William Morris and his Red House

I suppose breaking a 147 mile journey home at the 17 mile point is a little premature but how much more enticing is the prospect of breakfasting outside the coach house of William Morris's Red House in Bexleyheath than in a cheap hotel in Dagenham?

I'm a bit of a William Morris groupie and I'd already visited Red House twice before we turned off the M25 on the way home from seeing Leonard Cohen at the O2.  It is a special place, however, and as the National Trust are in the process of uncovering more and more art dating from the short time Morris, Janey and their friends spent there, there's always something new to see.  And this time someone congenial to share it with. 

After a wander around the garden, now considerably larger than in Morris' day, we joined the guided tour to see the how the house is looking these days. 

Still enchanting are Red House architect Philip Webb's stained glass birds which look as if they are about to flap off at any moment.  I'd like to have a go at reinterpreting some of them when I get my glass kiln up and running.  

The iconic staircase, forerunner of a million Tudorbethan imitations.

The newly restored blue and gold landing ceiling.

Although he manufactured wallpaper for others to buy, Morris preferred to hang his own walls with tapestries and embroideries. In the absence of any suitable candidates, this papered wall with its door leading into the dining room with its oxblood red dresser looks well enough. 

 What other Pre-Raphaelite works of art lie behind the brown paint job on the hall dresser?

 Always a favourite of mine, the fireplace in the dining room with its Delft tiles ... 

... and the single M for Morris carved into the hearth ... or is it a W for William?

While at Red House, Morris conceived a series of 12 embroidered hangings for the dining room based on women in Chaucer's poem 'The Legend of the Good Women', to be embroidered by his wife, Jane, sister-in-law Bessie, and anyone else in the vicinity who was handy with a needle.   Only seven were ever completed, and this one - of Aphrodite - returned to Red House in 2008 after an absence of 142 years.   The rest, plus two of the planned dozen fruit trees to accompany them, are scattered across the world. 

Morris's motto - here in French - sings from a round upstairs window.  On an early hanging now at Kelmscott Manor, it is also embroidered in English - 'If I can' - harking back to the inscription 'Als Ich Kan' inscribed on the frame of Jan Van Eyck's 'Man in Red Turban'.  

Discovered behind a cupboard in William and Jane's surprisingly small bedroom, this mural is a representation of the Book of Genesis, featuring Adam and Eve on either side of a tree complete with serpent, Noah and Rachel amonst others.  It is designed to look like a tapestry hanging in folds and is believed to have been painted by Lizzie Siddal, who died before it could be completed.  

Another mural has been uncovered in the drawing room, painted by Burne Jones and illustrating the Romance of  Sir Degravaunt, with Morris the model for the knight and Jane his bride, Melydor, seen being married on the far left of this photo, and then forming part of the wedding procession in the adjacent panel.  

    
In this picture, Morris and Jane are seen in the background at the wedding feast. Unlike Sir Degravant and Melydor, their marriage was an unhappy one and within five years of its being built, they had left the Red House, with all its hopes and dreams, behind them.  

Llandaff Cathedral and the Senghenydd Mining Memorial

And so to Cardiff to take Son the Elder to an audition.  I lived in Cardiff, briefly, 20-odd years ago, and my younger daughter was born there.  It also happens to be my ex-husband's former home city, and although I have been back and forward over the bridge regularly these last four and a half years, this was to be my first trip to Llandaff since. But nothing daunted - time to overlay all those bad memories with some good ones.  

So, after dropping the budding thespian off, I parked in Pontcanna, in the street where I used to live, and walked my swain over Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields to Llandaff village, where we had coffee and flapjack before visiting the Cathdral.  It was early but already sweltering, so the Cathedral felt like a very comfortable place to be.  And it was great to catch up with some old friends.  There are Arts and Crafts favourites, like Rossetti's triptych 'The Seed of David', Morris & Co and John Piper stained glass,  and the lovely Della Robbia ceramic panels depicting Edward Burne Jones' 'The Six Days of Creation'. (Unfortunately the side chapel in which the latter live was roped off, but you can just glimpse them here, the far side of this rather fetching knight's tomb, still with some original paint, look.)

