Category Archives: Grotesques

Splendid stained glass patchworks at Plas Newydd, Llangollen (#2)

Introduction

Plas Newydd with Castell Dinas Bran on the hill behind it

A few weeks ago I posted about Plas Newydd in Llangollen, a fabulous extravaganza of wood carvings, stained glass, decorative wall coverings and plaster ceilings.  This period of creativity and imagination spans 1780 to 1910.

Initially the collection and installation of this patchwork of decorative arts was initiated by two ladies, Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Sarah Ponsonby who had left their respective homes in Ireland and settled in the house between 1780 and 1831.  General John Yorke owned the house from 1876-1890 and ran the house as a visitor attraction, building on the creativity of the ladies to ensure that the spirit of the house was not only maintained but elaborated.  As well as converting the kitchen in the cottage to the “Oak Room” he also added a new wing in much the same spirit, (and in which a new kitchen was located). Subsequently the cotton broker George Hunter Robertson and his brother (who owned the house from 1890-1910) also maintained the house and added their own extension.  Both new extensions were demolished in the 1960s due to dry rot. Today Plas Newydd is very well maintained by Denbighshire County Council.

This post, part 2, is dedicated exclusively to the stained glass at Plas Newydd.  You can read about the remarkable cottage and its equally remarkable owners, together with visiting details, on my previous post here (part 1).  In part 3, I have looked at the the “delftware” tiles, the leather wall hangings, the Lincrusta wallpaper and the plasterwork ceilings, which you can find here.  


The stained glass at Plas Newydd

Stained glass windows are an inspiring, beautiful and rewarding form of art.  Their kaleidoscope colours form vibrant designs which sparkle in the sun and embellish the interior with a bewitching light [Trevor Yorke 2022, p.5)

The stained glass in the attic, formerly Mary Carryll’s room

The stained glass at Plas Newydd is a bright and brilliant patchwork of colours and shapes, a mass of fascinating detail.  The emphasis is not on attempting to recreate an authentic sense of a former era, but on using combinations of usually unrelated colour and texture to create new artworks that are light-filled, colourful and charming.

The stained glass was first collected by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby in the late 1700s, and their collection consisted of fragments of glass from various periods, from both secular and religious buildings, all assembled in leaded panels, set within window openings.  The glass is a riot of fabulously luminous colour and texture and is also a colossal mixture of rich  detail.  The use of traditional lead channels that hold the glass pieces (called “lead-cames”), together with the placement of the pieces in Gothic-style windows, connect them to the idea of a gothic past, but it is not anything that medieval observers would recognize or understand.  Some of the pieces are obviously upside down or lying sideways, and different periods of glass are combined in the same lights.  Every room in which it is used brings bright colour, humour and interest to the space.

A page focusing on Plas Newydd from Mostyn Lewis’s 1970 survey of stained glass in North Wales

So far it has been impossible to determine a source for the stained glass, other than unconfirmed but plausible suggestions that the oldest fragments may have come from the nearby Valle Crucis Cistercian abbey.  A 1970 survey of the stained glass at Plas Newydd by Mostyn Lewis attempted to date the most significant fragments as part of his survey of stained glass in North Wales, described below.  A lot of the glass was found to date to the 17th century, but the entire collection spans the late 15th to the 20th centuries.  All the dates quoted below are supplied by Mostyn Lewis’s book.  I have not found any more recent assessment.

All the photographs of the stained glass in this post are my own.  I was unable to see all of it due to curtains hanging across some window openings, and because there are rooms that are not accessible, particularly the dressing room on the other side of the main bedroom (which used to be open to the public as a small visitor centre but is currently under refurbishment), so there are gaps.  Where I have been unable to match Lewis’s descriptions against the visible glass, I have excluded his observations, except where he describes glass that is now actually missing due to breakage.

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Dating the stained glass

How stained glass is dated

Rose ensoleillée, c.1500. Library

In spite of the apparent chaos of the Plas Newydd fragments, there are clues about the dating.  Although the lancet-shaped windows make it clear that the original idea was to loosely emulate the Gothic, most of the glass is post-medieval. Mostyn Lewis dates the earliest glass to around 1460 (the saint’s head with yellow halo below in the library back wall, right window, shown below) and 1470 (the rose ensoleillée in the library, central window, right), but most of the glass is later and there are fragments dating from the 20th century (the latter including the faux heraldry in the main bedroom and second bedroom, shown left).

