Category: Research

My previous post about motifs 1, 58, and 61 on my map of the Bacton Altar Cloth explained our thought that these were daffodils. As we studied the embroidery more we noticed two general rules that made us doubt the species identification:

1. Although motifs repeated, sometimes with slight variance in colouring, no species seemed to be represented by different shaped motifs.

2. While flowers might be exaggerated in size, both the flowers and the leaves seem to be fairly botanically accurate.

• 

• 

Motifs 9 and 22 show how different colours might be employed on matching flowers. Although they are not identical – the cut stem bends up on one and down on the other, and the petals of the bud are outlined slightly differently – the shape appears to be traced from the same pattern. The flower in motif 9 is worked mostly in blues, but 22 has portions in fuchsia. Motif 9 has bits of purple and green on the upper leaf and yellow in the lower leaf where 22 has instead white and yellow in the upper and blue in the lower. Identical source design; similar but distinct thread choices.

To ascertain whether species repeat on the Bacton Altar Cloth, we must label every motif with a name; we’re working on that. But it seems that if you find a rose, and then another rose, the design will be the same for both.

To explain the botanical accuracy of the leaves, I must start with a biology lesson. Most plants are grouped into one of two broad categories: monocots or dicots. Monocots usually have leaves with parallel veins and flower parts in multiples of three, and dicots usually have leaves with branching veins and flower parts in multiples of four or five. There are other significant botanical differences having to do with the seeds, roots, and vascular systems but I doubt 16th century herbalists recognised these commonalities; embroiderers certainly weren’t trying to portray such nuances.

Understanding differences between monocots and dicots is easiest with images. Many monocots we grow in gardens sprout from bulbs: tulips, daffodils, irises, and lilies are all monocots. Grasses, including decorative species such as bamboo and pampas grass, are monocots, though they have branching root systems rather than bulbs. Few monocots reach great height, palm trees and banana plants being exceptions.

• 

• 

Dicots are even more common in our gardens and woodlands. Roses, daisies, grapes, peas, marigolds, foxgloves, columbines, and pansies are all dicots, just to name some species depicted on the Bacton Altar Cloth. Most woody trees and shrubs are dicots, except evergreens like pines and spruce; they don’t flower and are neither monocots or dicots. Dicot leaves have veins that branch in a variety of different patterns. Quite often there is a prominent central rib in the leaf with smaller veins splitting off from it. Sometimes these smaller veins then branch again, forming a lace-like network.

• 

• 

How do differences between monocots and dicots appear in the Bacton Altar Cloth? All the motifs have the same general shape, with a cut stem and curving stalk off which leaves branch, sometimes with and sometimes without a petiole (that’s the stalk between the stem and the leaf). None of the designs cluster the leaves at the base, the way a daffodil grows, but they do accurately portray some leaves as having petioles (as the hollyhock does, above) and some without (like the daffodil).

The embroiderers also depicted some leaves with branching veins, as in the raspberry and thistle below, and some with a central rib but no branching, as in the iris and lily. So none of the leaves have precisely parallel veins, but the monocots still appear distinct from the dicots.

• 

• 

This brings us back to the original question: what species are plants 1, 58, and 61? The flowers appear to have a central yellow tube surrounded by white or yellow and white petals in sets of three, rather like a stylised daffodil might. But the leaves have branching veins and and emerge in clusters far up the stem, not singly from the base.

I also mentioned that each species only gets one motif, and yet here is motif 37, looking even more like a daffodil to me than number 58. All of its leaves emerge low on the stem and lack branching venation. Its blossoms show a central yellow tube with five white petals at the base, but I imagine a sixth petal hidden completely behind the yellow tube. The zigzag ends of each tube call to mind the ruffled effect I see on many daffodils.

So, what are these two plants meant to be? Was motif 1 a daffodil drawn by a less knowledgeable herbalist or maker of pattern books? Is it meant to be a dicot species with a tube shaped flower, not a daffodil at all? Did the person selecting the motifs consider plants 58 and 37 different species because they were labeled with different names? Even today we call members of this genus narcissus, daffodil, paperwhite, Lent lily, and jonquil. In the 16th century they might have born such names as affodill, asphodel, and narcissus.

