Cavorting in Coventry

Well, not cavorting really. I was there to visit a friend of very long standing, who's been poorly lately. First, though, a flying to visit to Coventry Cathedral, which, I'm ashamed to say, I'd never visited before. 

Everyone says not to approach the new Cathedral until you've explored the ruins of the old. So I did, at length.

I'd guessed it would be a chastening experience, and possibly also a reminder of the bombsites of my childhood, Bristol having been blitzed heavily too (although not to the point where a new word was coined to describe what happened - koventrieren, to completely destroy). Even so, I wasn't prepared to feel as tearful as I did within two minutes of entering, when I saw the (replica of the) charred cross that was made from two fallen roof beams the day after the old cathedral's destruction, with Father Forgive inscribed on the wall behind it.

Everywhere there's evidence of that night's murderous destruction ...

... but also of peace and reconciliation, most notably in the artworks that link the city with Dresden and Hiroshima, Berlin and Belfast.

Jacob Epstein's Ecce Homo

The only memorial to have survived the fire-bombing is that of Bishop Yeatman-Briggs, who died in 1922. The band of his mitre is embellished with three fylfot crosses, otherwise known as swastikas - but which had yet to acquire their unfortunate - and in this instance, ironic - connection with fascism.  

Work on the new cathedral started in 1954, with Basil Spence appointed architect, and lasted eight years, the new Cathedral opening in 1962. The first thing you notice as you walk in is the vast Baptistery window, designed by John Piper and made by Patrick Reyntiens, who also worked on Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral together. Their work here is no less stunning. 

A guide came over and asked if I had any questions, but all I managed was some hand-waving, indicating much emotion.   

The stone in front of the window is a sandstone boulder from Bethlehem, carved to serve as a font.

It was only at this point that I turned to really look at the West Screen, through which the new cathedral is entered (though it's only the West Screen liturgically speaking, being on the actual south side of the building on account of its positioning at right angles to the ruined original). It's just as stunning as the window, once you notice it. I've never really held with the notion of saintly saints, and angels whose mission it is to help you find a parking space, and the saints and angels here, designed and engraved by New Zealander John Hutton, are really quite as focussed and scary as I've always thought they must be. At first they made me think of the illustrations of my favourite book illustrator, Charles Keeping, and then the White Walkers from Game of Thrones, and I remembered seeing more angels of their ilk in Guildford Cathedral (also Hutton's work). 

The back of Jacob Epstein's Heroic Torso

The other windows angled the length of the nave only come into view as you walk down it and are equally beautiful, rising to a height of 25 metres. They were designed by students and a tutor at the Royal School of Art.  It's difficult to do them justice with a camera phone.

The liturgical east end of the nave - which is the actual north end of the building - is graced with a tapestry of Christ in Glory in the Tetramorph, designed by Graham Sutherland. 

The tiny cross you might just make out at the centre of the High Altar cross is made from mediaeval nails that were found scattered over the floor of the ruins after the bombing. This is the first of many such crosses made of nails and distributed around the world in the aftermath of the war, as symbols of hope and reconciliation.

Oh and while we're down here, look at this organ. (This is just one side of it.) I think there was a lunchtime recital scheduled the morning I was there, so maybe I was lucky and heard the rehearsal; anyhow, the playing was beautiful and added hugely to the atmosphere of the place. 

The tetramorphs turn up again in one of the side chapels, the Chapel of Unity...

 ... which also has amazing stained glass windows. 

By now I realised I'd spent so long fanning myself with my guidebook in order to bring me back to myself that I was running short on time. A quick dash around the liturgical eastern end brought an encounter with the original Charred Cross, now installed inside for its protection ...

... this moment of great beauty in the Chapel of Christ the Servant (or Chapel of Industry) ... 

... and in the crypt a glimpse of a silver Altar Cross and candlesticks made by Arts and Crafts silversmith Omar Ramsden, which were rescued from the burning cathedral on the night of its destruction.  

Epstein's St Michael's Victory over the Devil

Despite the massive destruction visited on Coventry, there are still a few mediaeval buildings about. I was hoping to see the Coventry Doom in nearby Holy Trinity Church but it was locked, which meant I wasn't going to be as late going to see my friend, Angela, as I'd feared, hooray! Except that I promptly got lost, despite the combined efforts of Google and the map I'd printed to get me back to the car park. 

