Saint Giles Church, Cheadle

For many years I have longed to visit 'Pugin's gem' St Giles Church at Cheadle. Having read a great deal about the splendor of this stunning place, and seen it mentioned on Gothic Revival documentaries, I knew this incredible feat of architecture and design was not something to be missed. Finally last year the opportunity arose to hop across the border to Staffordshire and at last see Pugin's gem in all its glory.

Upon arrival in Cheadle the churches location and exterior didn't really prepare you for what lay within. Some nice carvings, an opulent door, but nothing out of the ordinary really. Its not until you venture in that you see this masterpiece in all its glory. A service had just finished so the relatively newly installed lights were gleaming away illuminating every nook and cranny of this amazing, unique place. But usually you have to pop some money in the meter (in quite a novel fashion), as we did several times later when the lights timed out leaving us with only the natural light to illuminate the church.

St Giles is utterly off the scale in terms of grandeur and decadence. Pattern and artwork covers every square inch of the walls, with intricate motifs changing every so often and a different colour taking centre stage for a moment, but Pugin consistently sticks to his signature palette. Deep red, indigo blue, dark green, mustard and gold. Lots and lots of gold.
As far as churches go St Giles is honestly nothing short of perfection. As a former print designer, pattern and art are everything to me. So those things utterly covering a Gothic revival masterpiece is a dream come true.
Hand painting walls in this manner is an art and part of our heritage which is largely lost these days. But it is something which has long fascinated me and I always desired to treat the walls of my own home with such dedicated perfection (probably one of the reasons I've always wanted to convert a church.). Pugin's obsessive nature with the detailing, craftsmanship and perfection of St Giles is something I can honestly relate to in myself. And I can think of no better thing than living within that temple to your own creativity and vision.

St Giles is a truly overwhelming place. Everywhere you look there is something to see and every tiny detail has clearly been meticulously planned by Pugin to create the harmonious union of patterns across many different surfaces and media. The stained glass, the furniture, the candle holders, even down to the floor tiles. The man that Pugin was and what he aimed to create is evident in all of these elements, as well as the church as a whole.

I do feel a sense of sadness for Pugin that he never fully realised his dream and saw the church complete as he intended it with a spire in place. Ultimately it was just too costly and ambitious for the project. But I do hope that if Pugin could see his great gem today and the legacy his vision has created he would be truly proud. St Giles stands as a testament to the glory of gothic revival and its incredible impact of the history of British architecture and aestetics.

Red House

For more years than I can count I have dreamed of visiting Red House. As a life long lover of William Morris and everything he stood for (Socialism, quality products, hand craftsmanship, well considered design, the aesthetic beauty of everyday objects, truth to and respect of nature, obsession with the Medieval ... the list goes on) Red House for me has always been some what of a Holy Grail.
Every time I've visited London and begin to think about what I can cram in Red House always comes to the front of my mind, looming large like some un-vanquished beast. And then I look at Bexleyheath and its awkward location and the logistics never quite seem to fit.

But this wasn't a trip to London, this was a trip to France and beyond, and with Bexleyheath only a short drive from the M25 to my logic it was 'on the way' (as too was Bodingham Castle apparently) and the perfect opportunity to finally make a pilgrimage to Morris's home. And so it was built into the mammoth road trip schedule.

Our arrival at Red House hadn't been quite what I was expecting. A winding, modern suburban housing estate with boring, cloned houses costing I shudder to think how much lining the narrow winding lanes which felt a million miles away from London (however the traffic on the main roads did not). Twisting and turning wondering where on earth it was as the satnav had not-so-helpfully announced we had arrived, yet it was nowhere to be seen. Then suddenly around a bend lofty trees loomed up from behind a high brick wall and a blue plaque, here we were! Red House at last.

To say the property is National Trust you would hardly know in all honesty. A little out building with a small gift shop in but none of the usual pomp and grandeur that generally greets you at most trust properties (though we have visited other exceptions). From outside the walls Red House is quite unassuming, hidden behind trees and garden walls, most people probably drive by without a second glance. However inside those walls, it feels like I've walked into Morris' personal paradise. The steeply pitched roof gives the house a dramatic, imposing presence, while the many different windows in lots of shapes and sizes soften it and give it a charming character. On first impression the house is simple, honest. Its not until you get around the back of the house you see its more complex side, with a much more cosy feeling as it comes around to hug the ornate well and envelope the garden. One thing you truly get a sense of at Red House is Morris's connection to nature. The beautiful gardens were as important to Morris as every other aspect of this home, and that truly shows.