• 

• 

What flowers do you think these motifs represent?

The UK permits you to drive with your native license for 12 months after you immigrate. After that, you have to get a UK license, which is far more difficult than I imagined it would be. But I’m working on it. Because the car clubs I belong to know exactly when I entered the country, they won’t rent to me again until I get a license.

I’ve had to live without independent wheels since August. Mostly this means I’ve been in London, which is not much of a limitation on learning: being here means access to a never-ending source of interesting exhibits, talks, classes, and conferences. It amazes me how many places nearby are still on my list of “you should go see that” when I think of how busy I’ve been and how much I’ve seen.

Most recently I’ve been working on updating my beloved map of effigies and brasses:

https://1500stitches.org/map.html

I added a few more effigies that I found listed in Arthur Gardner’s Alabaster Tombs of the Pre-Reformation Period on England, effigies that didn’t turn up in my initial search of the database of Pevsner’s Architectural Guides. I worry that I may be missing more effigies in Wales…I only found three relevant locations with alabaster tombs (plus one where I assume the effigy is ruined or inaccessible, since the church apparently fell into abandoned disrepair in the 20th century and I can find no images of the effigy online). But how am I to locate any freestone or wood effigies that might be there – besides reading every single church guide and hoping I notice the ones that list a monument from around 1500?

I further subdivided the color categories on my map, allowing me to display the butterfly headdresses separate from the truncated hennins and gable hoods. I also separated out those monuments with a wreath, padded roll, or crown displayed over either a simple veil or (more commonly) long hair. I only see this style on effigies, never on brasses; what does it mean?

This left a pleasingly small pile of “other” hat styles, mostly variations on widow’s veils. Many of the hats that I couldn’t identify from the photos I initially found online, I have since visited and can now more accurately describe.

I smile seeing the places marked “visited”. I have learned and seen so much in the last year. But there are still so many more to see…and many of these are the difficult ones. The churches for which I cannot find a keyholder, the places where I must write in advance for special permission to photograph, the church that is condemned and is now a hard hat area, the chapel that is gated and locked because they’re doing a long-term study about the effects of bat guano on effigies (really!), and the many churches that are just further away than I have yet driven. I will spend the next two months planning trips, researching routes, calling church wardens and vicars and volunteers, and perhaps finding a few friendly couches on which to crash.

This fall I only managed two trips via train and bus: one to Carlisle and the Lake District, another to Bristol and surrounds. My mother joined me on those excursions while my mother-in-law stayed in London to help Tom juggle the kids. We had quite a good time and no shortage of fascinating things to see! But just describing why we missed the bus to Greystoke is a post unto itself…so I conclude with happy thoughts about the enjoyable plotting, planning and organizing ahead.

And Happy Thanksgiving to my friends in America! I believe that we will, as last year, simply ignore the holiday. No point cooking a huge meal for just my family when it is a regular school and workday.

Writing up my observations about the previous effigy was so rewarding, I think I’ll spend my Friday night analyzing another particularly fine sculpture.

This tomb, one of the first that I photographed, is located in Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire. It contains the figures of Richard Croft and his wife Agnes (or Anne), daughter of John Fox. Richard died in 1502 and requested “my body to be buryed in the Chapell of saint John Baptist in the Chirch of Chepingnorton by the walle on the left syde of said chapel ther where the Cofer standith.” His wife died in 1509.

The original monument lacked inscription (presumably the arms painted on the tomb were sufficient to identify it); one was added in 1683 by a descendant of the Croft family. Although the tomb likely stands near its original location in the church, it has clearly been disassembled, patched, and probably incorrectly reassembled. The head of the tomb has two niches from which the figures have been lost:

The decorative architectural elements around these niches appear to match those around two mourners on the side of the tomb as if they, and not the the shield-bearing angels, belong on the side of the tomb.

Richard and Agnes Croft had four children – two sons, two daughters – and because the mourners on the side of the tomb appear to be one male, one female, I think that the sides of the tomb have been reassembled out of order. The empty niches probably stood where the angels are now with praying figures representing their eldest daughter and son. The angels most likely graced the head of the tomb. I have no idea what was originally at the foot, for now the limestone slab with the 1683 inscription is there.

