Tulips

Tulips were in full flower at York Gate Gardens. Standing tall, they are a beautifully sculptural plant, but short-lived. I had some yellow ones in a container on my balcony, and they looked lovely for a couple of weeks but then the petals blew away. 

I took my macro lens, thinking I'd try some shots with a very shallow depth of field. It wasn't entirely successful as the point of focus has to be spot on and my elderly eyesight, coupled with the small LCD screen on my camera, means that's a bit hit and miss! I did manage to capture a couple of greenfly quite sharply! (below). There seem to be a lot about, perhaps because of the dry spring we've had. The front of my car and its windscreen have been covered with splattered insects and that hasn't happened for a few years. It used to be a big problem in the summer. 

York Gate garden

York Gate garden just happens to be situated behind Adel church, so the café there was a convenient spot for lunch for our camera club group. I took the opportunity to spend some time in the garden too. It is only one acre but so cleverly designed, in a series of linked 'rooms', that it feels much bigger. It originally belonged to the Spencer family who created and cared for it between 1951 and 1994, eventually opening it to the public at certain times. By the early 1980s, it was considered one of the best small gardens in the world. They then bequeathed it to Perennial, a charity that supports horticulturalists and gardeners. A few years ago the purchase of the adjacent property allowed for a larger café, with some meeting and function rooms and a car park. With a dedicated team of volunteers, it can now easily cope with more visitors and is able to open from April to October.    

Adel churchyard

The churchyard of St John the Baptist, Adel, is a something of a romantic fantasy, certainly in the spring, when bluebells and wild garlic billow around the graves like waves on the sea. 

Both the very old and more recent gravestones are made beautiful by the wildflowers, so that the few offerings of conventional flowers and wreaths look strangely out of place. 

Nature is allowed her freedom, though sinuous paths are carefully mown to allow people to explore or access the graves. 

The wounded angel was part of one of the larger Victorian tombs: a memorial to Susannah Jane Hirst, who sadly died in 1884 aged only 33. On the canopy are the words 'Until the day break and the shadows flee away'. Her husband, James Audus Hirst is also interred here. He died 12 years after his wife, aged 50. One wonders if the shadows ever fled away, for him....

It's a place to rest quietly, for both the living and those who have passed. 

Adel Church interior

Norman church of St John the Baptist, Adel, built between 1150 and 1170. 

 

As you might expect in such an old church, even though it is relatively small, there are lots of points of interest inside. The chancel arch is a fine example of Norman architecture, with elaborate carvings, better preserved than those around the door outside. You can see them in detail in Simon Jenkins' article HERE. 

The pulpit and choir stalls have beautiful linenfold-style panelling. Most of the windows, although Norman in style, are Victorian and replace much larger ones inserted in the 14th century. 

The baptismal font may be original; its elaborate oak canopy was carved in 1921 by Eric Gill (a fine craftsman though a controversial figure).

There are memorials to two clergymen, one of whom was a former vicar of Adel (spelled Addle on the relief) who died in 1788 and the other, a Bishop of Ripon, who was formerly a choirboy here. 

The vestry holds several old photos, two heraldic hatchments and a fine window that was originally in the chancel and was moved when the Victorians installed the faux-Norman windows. It is hand-painted stained glass made in 1681 by Henry Giles of York, and shows the royal arms of Charles II.  

Adel church

I've walked through the churchyard of St John the Baptist, Adel's parish church, many times and never found the church open. So when a member of my camera club organised a formal visit, I jumped at the chance. It is one of the best and most complete Norman churches in Yorkshire. Even at a cursory glance, you can see the quality of the elaborately carved south doorway; its rounded arch proclaims it to be Norman. The church was built between 1150 and 1170, though has inevitably been restored and altered somewhat since then. Sadly the carvings are heavily eroded and a wood and metal canopy has been erected to try and protect it from the weather. 

There was an interesting photo in the vestry, Victorian I imagine, with the chap in his bowler hat and cutaway jacket (both Victorian working class attire). It shows the doorway prior to the canopy being added and you can see how much sharper the carving appears, some 150 years ago. At some stage too, it seems to have been painted with limewash in a misguided attempt to preserve the stonework. 