Lewis’s dating scheme is based on his identification of different manufacturing methods and painting techniques used over the course of the history of stained glass from the medieval period to the 19th century.  There are also some clues in the subject matter itself.  Heraldry, for example, was only added relatively late to the portfolio of designs.  To understand how Lewis came to his conclusions it is worth having a very quick look at the relevant parts of the history of stained glass.

Coloured glass, conventionally referred to in Britain as stained glass, includes a variety of techniques, with new methods added over time.  Changes to this basic formula provide a terminus post quem  (an earliest possible date) for types of glass as new innovations began to offer more opportunities for stained glass artists and artisans to explore new styles and approaches.

Saint’s head with a silver-oxide halo across two panes from c.1500 (right window, library). The fragment of halo above belongs to a different image. Also heavily eroded fragments, showing details of a canopy with pinnacles and finials, all said to have come from Valle Crucis c.1460.

Glass is made from silica sand combined with a flux (a substance that lowers the melting point of silica) and a stabilizer to produce a material that is durable. During the Middle Ages different metal oxides were incorporated into the fabric of the glass itself.  Copper oxide was used to create reds, gold was used to create deep ruby reads, cobalt oxide produced blues, cobalt and manganese oxide produced  purples, and iron oxides provided greens and yellows.  Impurities in those metal oxides lead to variation in those colours.  This is known as pot-metal glass.  Pot-metal glass was not made in Britain throughout medieval, Tudor and Stuart periods, and was imported from French and Flemish regions.

Whilst hot, molten glass can be manipulated and shaped by tools and a glass blowing iron.  There are two main methods of blowing glass into a sheet by gathering molten glass on the end of a blowing iron. The ‘crown’ method involves turning the blowing iron while blowing. The centrifugal force produces a spun disc, thickest in the centre where the blowing iron is joined. Whilst still hot the crown is cut away from the blowing iron and left to cool. Using the ‘cylinder’ technique the molten glass is blown into a balloon-like shape. During the annealing process the ends are cut off and the muff, as it is known, is scored down the middle and then re-heated to form a large flattened sheet. [Ely Museum p.5]

Glass could then be painted with a dark oxide to show details such as facial features and folds in fabric before being re-fired to again fix the colour.  Each panel of coloured glass in a design was separated by lines of lead with an H-shaped profile that provided the slots into which the glass was inserted (called “lead-cames“), after which the lead was soldered to form a matrix.  To waterproof the panes, a black putty was inserted into gaps between the glass and the lead.

To keep matters simple I have based the following quick overview of some of the landmarks in stained glass production on Roger Rosewell’s history of the subject in his 2012 book Stained Glass (see Sources), focusing on what can be seen at Plas Newydd.

Upside down duck showing a useful example of the silver oxide stain, from yellow to deep orange, indicating multiple applications of silver stain and multiple firings. Dining room.

Gothic stained glass, familiar from the most elaborate cathedral to the most modest parish church was originally inspired by the abbey church of St Denis near Paris, dating to the 1140s, with its lancet windows filled with coloured glass. In England this found early expression in Canterbury Cathedral (1170) and York Minster (1180-90).   As windows increased in size and complexity to meet the demands of medieval ambition, increasing volumes of stained glass more glass were required to fill the openings.  This reached an apotheosis with Sainte Chapelle in Paris in the mid 13th century with its glorious soaring lancet windows that captured sunlight, converting it into multiple rainbows of colour.  As window openings became more complex, stained glass artists were asked to fit glass within often intricate stone tracery shapes such as trefoils and cinquefoils.

Against this trend towards luxuriant richness of colour and content, a form of glass called grisaille was introduced into abbey churches of the Cistercian monastic order from the early 13th century.  “Plain glass was seen as symbolizing the truth and purity of God, and less likely to distract monks form their prayers,” producing “a silvery light conducive to prayer and contemplation” (Rosewell 2012, p.17).  This began to appear in other churches too, allowing in more light and framing other designs.