Agnes’s clothing is similar to that of Edith Babington. I am pleased to find such costume in 1502, during the lifetime of Elizabeth of York, substantiating the idea that the fashion the queen adopted had been embraced by contemporary ladies. Like Edith, Agnes wears round-toed shoes, a full-length gown, a loose belt with an off-center pendant on a square chain, a gabled headdress, and a full-length mantle just covering her shoulders that is held with a cord decoratively looped over her chest. Not only is no closure evident on the gown, but I detect no neckline; I assume that it is meant to be behind the cord.

Some features of Agnes’s clothes differ from Edith’s. Each sleeve ends in a large turned back cuff. Her hood, while similar, has fewer visible layers. Over the peaked under-cap she has a frontlet that drapes down her arms. Behind this is another layer of fabric that I cannot interpret well. The back of the cap is an interesting mix of curves and angles. If only I could see what is obscured against the pillow! The fold in the frontlet over her temple has a strong upward angle as it moves away from the face. This is unusual; on that part of the hat I usually see something close to a right angle fold running parallel to the ground.

Agnes’s belt is similar to Edith’s, with a rose clasp and a pendant, likely a pomander:

 

The belt clearly illustrates the form of the clasp: a rose with two hooks off the back. Each hook fits into a hole on the end of her belt, which was probably leather and possibly also fitted with metal chapes at each end. Why did Edith wear her belt on the left hip, while Agnes wears hers on the right? I prefer dangling items on my left (non-dominant) side, and during this time being left handed was fiercely discouraged. Perhaps this figure was always meant to rest against the wall, so the belt was carved on the outward facing side where it could be admired.

The greatest difference between these effigies is Agnes’s jewelry. The necklace seems outdated compared to the rest of her costume. Wide, ornate collars usually grace effigies with hat styles of the late 15th century, such as butterfly headdresses and truncated hennins. Since Agnes was most likely alive when this effigy was carved, perhaps she specified the items of dress in which she was depicted. Although I know tombs were usually created without any attempt to accurately depict the people they represented, I’d like to imagine that she had a favorite necklace and requested a version of it carved on her effigy.

This tomb was a delight to see, although I am annoyed with myself for failing to take detailed photographs of certain sides and angles. I was just learning how to photograph effigies when I visited.

My entire family accompanied me on the excursion to Chipping Norton. It was supposed to be a short stop on our way to Stratford-upon-Avon, but we ended up spending most of our short winter daylight hours in town (minus those spent stuck in traffic around Oxford). My older boys each made a brass rubbing while my husband entertained the littlest one in the church’s nursery corner.

The church is large and quite beautiful, with a stunning clerestory that streams sunlight into the nave. While we were inside a church warden happened upon us and was amazed that someone would come all the way from America to see the tombs in his church. Chipping Norton is not a tiny town, but it isn’t a standard tourist destination, either. He loves the tombs (there is also an Elizabethan one) and wishes his church could pay for a restoration. He showed me a recent conservation report and asked that I let him know if I learned anything about these people or this tomb. I hope someday I can provide him with a bit of interesting information.

I have written almost nothing about my research progress, holding it instead inside my mind, often as just a mass of images, not words. This makes it awkward to share my observations. I’d like to post some effigy images from the early 16th century for someone also recreating costume of that era, but rather than mail them just to her, I’ll finally edit photos and blog about them.

I’ll begin with one of the effigies I found most satisfying to visit: Edith Babington (née Fitzherbert), wife of Thomas Babington, whose tomb rests in the nave of the Parish Church of Ashover, Derbyshire. Edith died in 1511, and according to the church guidebook this tomb was commissioned after her death, not after his in 1518.

(Click on the photos for full size images.)