Today, however, it was the vistas that struck me, perhaps because the great West door was open, bringing the outside in.  This is looking east towards Jacob Epstein's Majestas (Christ in Majesty) which was commissioned to commemorate the ... well, resurrection seems the most appropriate word ... of the Cathedral after it was partially destroyed during the Cardiff blitz. (Only Coventry Cathedral sustained more damage during the war.) 

 This is the rear view of the Majestas looking towards the West Door - and look, there's reflected heart on the arch, which is mighty pleasing and which I am taking to be A Sign.  

This is a view through a Norman arch of the Lady Chapel, from the other side of the High Altar.  

And this is the Lady Chapel's beautiful painted roof.

Llandaff can trace its line of bishops back to c500AD, which is most impressive.  This mediaeval memento mori is postively modern by comparison, but I find myself drawn also to the contemporary, particularly the bold way in which the Cathedral was restored in the 1950s following the bombing.

Here's one of my favourite post-war parts, the Welch Regiment Memorial Chapel.  I love the red lettering on the walls of places around the world where the regiment has been stationed ...

   ... but best of all are the copper panels set into the floor, which were engraved by my former brother-in-law. I like to think of them as the shining footprints of the dead ... except that sadly, only officers are commemorated thus.

Then it was time to walk into town along the banks of the River Taff.  The first part of this walk takes us through an old part of the cemetry, where the grass is allowed to grow tall in the summer.  It was almost like being under water in parts. 

Out here nature was in competition with all the artists who have work inside the Cathedral, and giving a good account of itself too. 

Talking of water, the Taff looked quite inviting for once, and we did see one or two local sirens bathing.  

As we were whiling away time until the auditions ended by slaking our thirst in a hostelry, we were treated to lusty renditions of some mining songs by a choir who were raising money for the Welsh National Mining Memorial, which will pay tribute to the legacy of coal mining and commemorate the 8000 people who died in Welsh mines and the many more who succumbed to mining-related illnesses.  The statue in a garden of remembrance is due to be unveiled on 14th October near the site of the former colliery at Senghenydd.  This date marks the 100th anniversary of the UK's worst ever mining disaster in which 440 men and boys died. 

Oh but it did my heart good to hear some socialist songs in these politically dark days, and for such an excellent cause also.  Money is still needed to pay for a national memorial pathway so if the spirit moves you, please call 02920 830444/5 or email senghen.heritage@btconnect.com to make a donation.  

Picturing Arcadia at the RWA

I've been a bit remiss because they've been on for a few weeks now, but the Royal West of England Academy in Bristol has a couple of interesting exhibitions on over the summer. 

First, there's Monumental by Sophie Ryder which runs until 8th September.  Some years ago now Ryder hit on the figure of a woman with the hare of a head to counterbalance the mythical figure of the Minotaur, and she has been fascinated by it ever since, as this exhibition shows.  I don't think I've ever seen the same theme explored in so many different media by one artist, from huge sculptures in wire, bronze, fibreglass to maquettes and needlepoint miniatures.   

My favourite exhibition, though, is Picturing Arcadia, which draws on the RWA's permanent collection and features work by John Piper, Duncan Grant, David Inshaw, George Tute, Arthur Homeshaw and many more Academicians. And it's lush, look, this is Piper's print of Hautbois Church, which makes my eyes feel like they are bathing in dreams:

And this is George Tute's strange wood engraving, Landscape with Balloons, which shares the enclosed, even claustrophobic feel of landscapes by Robin Tanner, but in a more modern and slightly threatening (rather than threatened) sort of way:

And I had to love this one - Scorhill by Arthur Homeshaw, whom I mentioned in yesterday's blog and who reminded me, patiently, that I hadn't blogged about the exhibition.  

Picturing Arcadia is only on until 25th August, so do get along there soon.  It costs £4 to get in, £4,50 if you gift aid your entry fee.    

