a heap of earth over a significant burial — that is, in prehistoric Europe, the barrow — embodies the tradition in which sacred buildings do not need to have functional interiors: in which the structure itself is a kind of shrine, and also has qualities analagous to sculpture: that is, it’s very form has meaning and presence and impacts as a three-dimensional object to be aphrended in all kinds of levels. It can thus be compared to the man-made mountains of the ancient world – the Egyptian pyramid, the pyramids of the Americas, the Mesopotamian ziggurat, the great mounds of north-western Europe, and more: these are truly ancient building types, originating in the 3rd millennium BCE, and none are any longer in use. They are also often linked with burial, as well as with attempts by man to imitate mountains.

But it can equally fruitfully be compared to more unexpected structures that are external objects of devotion; the giant Buddha-image is perhaps not a shock; more so is the Ka’ba, a cube to be circumambulated in prayer rather than a semidome to be circumambulated in meditation (and still in use, and believed to be ancient when Mohammad cleansed it of its images in the 620sCE), and the saint’s shrine, in form and usage more varied than both but still possessed of comparable ideas: this is something one moves around, an architectonic shape one interacts with. These structures are ultimately reminders of one thing that most religious buildings have in common: the quality of place-making, of marking out or enhancing specific spots in the landscape as sacred, and the idea that a form may itself somehow embody a certain sacredness.

The synagogue, on the other hand, embodies a tradition in which religious buildings are venues, houses, palaces even, for the divine: often – as in ancient Mesopotamia, here by the fifth millennium BCE – axial in plan, with the focus of devotion at one end. This can be seen in religious buildings of all traditions, though the axis is turned around in most mosques and many Buddhist prayer halls (not to mention Taoist, Confucian and Shinto temples), it is true of the plaza-pyramid complexes of the Americans, the Hindu temple, the church. The idea that a focus is at one end and some kind of human activity is at the other is the core here: in other words, while they also enclose a spot of the earth, these buildings express the other main way in which religious buildings are defined: by the enhancing and enclosing of a human activity by putting a wall around it and a roof over it, in other words, the architecture to some extent maps patterns of human usage – even when it’s makers consider themselves to be building palatial residences for divine entities, as in Egypt, in Hinduism, and eleswhere.

Here again, while the synagogue can stand for this broad and fundamental theme in sacred space just as well as the stupa can stand for the other — and the two themes are by no means at all exclusive of each other — there is a significant disjuncture within this broad tradition, because the synagogue embodies a specific idea about this type of building which is followed by the majority of the world’s population today because it was inherited from Judaism by Christians and Muslims. That idea is that, no matter how much power is accorded any priesthood that may be present at one end of the building, the presence of a congregation at the other end, even if only once or twice a year (but in Islam and most modern versions of Christianity once a week at least), is an essential part of its function; and that ideas about sacrifice and the embodiment of the divine in physical objects are either transmuted (in Christianity) or abandoned (in Islam). This, then, is a very powerful idea and in retrospect the moment of the Temple’s destruction is crucial to its later spread and development, a kind of defining fracture in the ongoing narrative of sacred space in the western/middle eastern tradition.

There is another fruitful way in which stupa and synagogue can be compared: as a comparitative study of how religions turn themselves into architecture. If we take the accounts traditional in Buddhism as true, the stupa was to some extent invented within the lifetime of the founder of the faith, and then transformed by a reforming and imperial royal power a couple of centuries later. Let’s have fun comparing and contrasting: the mosque was likewise invented within the lifetime of Mohammad, and then transformed into a work of architectural art rather than a functional and simple space for prayer within living memory of his death, by the Ummayads. The Christian church, by contrast, rather like the synagogue – indeed, in many important respects, to the same timeframe (for we only have synagogues that look like modern ones from the C3-C6ce, precisely when the church appears in a form we would recognise it) – develops its essential requirements away from archaeological or art historical view, in works patronised on a small scale by groups of the faithful, often in houses rather than purpose-built structures, to some extent making it up as they go along. The role of Constantine in transforming this model into a work of architectural art in the C3CE then becomes even more radical than that of Ashoka in the C3BCE vis a vis the stupa or the caliph al-Walid in c.700CE with respect to the mosque, though it is broadly comparable in various ways; and an even greater leap, again comparable in a general way, can be attributed to the pharaoh Djoser in third-millenium BCE Egypt, inventor of the cut stone place of worship.