A major innovation was introduced in the early 14th century with the use of a silver salt solution that was found to produce a stain which, when heated, would produced colours between yellow and deep orange.  This had a profound influence on stained glass production, introducing unprecedented flexibility into the design process.  It was adopted on the continent and found its way into England by the 1320s.  Instead of each colour being separated by lead, a larger white panel could be painted with the silver oxide, sulphide or chloride stain before being fired to create larger, more complex images.  A nice example from Plas Newydd is the saint’s head with halo, above right.  Multiple coatings of the silver oxide resulted in darker colours, from dark yellow to orange.  You can see the effect of this on the upside-down duck, above right.  Eventually the silver was applied to blue glass to create green.  These innovations also meant that heraldry, which began to be popular in churches in the 13th century, and background patterns became much easier to produce over the coming centuries.

The gold stars on red backgrounds are two of three fragments in the library demonstrating abraded red flash, a technique innovated in the 14th century, dated by Lewis to c.1500.

Another innovation of the 14th century is what is referred to as “flashing and abrading,” in which white glass was coated (flashed) with a thin layer of pot-metal coloured glass on one side, before being fired to fuse the two together.  This was more translucent than pot-metal glass, allowing more light to pass through and allowing  gradations of colour and shading, particularly helpful with the deep and somewhat impenetrable red of pot-metal glass.  Byetching it (abrading)  it was possible to achieve rich patterns in the colouring.   There is an example of this technique at Plas Newydd using the same technique shown above on the red background with gold stars.  Grisaille now began to be replaced by small clear glass diamond-shaped “quarries” that featured naturalistic images including flowers, leaves, insects and birds, and their use extended into the 15th to 17th centuries.  For the first time, inscriptions in stained glass are in English as well as Latin.

As stained glass became an essential feature of architecture, and influence from illuminated manuscripts began to make an impression in the late 14th to early 16th century, new approaches to images were explored.  Nature was represented in more realistic ways so that leaf and flower types were recognizable, faces were also painted with more realism.  Canopy images, which had begun to appear in the late 12th century became increasingly elaborate in the 13th and 14th centuries.

This detail of the main dining room window shows a cleric with a mitre, with the curtailed text beneath and, on blue, a fragment of the IHS monogram.  All are dated by Mostyn Lewis to the end of the 15th century/beginning of the 16th century.   At far right, top, a “rose ensoleilée” (a rose contained within sun rays) is dated to around 1470.

In the later 15th century, stained glass now extended into the homes of the newly wealthy middle classes. In churches, images of canopies in stained glass, bits of which can be seen at Plas Newydd, were often “spectacular confections” with “carved bases and capitals  elaborate side shafts, traceried windows, battlements, flying buttresses, turrets and pinacles” (Rosewell, p.24).  Lead dividers were considered more intrusive than helpful, and their presence was minimized where possible.  Brushwork became more important, with the use of shading and improvements in draughtsmanship with the further development of realistic rather than stylized depictions of human anatomy and nature, and the addition of more patterning, although canopy images were retained.  Architecture and landscapes began to appear, including the use of perspective to suggest more realistic depth of field.  Quarries, the small diamond-shaped windows pieces mentioned above, were now stained with the emblems of flowers, birds, leaves, insects and heraldic themes. The oldest piece of stained glass at Plas Newydd as identified by Mostyn Lewis is the “rose ensoleilée,” which he dates to 1470, and is shown at top right of the image.

Small pane in the library, showing a man and woman in period costume with a lamb on a gold oval between their heads, done in a painterly style. Dated by Lewis to the late 16th-early 17th century. Library, central window.

Between 1500 and 1540 the Renaissance began to influence British stained glass via Burgundian and Flemish artists, with painterly approaches and the introduction of receding perspectives in both landscape and architectural scenes.  A good example of the use of perspective at Plas Newydd is in the Exhumation scene in the Dining Room (see below). 

The first half of the 16th century was a turbulent century for stained glass in Britain, with Henry VIII ordering images of St Thomas Becket to be destroyed in painting, sculpture and glass.  The Dissolution, beginning in 1535, and the subsequent Reformation were responsible for even more destruction; A lot of stained glass was lost after Henry VIII suppressed British monasteries, granting them to his favourite followers, and many of these new private owners demolished church buildings in order to build new country houses.  Under Henry VIII’s son Edward VI (reigned 1547-1553) the proscription against idolatry and relics, particularly the royal Injunction of 1547, resulted in more targeted destruction. Because of the expense of replacement, this practice largely ceased under Elizabeth I (reigned 1558-1603), but very little new glass was being produced.  