Normally I am unhappy to see a painted effigy, because it means that historical information such as fragments of original color has been covered, obscured by well-meaning 19th or 20th century painters whose skill was seldom on par with the original 16th century artists. They also make mistakes in costume interpretation. Notice the loops of gold cord across her chest? These hold her mantle and are quite common on effigies. However, when the trailing ends of this cord pass under her hands, they change color to black with gold tassels. Also, the decorative lappet on the front of her bonnet is painted dark green, a color I have not seen represented in other images. I have seen that piece in both art and effigy as black, red, and gold, but not green. Despite these quibbles with the color scheme, overall the painting was pleasingly executed, with some depth of color produced by layering, and some real care for the effigy.

My original research goal was to document the earliest gable headdresses, and sadly this effigy is one of the earliest I can show. I imagined before I began that surely I would find some images that predate Elizabeth of York’s circa 1503 portrait; instead I found little evidence that gables really existed before 1500. I have a few brasses that might fall in the 1490s which show gabled bonnets, but I have not satisfied myself that they were actually executed during the 15th century.

Many of the other effigies from the first decade of the 16th century do not have gabled headdresses, but instead loose flowing hair capped with crowns, garlands, or similarly shaped rolls and netted caps. All the effigies with flowing hair also wear the terribly outdated (by 100 years) fashion of the sideless surcoat; I suspect that some important symbolism is to be conveyed by the combination of unbound hair and sleeveless overdress, but I have not yet satisfied myself that I have cracked the code. Maybe this was wedding garb, or was meant to evoke thoughts of holy women, or in some way announced the deceased lady’s elevated social status. To further confuse the question, I have not yet found a single early 16th century brass that shows a woman with flowing hair or a sideless surcoat. Only on effigies are women thus displayed.

But back to Edith! Her gown looks fairly typical of the time, comparing it mostly with English brasses. It is square necked, showing about an inch of a kirtle neckline beneath; tight sleeved without decoration at the cuff (folded back fur-lined cuffs are also common); lacks visible closure; and fits snugly to the hips before flaring to considerable fullness that falls straight down rather than being held out by undergarments. Her round-toed shoes are covered by the fullness of her gown, on which a tiny dog (a symbol of fidelity common on effigies) tugs earnestly. Her mantle is held by a long cord across the chest, but barely wraps around her shoulders. Since it leaves her front uncovered and falls to the floor behind, it seems likely that such a garment serves more of a decorative or symbolic function rather than being a useful cloak for keeping warm.

Edith wears only a little jewelry. She has a plain ring on her left hand but nothing on her right:

a rose-shaped clasp on her belt, which she wears over her left hip:

and at the end of a chain with very square links, a round ornament large enough to be a pomander:

 

There were other reasons that I liked this tomb. The man’s effigy was that of a civilian– a rare treat, since most tombs depict knights.

 

 

The tomb also had a vast number of weepers on the sides. They couldn’t have had that many children, so I puzzled over them for a while. I decided that the figures at the head of the tomb, between shield-bearing angels, were probably the donor couple praying to their favorite saints. I believe that would be Saint Catherine, holding the wheel on which she was to be tortured, and possibly Saint Thomas Becket, given that this was created in pre-Reformation England, those look like bishop’s vestments, and the donor’s name was Thomas. A rosary is prominent on Edith’s miniature figure, while her full-sized one on top of the tomb lacks one. Over the donors’ heads are the remains of scrolls that would have born prayers, most likely defaced during the Reformation. I am quite surprised that the saints’ figures survived.

 

I concluded that the weepers represented not only the couple’s children, but also their spouses. Each segment of the tomb contained a male/female pair until I came to one that had a woman holding the hands of two men. I surmise that one daughter’s first husband predeceased her mother, and she had remarried before this tomb was made. The other side bore a similar trio: one man with two women. It also had a set of two men uniquely attired: one in armor, one in priest’s robes. Perhaps one son, and not the eldest one (since he was in the middle of the side of the tomb and children are usually depicted in birth order) managed to attain a rank greater than his father? I assume that this son never married, so it was most convenient to pair him with his celibate church-serving brother. The last set of figures was also different: three males, the middle one with his gown worn open, showing his doublet and hose. I’d like to imagine that these last three were the little boys who had not yet wed when their mother died. It is unusual that no infants were depicted; did none of their progeny die early?