Inside the building had the echoes of some great medieval hall with beams, dark wood and bespoke gothic furniture in most rooms. But it was not as Morris intended it. White washed walls and Morris wallpaper Red House has been painfully sanitized over the years. Beautiful murals painted over, colour schemes whited out, stained glass sold, its true artistic intention and creation, lost. Colour swatches in the rooms tell you the original schemes Morris used. Deep reds, ocre, dark green, all those beautiful Medieval colours he so loved and we see today immortalised in illuminated manuscripts. Gone. The house was a living work of art and what he and Jane achieved there in 5 short years is incredible. So why isn't it being restored?

I asked volunteers why original schemes had not been reintroduced, or more original features had not been uncovered as for me the sorry state of the inside compared to what it could and should be was heart breaking and if I'm honest, a little distressing. Many were flippant, one telling me there were beautiful artworks on the doors, but she preferred the teal blue they were now painted and hoped they would stay that way. I wanted to tell her that wasn't her decision to make, this was Morris's dream and should reflect his vision, not hers, surely that's what we're saving this gem for, in tribute to his memory and genius? But, I wound my neck in and held my tongue. Other staff said they didn't have enough funding to carry out the costly work involved, painstaking work I know, but worthwhile surely? And I was also told of some urgent structural problems which needed to be addressed but for whatever reason hadn't been yet.

Its frustrating to see the house which was Morris' vision a shadow of its former self. But its easy to understand how this happens when an organisation as large as the National Trust has guardianship of a building. Over the past years we've been to so many of their properties, and what they do to safe guard and protect our heritage is nothing short of incredible. But when you visit Red House and are one of perhaps a dozen people in the entire grounds, you can see that compared to a property such as Nostell Priory, which on the day we visited there were literally thousands of people, and we were told on our tour how many tens of thousands of pounds they paid to reupholster a single sofa in one room of the Priory because it was looking a bit past it, you realise Red House is sadly a little fish in a big pond. And not the big bucks money spinning tourist attraction which some of their buildings are.

To have finally made it to Red House was a double edged sword. With so much joy to finally see this unique home, and yet sadness and frustration at wanting it to truly reflect Morris still. I hope that when the time comes when I have chance to visit again more of the intricate work of Morris will have been uncovered for future generations to treasure and protect.

Next to complete on my Morris pilgrimages is Kelmscott Manor. Perhaps one for 2019 ...

Wightwick Manor: A Pre-Raphaelite Dream

Last Christmas I was lucky enough to be gifted something utterly glorious by one of my oldest, kindest friends, National Trust membership.

Ever since we have endeavoured to visit as many places as possible, and I’m always on the look out for anywhere in striking distance that poses a potential day out. Looking through the guide book I spotted something which looked incredibly appealing; Wightwick Manor and as soon as I read the words ‘Pre-Raphaelite Art Collection’ I knew it was a must.

As soon as I walked around the exterior I immediately knew this was it; my favourite property to date. I felt something deep within me stir. The exterior was yet another example of Victorian perfection. With its Tudoresque timbered structure marrying brick, wood and render in perfect harmony. The details across the exterior were nothing short of perfection. Exquisite brick chimneys dotted the roof line adding splashes of red amongst the black and white and complimenting the block base. The once jet black fumed oak now aged hint of brown and silver with time, twisting and turning forming almost mesmerizing patterns against the white lime render. Intricate carvings lurk here and there, faces looking for a viewer, barge boards with impossibly delicate detailing and layered window frames nothing short of exquisite. The house was no vast mansion, no lavish pile, but its aesthetics were what I consider the pinnacle of British architecture and style. In that uniquely Victorian way the Manor marries the medieval, Gothic and Tudor in a way which is utterly believable, totally respectful and considered and entirely perfect.

Once inside it felt as if someone had looked deep within me and created my ultimate Pre-Raphaelite dream. The interior felt dark and gloomy, with an incredible atmosphere that weighed heavy. The lower ceilings of the the entrance hall, study and corridors gave the building a cosy feeling which I felt was utterly unique of any building this size I'd ever visited. The endless wealth of textiles, Morris wallpaper, rugs, paintings, stained glass and so many beautiful objects gave the Manor a homely feeling which instantly warmed my heart. It's eclectic nature struck a chord with my own excessive, magpiesque traits and indulged them to the nth degree.