Sadly, no equivalent story can be told for Judaism, the role of which in this grand picture is confused and easily overlooked as a result of the traumatic onward story of Judaism itself; no imperial sponsors, widespread persecution, the synagogue a marginal religious building throughout the millenia when the mosque and the church (and the stupa) came to dominate the sacred spaces of much of the planet. If there is any upside to this, it is the local, the human, the ordinary. Synagogues continued, and continue, to be generally sponsored by small groups of devout human beings: that the transformation from house-church to St Peter’s, Rome; from Sanchi to the Bayon at Angkor; from the Prophet’s House to Cordob,a has never been made arguably brings us closer, in the synagogue, to the more human aspects of the origin and development of religious faith.

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Last call 2013

April 30, 2013 1 comment



Places are now limited on my main remaining events for this year:
: my ‘turn’ at the Swindon Festival of Literature, talking about cathedrals and history, in Christ Church, Swindon next Tuesday 7 May at 7.30pm. Tickets £6, £5 concessions, from 01793 46645;
: residential tours of East Anglia, based in the lovely Villiers Park, just outside Cambridge; a series of delicious/fascinating buildings and extraordinary historical stories; the food’s fantastic, too! Medieval Churches, Monasteries &
Cathedrals of the Fenlands
runs from Friday 21-Sunday 23 June 2013;
Medieval Cambridge: History & Architecture runs
Friday 26 – Sunday 27 July. £360 and £345 respectively; for further details and bookings contact Christine Hall at Villiers Park, 01223 872809;
: detailed dayschools, including tour, on Salisbury cathedral and Tewkesbury abbey, running on 13 July and 21 September. Costs are kept low and reduced according to the number of participants; to book contact Liz Cooper,
: the full Monty: an eight-day residential tour of the cathedrals of England, run by the brand-leaders in the field of luxury cultural tours, Martin Randall Travel. 2-10 October 2013; a snip (but seriously, accomodation etc will be first class) at £2520. 0208 742 3355;

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Thatcher’s landscapes II: The urban prehistorian

April 25, 2013 Leave a comment
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Landscapes of Thatcherism

April 17, 2013 4 comments

Royal Academy, London, sometime in 1985: a tense-looking guard suddenly approaches me and tries to usher me out of the room in which I stand. I prevaricate, and seconds later in walk a phalanx of men in black suits at the middle of which is a tiny, fragile-looking woman in a blue dress.

The eastern Crimea, sometime in 1941: Joseph Beuys, downed Luftwaffe pilot, is rescued by Tartar tribesmen and wrapped in animal fat and felt to be kept alive.

He later builds a career out of art installations, colossal structures of fat and felt.

For a few brief moments, then, it was just me, Maggie and Joseph Beuys. We stare blank eyed at each other and at the cathedral-like Tartar presences that fill the room, then everything moves on. Ding dong.

The daily commute, 1985-9: six miles by bicycle, through east Hackney, past Limehouse, down the Isle of Dogs, through the Greenwich tunnel to east Greenwich. No dome yet; Brunel’s tunnels not yet in fashion for film shoots; just a shattered wasteland of forgotten industries. Witness to strange new landscapes: Peabody estates and abandoned Victorian chapels overshadowed by the spires of late capitalism, as if the city had relocated east to a new redoubt, its moats the docks of lost empires.


Frank L. Baum’s polical allegory of the 1890s, recast into the fruit of a Kansas hurricane, recast into a text received around lunchtime on 17 April 2013, redolent of a crowd of dancing Munchkins, and yet whose meaning I understand instantly. Wizard.

Central London, 1990: a carnival atmosphere; like a massive, endless street party of protest. The first demo I have ever been on at which middle England is as massively represented as the more obvious lefties.  I note a group of well-dressed men, holding a placard simply reading, ‘Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells’.  The next day, I return to witness the way in which riot recasts landscapes: upturned paving slabs in Trafalgar Square, a smoke-blackened building, events as sudden and violent as a chemical reaction, unpresaged in their occurence, rapid in their impact, scars time-consuming to heal.