Here are the weepers on Edith’s side of the tomb, shown from left to right:

 

 

And here are the weepers on Thomas’s side of the tomb, also shown from left to right. The last trio of males was hard to photograph, tucked behind some immovable piece of furniture.

 

 

I love how much paint – which I assume is original to the tomb – remains on the weepers. The tiny details of purses and rosaries are wonderful.

The thing that I most enjoyed about this tomb, however, was Edith’s hat. Trying to interpret it, I see an underlayer that reaches to her shoulder, over which two lappets are placed. The bottom lappet (painted black) protrudes slightly farther than the cap beneath, and the top lappet (green) is narrower than the bottom one, but the same length.

 

The back of the rigid cap is draped with a black veil, and the front edge of the veil is folded back. See below, how the third, raised layer of fabric is very small at the bottom where it rests on her upper arm, and wide at the top? I think that and the layer it sits on is one piece of fabric, folded so that what we see is the underside or lining. At the top the folded forwardmost edge of the veil is hidden under the black lappet.

 

This. THIS is what I came to England to see. This is what I could not learn from photos in books or online. This tomb gives me so many clues about how to construct Elizabeth of York’s distinctive dress.

Now if only I could find more exemplars of this costume, instead of conflicting styles that predate it, postdate it, or are entirely imaginary. Ah, the thrill of the hunt.

 

 

When Google offered to move us to England, I was glad that Google was part of my life. But I had no IDEA that many days Google tools would become my primary method of research.

When I finished editing and posting last week’s photos, I was at loose ends. I wouldn’t have more photos for a while, and now what was I to do on my project? Ah-HA! After all the painstaking work that it took to identify the latitude and longitude for the 123 churches with monuments, why not get lat/long for the 850 monumental brasses and incised slabs listed in my database? Sure! I could do it. I’d learned lots while tracking down those first 100 churches, I could do more.

Here is my method:

First try Google maps, using church name, city name, and county. Sometimes this gets you right on the place you want, with a single marker right on top of the church. Then all you have to do is copy the html that pops up with the little “link to” button (next to the print button), paste that gobbledygook into  a blank document, and find the numbers that represent the latitude/longitude of the marker (look for something like ll=51.967399,-0.00118 – but make sure you don’t copy the numbers after “sll” if it shows up, because while they are lat/long data, they aren’t what you want).

Often Google maps will have multiple suggestions, and you’ll have to zoom in to see which is correct. Find the marker you want, click it, and a window pops up with “more info” as link. When you click that, a Google+ page about the church opens, with a small map. Double click that map and a new full-featured Googlemap will open from which you can extract the lat/long as described above. Sometimes, when you’re really lucky, the Google+ page will link to the church’s website.

Sometimes the church isn’t one of the options Googlemaps found for you and marked with an icon. If you landed in the right town, look around a moment. Google has a special icon they use for marking churches; scan for that. If you’re in a medium-sized town and don’t want to do a virtual flyover of the whole place, look for “Church Lane” or “Rectory Road” and start hunting there. If you find the church icon, click through to the Google+ page and the church-centered Googlemap. Data collected.

If you didn’t land in the right town, or aren’t sure, it’s time to leave Google. For Church of England sites, www.achurchnearyou.com  is a fantastic resource. They usually have at least an address for the church and a map of where it is (a Googlemap, of course). Using this data, you can usually go back to Googlemaps and find the right spot. It is worth clicking through the tabs on this site, though. Sometimes the “About Us” page has a welcome that includes information about when they are open. Sometimes this is coded on the “Features and Facilities” page;  a door icon means it is an open church; rolling over will give you the hours. A key icon means that it is locked but there is a keyholder nearby.

Sometimes you enter an address into Googlemaps, you know you’re in the right town, but you haven’t landed on the church. Many of the churches, especially in small towns, haven’t been marked with an icon. Then you have to find it – churches don’t look all that different from other buildings when viewed from above. Road names are great clues as to where to search. I recognize churches most often because they are surrounded by graveyards, which show up as a distinctive pattern of small, regularly-spaced shadows. Sometimes I’ve identified the church because it was the one building not oriented with the road, but rather aligned east-west. When I was really uncertain, I’ve even switched to street view to check out a likely building.