From the mid-16th century into the mid 1600s an important innovation in Europe was the development of translucent enamel paints formed of powdered ground glass mixed with a medium that was painted on to glass and fired to fuse them, just as though the glass was canvas, making lead unnecessary.  It was incredibly versatile, encouraging a more painterly approach that departed from traditional stained glass styles and making heraldry on glass far easier to produce.  As its introduction coincided with Louis XIII’s invasion of Lorraine in 1636 and the destruction of the glass works, meaning that French pot-metal was no longer available, enamel paints became the only affordable solution to coloured glass.  

In the mid 17th century Britain was plunged into Civil War and between 1649 and 1660 became a commonwealth before the restoration of the monarchy under Charles II.  During the subsequent Civil War, stained glass was again targeted.  This was followed by a period of considerable change in church architecture with a different paradigm introduced in the late 1600s and throughout the 18th century,  when light and airy interiors began to be preferred and stained glass was no longer a dominant element.  There was no stained glass, for example, in St Paul’s Cathedral.  The parallel fashion for heraldry helped to sustain the stained glass industry as heraldry became a medium for expressing social status and ancestral values.  The majority of the heraldic glass in Plas Newydd belongs to the 17th century.

Detail of one of the attic windows, all dated to the 19th century

The Gothic Revival of the 19th century was accompanied by the Pre-Raphaelite, Arts and Crafts movement and Art Nouveau, all of which influenced the style of imagery in stained glass in both ecclesiastical and secular contexts.  Romantic and sentimental depictions of faces and nature were common, and there was a renewed interest in Gothic shapes and images, although these tended to have a distinctly Victorian twist.  Whilst original medieval techniques were revived for some glass, including pot-metal glass, there was also a production line approach to the manufacture of a lot of stained glass that undermined the overall quality and originality of glass.  William Morris and some of his Arts and Crafts circle emphasized the importance of a personal end-to-end approach, as well as medieval methodologies.  In addition to being installed in churches in vast numbers, stained glass continued to be used in domestic, civic and corporate buildings.  All of the glass in the attic in Plas Newydd is judged by Lewis to date to the 19th century, although it is also possible that some of the yellow-stained pieces were earlier.

 

Dating the Plas Newydd stained glass

In this panel the robin and fly, the face with leaves, and the bowl of vegetables and fruit, with a very delicate butterfly to their right, are all thought by Lewis to be Dutch and dated to the early 17th century.

The survey of the glass by Mostyn Lewis in his 1970 book on stained glass in North Wales notes different stained glass manufacturing techniques identifiable in the fragments.  He found that a lot of the stained glass at Plas Newydd, like most of the wood carving, dates to the 17th century, even though the area was particularly rich in 15th and early 16th century glass. Perhaps this supports the idea that most of the glass was obtained from dealers who were much further afield, rather than on a piecemeal and ad hoc basis from local sources.  There are also pieces from around 1500, some from later in the 16th century, and some which may be from the 18th century, as well as some that Mostyn Lewis says may be from the early 20th century.

Lewis also notes that although there are British examples of stained glass, much of the glass was Dutch or Flemish in origin.  For example, Lewis believes that the “beautifully-painted fragments of birds and flowers” in the library at Plas Newydd are probably Dutch because they closely resemble examples in paintings.  As well as the fragments, the few complete panels are probably also Dutch or Flemish. The multiple lights that make up the single conception in the dining room (which Lewis refers to as the “Anteroom”) was signed F. Struis, and is dated by Lewis to around 1870,

Themes

Fragment of a scene showing either an exhumation or a burial, dated by Mostyn to the 17th century. Dining room.