A neo-Renaissance chateaux in Barnsley, north Yorkshire, 1993:  lit in an upper window, the shining half-bald pate of a spent force, Arthur Scargill in his castle, the proud, late Victorian NUM offices, holding forth at some committee meeting, backlit in neon.

Brighton, Sussex, 1984. An early morning trip, to witness another changed place, another Victorian pile: the great gash that appeared in the upper parts of the Grand Hotel the night before. Salt and carbon fill the air. An eerie silence.

Hong Kong, 1985: glimpsed across the barbed wire, the shining spires of Shenzen: free market experiment on China’s edge, the transnational, the global, the wealth-creating, blinking and dumbfounded in the grey light, across the border. A pale imitation of the free market. For now.

Wiltshire, 1984: after driving for seemingly hours through a landscape of flares and explosions and heavy machinery, the greatt Plain gripped by work-outs for the cold war, we reach Stonehenge. The sarsens of Fyfield and the bluestones of Pembroke, ringed again with barbed wire: outside, in the beanfield, a medieval/psychedelic vision: semi-permanent structures selling Cocaine, bands set up on soap boxes, a small handmade town.  The freeest, most unregulated of markets; the following year, the enemy within.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Streets Paved with Gold. Loadsamoney.

Nottinghamshire, 1986: Eastwood, birthplace of D. H. Lawrence, in the Nottinghamshire coalfields; camped out beneath slag heaps being rapidly planted and landscaped; near to the industrial offices being remade a into a museum of the suddenly-vanished past; organising community events, where the Wakes were held, beneath the pitheads that have evaporated. A silver band, uprooted. Older locals, bemoaning the celebration of this man who made money writing about their sex lives; England’s fault line, of Civil War and Miner’s Strike and north and south, all around us, within miles of the south bank of the Trent.


1989. Five fragments of a vanished Wall, still retaining traces of spray painted grafitti, flung to the grand by the pickaxes of freedom. Crossing through Checkpoint Charlie in 1985, after six months in a universe shaped by Lenin, Stalin and Mao, blinking like a medieval peasant glimpsing a cathedral, unable to sleep by the shock of electricity, of variant humanities, of synthesizers blaring from all-night bars, of energy packed into this tiny statelet of the east, Shenzhen reversed in time, Docklands inside out.

Bradford, late 1980s. A ring-road sprouting strange things: shops in massive hangars, asphalt access, orbital no-places among the brick terraces and enormous hulks of the mills. Out of town, out of mind.

Imagined landscapes: the ding-dong jingle-jangle urban romanticism of the no-place satellite town, the bare violence of the city centre, fuelling a thousand unregulated 7 inchers and Peel sessions, a bewildering and infinite and inspiring landscape of resltess grassroots experiment; a new layer of mythologies for the story-laden places of Britain. Bands don’t play no more: too much fighting on the dancefloor. Under the iron bridge we kissed: and though I ended up with sore lips. To the centre of the city where all hope sank waiting for you. A hundred lonely housewives clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts. Coventry, Manchester (so much to answer for), Macclesfield, Woking (‘… Dublin/Dundee/Humberside’). Lie dreams of casino souls. I’m in love with Maggie T. Diving for dear life, when they could be diving for pearls.

Devon, 1981: a pub special night for the Royal Wedding; packed public beer full of rugby players in dresses. The current no. 1, Ghost Town, on repeat.  

The walk from Aldgate to Spitalfields: the walk home/the walk to work, c.1989. The all-night burning of construction, a new Roman wall, Broadgate, dominating the horizon as it climbs inexorably up. The invisible boundary between City and Tower Hamlets, a line in the deserts of tarmac and brick., the wild East. Spitalfields market a wasteland in which people stand around braziers, burning pallets to keep warm. The Huguenot houses a sudden density of migration: alone with Rodinsky and the abandoned synagogue. The streets alive at Eid.