Once you’ve found that unlabeled church, then you have to find the latitude/longitude that will land you right on top of it. For this, I use www.findlatitudeandlongitude.com – also powered by Googlemaps. Enter the data that will get you close to the church, like town or road names, so that you can find it again. Now click anywhere on the map and the site will tell you the latitude and longitude of the marker.

If you try these sites and still can’t find the church, perhaps it is “redundant” and no longer has a congregation, but will be listed at www.visitchurches.org.uk. I’m especially looking forward to visiting these unused churches; I want them to feel loved!

Compiling this location data, augmenting my database of monuments, and exporting it to a custom Googlemap results in this:

https://1500stitches.org/map.html

My map, my pride and joy. It has been made vastly more elegant thanks to my wonderful husband.

This map is my travel plan. I want to photograph as many of the top three levels of monuments as I can. If there are churches along the way with brasses, I’m ready to stop in those, too. My order from Whitewinds arrived last week. It will take a long time to use up that roll of brass rubbing paper!

Tuesday I did it: I drove in London and beyond. I survived. I made mistakes, but none caused permanent harm. I photographed three churches, and they were all wonderful.

My adventure started earlier in the morning than I would have liked. I was taking a Zipcar, and the cost of reserving it from 7 to 7 was the same as taking it out for most of the day, so I just reserved it 7 to 7 even though I planned to use it 8 to 6. I wanted to drive toward Suffolk and Essex, so I picked a car as far east in London as I could, hoping to minimize my driving in London time. The car even had an auspicious name – Gilgamesh.

Unfortunately, at 6:30 a.m. I got a call: Gilgamesh was undrivable. No worries, though, they’d reserved another nearby car for me. A manual. Um, not OK. I learned to drive stick shift when I was sixteen, enough to not stall out as I drove the familiar country roads by my house. But sixteen was…well, two decades ago, and I’ve never owned a manual. I already was facing driving unfamiliar places, on roads marked with unfamiliar signs, in a country that drives on the left side of the road, in an unfamiliar car. I needed an automatic.

He found me one. Within walking distance of my house. On the NORTHWEST side of London. I would have to drive up Finchley Road to Brent Cross and around the North Circular (not the M25, the road that circles and defines the boundary of London, but the inner circle). Busy, busy roads. I also had to coordinate with my co-pilot, Ruth, who is a UK native with an interest in history but who (living in London as she does) does not have a driver’s license. Thanks to that snarl-up (figuring out where Ruth was meeting me would have been so much easier if we had both not just woken!) we were delayed getting on the road.

I find the Zipcar parking spot…I figure out how to unlock the Zipcar…I find the key…I start the car…I pull out of the parking space…and drive down the street on the wrong side. Oh well, minor side street, the car coming at me didn’t seem to care, and Ruth got me straightened out. Then I had to navigate Finchley Road (shudder). Made it north…got to Brent Cross…missed my exit. Arg! Find a side street, turn around. Every time I have to turn or merge I’m scared, I feel as if I don’t know where to look or when to go. The lights are different – they turn amber (they don’t say “yellow” here) before they turn green, to warn you to get ready to go. None of the lights are on lines over the street, but on posts on the edges of the road. Which is fine except that sometimes there are lanes beside you that, because of how they are merging or turning or whatever, might have a red light while you have a green – and I have to figure out, QUICKLY, whether the red light I see out of the corner of my eye applies to me. Even the straight stretches of road are a problem, because the driver’s seat is on the right side of the car, and my mental cues for how to center the vehicle in the lane aren’t working – I’m going too far to the left of my lane, and the lanes are narrower than anything I’m used to driving. I even drove up onto the curb (they spell it kerb!) once, and I accidentally folded back the passenger side rear view mirror twice, although those were on narrow village lanes.