To Wistman's Wood, Crow Tor and Devil's Tor

I've finally got around to transferring the photos of my Whitsun walk up the West Dart valley from my phone to my laptop.  This is one of my favourite spots in the world, so it must have been excitement that made me omit to check that my memory card was in my camera.

One of the things that makes Wistman's Wood so very special is that like the bumble bee, it is one of Nature's impossibilities.  At about 1,300 feet above sea level, it is simply too high for penunculate oaks to grow there.  So although you're sure you see it,  it doesn't really exist.

Amongst the stunted oaks clambering and crawling from moss-wrapped boulders are hollies, rowans and willows, all festooned in mosses and lichens, some of which are extremely rare.  And there are snakes.  Lots and lots of snakes.  

As befits a place that doesn't exist, plenty of legends nest in its branches.  In particular, Wistman's Wood ('wisht' being local for wierd or uncanny) is the lair of Old Dewer and his hounds, known elsewhere as the Wild Hunt.  You would be ill-advised to walk here at night.  

Luckily for us, the weather was fine, unlike a previous occasion when I walked this valley and was overtaken by the sort of mist for which Dartmoor is notorious.  But that's another story. 

There's a mischievous joy in showing a newbie favourite haunts knowing that with every step Dartmoor is extending its claws and hooking them in.  That said, Ted and I like to break new ground too, so instead of fording the West Dart at the weir and following the Devonport Leat back down to Two Bridges, we crossed it beneath  Crow Tor (which actually resembles a roosting chicken) and headed on up the valley.  

To ring the changes, here's a wintry lino print of Crow Tor by one of my favourite print makers, Arthur Homeshaw, a Bristolian who lived and worked for many years in Devon and oh if I had the money, I would collect the living daylights out of him.

Whatever the weather, you have to treat Dartmoor with respect.  It's an unremitting landscape ... 

... so it's vital, even in fine weather, to take a compass and map with you.  

From Crow Tor we continued north to Rough Tor where we paused for refreshments and a chat with a fellow walker who was making his way east to the ruins of Brown's House. 

We, on the other hand, were  headed west - over extremely tussocky terrain - for the unprepossessing Devil's Tor, on top of which perched a handsome raven, apparently oblivious to any symbolism we might have attributed to him.  He hung about for quite some time, floating overhead and cronking amiably. 

Close to Devil's Tor was our ultimate destination, Beardown Man, which looks out over the Cowsic valley.  Erected over 4000 years ago, it's the highest and almost-but-not-quite tallest standing stone on the moor.   ('Man' is related to the Celtic word 'maen' meaning stone, but the fact that there's a standing stone called Three Boys on Shovel Down makes me more inclined to think of them as a family.)

Here's an idea of how tall it is, and you can bet there'll be another six feet or so of stone beneath the moor.  

From Beardown Man, we made our way towards Beardown Tors which give the impression of being castellated and are very pleasing to behold. 

Past Beardown Tors there was a view looking back across Devonport Leat and the West Dart to Wistman's Wood.     

Then it was back to the car via the leat as it slid mysteriously, almost mechanically, through the dark conifers of Beardown Plantation.  Ah, wild and lovely Dartmoor, I'll be back soon. 

Leonard Cohen at the O2, 21st June 2013

The only thing better than a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see one's entire-life idol is a second once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  

I know because I was at the O2 eleven days ago for what I'm sure this time will be my last chance to see Leonard Cohen play live - as the man himself said, 'our tour is winding down and I don't know when we'll meet again'.

Highlights for me were the fabulous flamenco guitar solo at the beginning of 'Who By Fire' by Javier Mas ...

... and Sharon Robertson's rendition of the beautiful 'Alexandra Leaving', which she co-wrote with Cohen. 

And then there was the giant himself, who skipped and sang and played guitar and the funny keyboard bit in 'Tower of Song' ('You think this is all I can do, don't you?') and as that song points out 'you'll be hearing from me, baby, long after I'm gone. I'll be speaking to you sweetly from a window in the Tower of Song'.

'I taught him how to dress' said Leonard of his friend, the poet Irving Layton. 'He taught me how to live forever.'  

Here's hoping.