The entire Manor was a feast for the senses from beginning to end. Dante Gabriel Rosetti paintings and drawings hang here and there, above piano's, in dark hidden corners, against deep wood panelling which only serve to accentuate the decadent nature of this glorious place. I wander down the dull corridor and beams of light strike out at the giant potted plants which give a pleasant scent of foliage. All of this is a prelude to the great hall, where a woman plays the piano filling the house with a dreamy lull that easily transports you back to the Victorian heyday of the home. Blue and white china glint out from the dressers and shelves while vases of wildflowers give the impression that Morris's furnishings have come to life and taken over the room in which they sit. A Pre-Raphaelite beauty waters her plants by the piano in a large painting by George Fredrick Watts. Illustrations of Ravens, Hares and Lions linger in the shadows and a Burne-Jones painting waits for you at the end of the grand double height space, beckoning you forth to the rest of the house. 

The entire Manor is a temple to the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the Arts and Crafts movement. Paintings from the great names of the movement including; Millais, Rossetti, Ford Maddox Brown, but also lesser known artists, including the more prolific females within the group; Lizzie Siddal, Evelyn De Morgan, Emma Sandys all grace every nook and cranny of this utterly unique place. No detail or object feels unimportant in this Victorian wonderland where everything has its place and even the tiniest trinket would be missed in the gloriously eclectic ambiance of this honest, comfortable home.

Wightwick Manor is a must see for all obsessive Victorian enthusiasts like myself, especially if the Pre-Raphaelites is your passion. I confess the place thoroughly bewitched me, and the moment I left I began pondering my return. Only the most special places in the world leave you feeling that way. I've been more lucky than most to have found just a few of them in my life so far. Until next time Wightwick.

Feathered Fiends - Natural History Museum

The Natural History Museum was a place I had visited many years ago, and always been eager to return. Finally I had my chance and hoped that this time I'd find the time to see it all.
The stunning Victorian building which houses what I imagine to be the country's largest collection of natural specimens is a breathtaking statement on its own. A temple to science and nature the architecture and it's fine details tell of a time when folks had the most inquisitive of minds and yearned to know everything about anything.

The exhibits obviously reflect this too, with a vast array of specimens at every turn looking at subjects from the evolution of man, to insect behaviour to extinct animals, and everything in between.

One area which I seem to have missed during my first fleeting visit but certainly made up for this time featured some of my favourite animals; birds. Taxidermy specimens of a vast array of birds sit in a huge glass cabinet, faded with time and slightly surreal looking. A case opposite was absolutely packed with Hummingbirds, feverishly covering branches with countless tiny forms. So many different colours, beak shapes, special adaptations, sizes, a truly overwhelming presentation of Victorian excess. But my favourite display was a rather neglected looking cabinet, with sloping sides and a wood surround. It's hand written labels and ancient aesthetics instantly gave it away as something that had been in the museum a long time, and probably never touched. The contents of the cabinet examined in detail the different physical traits of birds, different types of beaks, how wings are formed and work, the claws of so many species, no stone was left unturned. And for me, this incredible display was a glimpse into the mind of a passionate, inquisitive Victorian scientist, a textbook attempting to understand and grasp the secrets of nature come to life and in 3D.

As fellow visitors observed the case many were heard to say how repulsive and awful they thought the display was. Yet I felt it was thoroughly fascinating, an important insight into our early understanding and observation of nature. I shamefully admit I have never stopped to consider how many different styles of beak there are and how each of these has so carefully evolved and adapted to each environment. Of course it's something most people with an inquisitive mind will be aware of, or even know a few obvious examples, but having a huge number of specimens demonstrating this laid out before you is something quite different.

The display made me consider birds in a different light, in terms of their evolution and scientific intrigue, and I admit as someone with an artistic mind this is not my usual angle of perspective. So it was both interesting and enlightening to view nature in this new perspective not only concerned with natural beauty.

Unfortunately I still didn't make it round quite all of the museum, it is truly vast and contains so much knowledge. Though I am pleased to have seen the fantastic bird specimens of the Natural History Museum and many other fascinating exhibits within the museum.