So I’m driving too slowly, responding too slowly at turns, probably not staying well centered in my lane, and other drivers are letting me know. As they pull up behind me, or as they pass me, they honk. Ruth and I try to figure out what I’m doing wrong each time, but we aren’t always sure. Then I finally make it onto the motorway – the really big multi-lane highway – and there is much more honking. Before I can figure it out, a police car pulls up behind me, flashes lights at me, pulls alongside me, and waves at me. I nod OK, I see him – and assume he wants me to follow him off the road – but as I move over to exit, he zooms on down the road. I take the exit anyway, only to realize it is marked with a do not enter sign. At the bottom of the ramp I stop, look around my car and verify that nothing is wrong with it. I find that I’m beside some sort of police center with lots of vehicles; someone must be able to help me? I must have been doing something wrong, but what? Thankfully an officer pulls up and offers to help, assuming that I’m lost. As soon as I explain, he asks which lane I had been in, and it all becomes clear – I had been traveling in the lane that is reserved for “overtaking” (passing). Whew! I can solve THAT problem. Later I was thinking hard – how had I ended up in that lane? I think the “slip road” (entrance ramp) for the motorway must have dumped me into that “fast” lane, and since I didn’t know better I stayed there, not really wishing to change lanes or deal with merging. After all, every NC highway with which I’m familiar has me merge in on the right, into the “slow” lane.

After that, there was much less honking. Every time I got back into the car, though, I tended to pull out onto the right side of the road, until Ruth would correct me. Since we always stopped at tiny little streets not even marked with lines, this wasn’t ever an issue, just a reminder of how much driving is instinctual, and how much my “instincts” were leading me astray. Once I almost pulled out into oncoming traffic because I was turning right and looked to the left to see whether anyone was coming. I went through a ton of roundabouts, too – which are not totally foreign to me, but are still unfamiliar. Ruth did a LOT of coaching as I drove, and I asked a steady stream of questions. I’m usually a good driver, and with a little practice I think I’ll be OK driving here. Going to the churches certainly makes it worth the effort! Even though there was plenty of honking, I also found the drivers to be more polite than I expected – if I needed to change lanes or merge, I put my signal on and the driver behind me always let me in.

Driving through the small towns was another whole adventure, especially the parking. The first place I tried to go had a small church parking lot, and I pulled into it hoping for a space, without luck. Turning around to get back out was a nightmare! The space was so tiny and so tight, and the rented car had sensors both front and back to warn me when I was getting close to things. Ruth got out to direct, and it was almost like playing a tune with the car, setting off first the forward sensor tone and then the rear one as I inched back and forth and turned myself around. Thank GOODNESS the Zipcar was just a little VW Golf.

It doesn’t take long, once you get out of London, to be in the countryside. Narrow lanes, minimal signage, no places to stop for a toilet. Ruth was terribly amused by how awed I was to see thatched roofs on houses that are currently in use and updated with electricity. Thatched roofs! She drove me nearly crazy, though, pointed out Tudor buildings that we passed, because I couldn’t comfortably look away from the road to enjoy the sights. We saw a good number of them, exposed black beams sagging with age.

Due to the lateness of our departure and the extra driving necessitated by our west-side-of-London start, we only made it to three churches before the daylight faded. I had to refuel before parking, and although I knew EXACTLY where to find a petrol station on Finchley Road – I walk by it all the time – I missed it because it was behind a bus when I rounded the corner. Doubling back to get to it was a real nightmare, and I’m not completely sure that was a legal U-turn I did, but I had to do SOMETHING to get headed back south before the time ran out on my rental.

I guess my driving wasn’t too frightening, because Ruth says she’ll come with me next week when I drive down to Kent. Should be fun!

Over Christmas break I photographed my first monuments, which I just edited and put online. I learned that I have a lot to learn.

The first monument I photographed was that of Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII. She died in 1509 and was memorialized in bronze by Italian sculptor Pietro Torrigiano; he made the effigies of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, so I knew the quality would be exceptional. Because Margaret was a vowess, her head covering is different – more like a widow – and since I want to recreate married woman’s dress, I’d never made seeing her effigy in Westminster a priority.

My mother-in-law and I visited Westminster Abbey  while the boys were in school. It is easy to get to, but with a £16 admission cost I needed either company who wanted to tour the Abbey or some reason to prioritize the visit. Also, the Abbey forbids photographs, and I’m not ready to write for permission to photograph in places that normally forbid it. First I need more experience visiting churches where I don’t have to get it right the first time.