The corbels above the windows show a range of grotesque faces. 

Tragically, the original 13th century bronze sanctuary ring (door knocker), depicting a lion swallowing a man, was stolen in 2002 and has been replaced by a replica. 

The church sits in a large and very pretty graveyard. The gravestone in my photo below seemed to be one of the older ones, dated 1776, and I was touched to note the two mistakes in the names, which have been corrected - from Ainsworth to Hainsworth. (Blame the local accent for that! Yorkshire folk do drop their 'haitches'!)  

Outside the front gate, a mounting block would have assisted those arriving in a carriage or on a horse. You don't see those very often round here. 

It's altogether a delightful church and I'll show some of its interior tomorrow. 

Lingalonga

Lingalonga... and who wouldn't want to, when the scenery is as tranquil as this? Several boats were taking advantage of the shade of the trees alongside Hirst Woods. I imagine being moored in full sun soon has the inside of a narrowboat heating up unbearably. 

The canal itself is littered with seeds and pollen. We haven't had rain for weeks here, and everything is parched and dirty. Where trees have dropped their sap, the pavements are gluey and grey, and my car and my flat's windows are covered in sticky dust. A good rain shower would be cleansing! 

The river looks a bit messy too, albeit it has a very slow current that stirs things around a tiny bit. 

The water level is very low indeed. The 'crocodile' is still there, now with a much longer snout as the river level drops. 

It's not often that I would welcome a few heavy showers but, with temperatures currently higher in the UK than in Greece, Italy and Spain and no significant rainfall since March, this weather pattern is unusual.  

Three doors through a gate

Looks like someone's had a new paint job! At least, I don't remember noticing these bright doors before. They are quite bold colours for our World Heritage Site but I think they look great. The houses are on George Street; my photo is taken from Higher School Street, looking across what was the playground of Saltaire's Factory Schools and is now a car park for Shipley College, which uses the old school building. 

'We Will Sing' #3

At a more detailed level, the elements of Ann Hamilton's 'We Will Sing' installation that most enthralled me were the beautiful woollen cloaks with sumptuous satin linings, made locally, and artfully arranged in folds and drapes. The colours, the tactile fabrics and draping all provided a visual feast, into which I could read a number of different 'messages'. 

Perhaps most poignantly, in them was an echo of those who might have left them... Cinderella fleeing at the stroke of midnight perhaps? Charlotte Brontë flinging off her cloak as she enters the house of a friend, ready for a cup of tea and a long and convivial chat? Or simply the ghosts of the girls and women who laboured long hours in this mill to produce the fine cloth that built our heritage.... 

The exhibition runs until 2 November 2025, so there's plenty of time to see it if you're relatively local. 

'We Will Sing' #2

Ann Hamilton's 'We Will Sing' installation extended into the other two rooms in the roof space at Salts Mill. Here she has assembled large pieces of wool fabric, of various thicknesses and weaves, each embellished with a blurry picture of what was termed a 'fève'. She apparently unearthed these miniature figurines in Salts Mill. They are ceramic objects that used to be baked into cakes for good luck. She has scanned and enlarged them massively, to form 'an audience of listeners' - and invites us, the visitors, to sing or write and read 'letters to the future'.

    

The neutral back of each of the large woollen pieces was paired with a cloak or coat made in locally produced fine wool cloth in beautiful colours, with metal light fittings that appeared to be original to the mill, and broadsheet newspapers with various photos and articles that were linked to the project. It was all rather odd, yet at the same time immensely evocative and touching. 

The adjoining room was simply furnished with six record turntables, each playing in turn songs and music recorded by various local community groups and schools.  Ann calls these 'a song for the future'. 

The installation is designed, I think, to be an ongoing and evolving project, inviting the participation of its visitors. The artist says that, for her, cloth and choral music are intrinsically tactile and democratic, each formed from individual threads or voices. 'We Will Sing' is a weaving of separate voices creating a chorus. 

(In this third room, I was mostly interested in the big doors that overlook the canal, through which, I think, goods would have been winched down to canal boats for transporting.)