Alive indeed: nights spent living out, documenting the lives of the legions of homeless youth who have appeared in the last few years, where before the only people who lived on the streets where ‘down-and-outs. Long nights eking out a single coffee between a dozen of us in the Charing Cross Macdonalds.  Longer nights in doorways, begging, making a pound or two, often abused by strangers. People with fractured pasts, suddenly in the community.

Ashington, Northumberland, c.2000. Camping beneath the all night racket of the aliminium works. Nothing to eat that isn’t disgusting. A large town without a bookshop. Beers in the Working Men’s Club, where men in flatcaps sit and ritually keen nightly over that Thatcher woman. Seacoal slagheaps from which flames lick as the tide works its way in, soon to be cleared and landscaped, a heritage coast cleansed of its past. Far to the south, oligarchs buy manor houses, parallel lives of global capital.

Big ben falls silent; Michael of Canterbury dreams up St Stephen’s Undercroft. Occupy, stop the city, guildhall and Cruise. Pugin’s phallic clocktower, skyscraper dressed as Perp civic-imperial glory. The Eirene chapel at USAF Molesworth, beyond the wire-cutters, between the legs, keeping the peace. The snow falls on bender tents. Dong, Dong. And then the world changes. Again.



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Dandong/North Korea

April 14, 2013 2 comments

Few  landscapes on earth can be more presciently formed by their history than this borderland, much in the news lately. Crossing the border by train in winter, the river-ice thaws in mid crossing, as if marking the dotted line in a map between a state that is part of the present and one that is wilfully trapped in its own past. It’s all something of a reminder of my own (award-winning, or nearly so) published trip from China to North Korea… 


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Talks and Tours 2013

March 4, 2013 2 comments

Here’s a list of this year’s talks and tours. The big news is the 9-dayer on English cathedrals for Martin Randall Travel; a series of residential tours and dayschools, and the publication of The Secret Language of Sacred Spaces (Duncan Baird Publishing), in the autumn. A sumptuously illustrated overview of the sacred buildings of the world, explaining their history and how they reflected the faith that shaped them.


Residential tours
13-17 May 2013: East Anglian towns, cities and villages, Villiers Hall, Cambridge

21-23 June 2013: Churches of the Fenlands, based at Villiers Hall, nr. Cambridge

26-28 July 2013: Medieval Cambridge, based at Villiers Hall, nr. Cambridge

2-9 October 2013: The Cathedrals of England, Martin Randall Travel

20 April 2013: Gloucester cathedral (includes full tour)

13 July 2013: Salisbury cathedral (includes full tour)

21 July 2013: Tewkesbury abbey (includes full tour)

2 March 2013: Annual Friend’s Lecture, Bristol cathedral

7 March 2013: Merchant’s House spring lecture, Marlborough

12 March 2013: Lent talk, Bristol cathedral

13 April 2013: Wiltshire Local History Society, Bromham

7 May 2013: Swindon Festival of Literature

… and NADFAS lectures in Wimborne, Bath, Birmingham, Horsley, Glaven Valley, Norwich, Gainsborough, Tiverton, Cirencester, Harrogate, Kennet, Beaconsfield, Fife, Cheam, Tenterden, Titchfield, Lovelace, Solent, Surrey, Ascot, Taporley, Tenterden, Walberton, Osnabruck and Hamburg.

To be published in Autumn 2013:
The Secret Language of Sacred Spaces: decoding churches, temples, mosques and other places of worship around the world (Duncan Baird Publishers)

To be published in Spring 2014:
Medieval Architectural Style: a handbook (Shire books)

Contact me for more details, or for private bookings: 07768 234168

… please ask to join my mailing list!


The Secret Language of Sacred Spaces: religious architecture of the world

Also available
A thousand years of medieval cathedrals as time machines

Monks and canons: daily life in the cathedral

Sacred feminine: The English Lady Chapel

Medieval architectural style

… all available as one-hour lectures or dayschools. Bespoke tours also available

Contact me for more details, or for private bookings: 07768 234168

… please ask to join my mailing list!

Categories: Uncategorized

He’d better be good…

February 19, 2013 Leave a comment
Categories: Uncategorized