The site advises budgeting an hour and a half to tour, but we spent more than twice that, listening to every stop along the audio tour. As we walked, I pointed out common themes and interesting features of the funerary art. There is a large Victorian brass on which the figures wear armor and costume from the mid-fifteenth century – but the lettering (and date) are 19th century. There were some unlabeled medieval effigies whose  anonymity tormented me. The Glastonbury chair with the patina of age made me smile…our chairs are well made, but I doubt they will ever look so venerable. The mosaic floor of semiprecious stones in front of the altar really drew my eye. I could only recognize the iconography on some of the saints; I should review my art history.

I realized almost immediately why photographs are forbidden – although it wasn’t unpleasantly crowded, the flow of tourists would be nearly impossible if people stopped to snap images or to avoid stepping into another person’s photograph. I honestly felt relieved that I could not possibly document the wonders I was beholding, because there were so many things to photograph, I would have taken all day just to make it out of the transept.

There are three early Tudor monuments with effigies at Westminster Abbey: Gyles 1st Lord Daubeney (+1508) and wife Elizabeth, Margaret Beaufort (+1509), and Henry VII (+1509) and Elizabeth of York (+1503). The latter three figures I knew reasonably well from the quality online images and the replicas of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York on the stairs at the National Portrait Gallery. I also knew that the original effigies of the king and queen would be obscured by a decorative metal screen. The first monument – Gyles and Elizabeth – I could only find a small image and snippet about online, but I doubted it would yield much costume data.

When we made it to Gyles, I found a beautiful and well-preserved monument. If I cared for armor I would have studied his form, but hers was not what I sought. The lady wears a medieval sideless surcoat, a fashion that I believe did more to indicate her rank for posterity than to reflect actual clothing she may have worn in her lifetime; a cloak further obscures the details of her dress. Her hair is down and flowing under a strange coif that I do not know how to interpret. The brim is thick, like a wreath or the turned-up edge of a knitted winter cap. I believe that as I explore other monuments, I may find actual wreaths of carved stone leaves; her style is neither the norm nor an anomaly.  The top of the coif is an ornate net, probably decorated with pearls or beads at the intersections of the threads. Is this a fanciful object that, like the sideless surcoat, conveyed a message to contemporary observers? Is this a style of headwear she sported in life? I don’t know, but it was not the hood or transitional English gown I came to photograph, so I admired the monument, puzzled out the inscription, and moved on.

Next we passed Henry VII and Elizabeth of York. Thank goodness I had spent plenty of time studying them at the National Portrait Gallery, for they are almost invisible behind the screen.

Margaret of Beaufort’s effigy came next, and here a familiar sight yielded fresh new ideas. My mother-in-law stood patiently while I talked through what I had never seen before, and theorized about possible construction methods. She supplied pen and paper with which to sketch the headdress, and helped me estimate the dimensions of different points on the effigy. The most fascinating feature was that the cloth around Margaret’s face folds under itself, creating a smooth edge to the front of the veil by layers of fabric, instead of folding back to reveal a lining, a technique familiar to me from other 15th-16th century hoods.

After soaking in all that I could of Margaret Beaufort, I continued the tour, jittery with the excitement of discovery. I wanted photos to refer to when, months or years hence, I attempt to recreate that hood. When we returned our audio guides and stepped outside to the cloisters, I stopped. I had to ask for permission; if they said no, I’d just be where I was now, with no photos. I asked. My interest in the effigy for researching historical costume seemed good enough to the staff member, because he assigned a cheerful young volunteer to go with me, and I got to take my photos. I promised I only needed two or three shots – odd angles like looking down at the crown of her head, not the views I could buy in the gift shop – but my companion urged me to take as long as I needed. I explained what I was doing, and what I was seeing, as I photographed, and she suggested additional shots (Have you gotten her shoes? How about that deer thing at her feet? Do you need one of the other side?) We discussed Margaret Beaufort, and what an incredible lady she was. It was simply delightful.

Afterward I rejoined my mother-in-law, toured quickly through the gardens and the cloisters, finished the last little bit of the tour where one passed the coronation chair, and we made our way toward Tom and lunch and a tour of the London Google offices.