I did see all this in my wanderings, however. 

22 Bayley Lane - The Cottage - built in the early 16th century

The Golden Cross Inn, built in 1583 and still a pub, having been much frequented by local lad and celebrated poet, Philip Larkin

3 - 5 Priory Row - the Lychgate Cottages

'Man's Struggle' by Walter Ritchie, whose sculptures also adorn Bristol Eye Hospital

The Art Deco Ellen Terry Arts and Media building, named in honour of another famous local

Then off to suburbia - only a mile from the city centre - to see Angela in her fabulous cave of a home. Angela has worked all her life in the vintage clothing industry and her flat is stuffed with so many wonders, they'd require a blogpost of their own to do them justice.   

I'll just mention this chair accommodating my bottom, one of four with a matching table, that used to be sat on by Robert Plant's bottom. Another holy moment in a day crammed with them.

Liverpool Light

Like Bristol, Liverpool is awash with waterlight and I was looking forward to getting down to the Mersey.  First, though, there were cathedrals to visit - and no shortage of wondrous light in the Catholic version.

There is little point struggling for words when you have a camera, except to say that the stained glass, designed by Margaret Traherne, Ceri Richards, and in the case of the stunning lantern, John Piper and Patrick Reyntiens.  

One of my favourite architects is Edwin Lutyens, so I was disappointed to learn that the crypt he designed was closed because students were taking exams down there. I hope the beautiful surroundings were an inspiration to those poor souls sweating over their papers on such a glorious day.  And of course it does mean that I shall have to return one day, so there's a stained glass lining to this cloud.  

After a drink at the Philharmonic pub with its dark wood, copper panels, tiles, mosaics and Guinness, we headed for the Anglican Cathedral.  I didn't dare hope for anything as spectacular as the Catholic equivalent, but I was wrong - it  was just as stunning although very very different.

As soon as I saw the outside I knew that I would love it.  Designed by Giles Gilbert Scott, son of George, the great Gothic Revivalist architect,  it simply soars.  (Ice cream van for scale.)

Inside it's like being in a Burne Jones painting. I expected to see maidens descending staircases at any moment.  

After lunch in the basement bistro of the Everyman Theatre - 'They've ripped the heart out of it!' wailed my companion to the sound of muted ambient jazz. 'It was full of character 30 years ago!' - it was on to the waterfront.

Until this weekend I was only marginally more familiar with Liverpool than Manchester.  I'd travelled through twice before en route for Waterloo, just up the coast, and some years later Dun Laoghaire, and as a very young child I have the vaguest memory of being driven through the Mersey Tunnel at night by my Uncle Noel, who lived in West Kirby at the time and who swore he saw a mermaid swimming towards us.  I had, however, never been on a Ferry 'Cross The Mersey, so this had to be rectified.  

First, though, the Liver building, dead familiar to every child who grew up in the 1960s and 70s.  Apparently, one of the sculpted birds atop is female, the other male.  The female stares out to sea, waiting for the first glimpse of the homecoming sailor.  The male faces inland, trying to see if the pubs are open yet. 

Then we were off on a £8 tour of the river, with my companion muttering that 30 years ago you could go back and forth for free, so long as you didn't get off on the other side.  It was worth it, though.  

After a while the names began to sound familiar and I realised I was in the middle of a folk song ... 

And now, my lads, we're off Fort Perch Rock

All hammocks lashed and sea-chests locked

And we'll haul her into the Waterloo Dock ...

Yes, it's Whip Jamboree, about that homecoming sailor the female Liver Bird is waiting for, who - the next verse tells us - heads straight for Dan Lowry's, reputedly a popular playhouse on Paradise Street. 'This is unrecognisable from 30 years ago!' complained my companion as we retraced his steps.  And true, it's not so much paradisiacal as  maniacal these days, with shoppers darting from one emporium to the next.  So we finished the day at Ye Cracke instead - another pub formerly frequented by one John Lennon (Where did my beloved George with the long, lupine teeth drink? I wonder) and miraculously unchanged (almost) from the 1980s.  

The next morning ... ?  Well, that's Another Place.