There are suggestions from the subject matter about the type of buildings from which the stained glass may have derived. The fragments unsurprisingly contain a lot of religious themes, presumably having come from churches, and there are suggestions, unconfirmed, that some of it was taken from Valle Crucis.  The bearded man with a halo further up the page (library, far right window), in greys and yellows, and the beardless man on an orange background, with a halo and mitre (library, top centre), may have been sourced from church contexts.  It seems probable, as well, that the monochrome scene that Lewis suggests shows the exhumation of a bearded man (although I am not sure why it cannot equally be seen to show a burial) in the dining room, the Flagellation of Christ scene in the main bedroom, and the figure of Mary Magdalene with yellow hair and a blue dress in the Oak Room (on the left as you walk in) were similarly sourced from religious buildings.  There are many similar fragments dotted throughout the house from different periods, including at least two fragments showing the IHS Christogram, and various parts of Gothic-style canopy.

Mary Magdalene holding Christ’s feet at the base of the crucifix. Oak Room

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Instantly recognizable in this mixture of fragments are the three wheat sheaves against a blue background, a feature of the coat of arms of of Chester and Cheshire. Upside-down blue peacock feathers are a delicate and lovely feature.

Although stained glass is most often thought of as being associated mainly with church architecture, during the Tudor period it became commonly employed in civic and domestic contexts where it often took the form of heraldry, where it could be employed to capture and validate family history and ancestry, help to establish new institutional identities, or reinforce the historical legitimacy of older ones, such as guilds or local government institutions.  For example, in the library Lewis says that the heraldry mainly represents descendants of Llywelyn Aurdorchog in northeast Wales including Eyton, Evans of Oswestry and Wattsay (now Wynnstay), Bromfield and, probably, Lloyd of Llangollen Fechan. A nice piece in the main library window shows the three golden wheat sheaves of Chester and Cheshire on a deep blue background.  Some of the heraldry is thought to be fake, such as in the bedrooms.

Other themes focus on the natural world, and could have come from either religious or secular contexts, some of which are very fine, like the spider’s web and plant with fruit shown and a butterfly just below;  the robin with a fly above it next to an ornamentation featuring root vegetables, also shown just below; the peacock feathers shown immediately above, and the upside-down duck in the dining room shown further up the page.  These, however, could have come equally from ecclesiastical, civic, commercial or domestic contexts.

 

 

Collecting the stained glass

Main window in the library, separated into shapes that emulate lancet window arches. An orange ecclesiastical figure tops the composition, and the central panel is flanked by heraldic shields

Lady Eleanor, who kept journals, some of which survive, and Sarah Ponsonby, some of whose letters are also preserved, failed to write down why they suddenly began collecting carvings and glass, but in the case of the stained glass it is quite likely that they were impressed by the examples at Brynkinalt near Chirk, where they were occasional visitors, and which is also described by Mostyn Lewis in his book on stained glass in North Wales.  The Plas Newydd glass is also mentioned in various contemporary letters and travelogues.  The earliest reference that I have found to date is a year after they moved in, in November 1781:

John Jones’ servant came this morning from Oswestry with a casement window of painted Glass, the arms of Trevor, Owen, and Godolphin family with their different quarterings, a present from Mr Owen of Porkington.

On January 8th 1790 Lady Eleanor’s journal states that they were looking at prices of stained glass from Mr Eginton in Birmingham:

Prices of stained glass – Blue, Green, Purple 5/6 per lb – Yellow 7/6 – Orange 11/7 – Deep red 13/6 – made by Eginton at Soho (Square) Birmingham  – One pound generally measures about a foot square – best mode of purchasing it would be to cut Patterns of Paste board to fit the Frames and write on Each pattern the Colour wanted.

Millar, James; Francis Eginton (1736/1737-1805); Birmingham Museums Trust; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/francis-eginton-173617371805-34319

This almost certainly referred to the what their friend the poet Anna Seward reffered to as the “prismatic lantern” that was installed as an arch between the dining room and the library,  Mr Eginton may also have been a supplier of salvaged glass, but even if this was not part of his remit he may well have been able to put the ladies in touch with someone who could supply them.

The journal for May 1790 adds a note to suggest that at least some of their stained glass was the result of gifts from visitors:

Mr and Mrs Garden brought a present of stained glass. They have resided at Orleans these four years

Another reference dates to 1792, when a visitor, Katherine Plymley, noted that in the library there was “a compass window with a great deal of painted glass,” which could refer to any of the oriel (or bay) windows fitted with stained glass.

It was in 1794 that the ladies wrote a letter to Mr Eginton of Birmingham regarding the manufacture of what their friend Anna Seward referred to as their “prismatic lantern.”  It seems certain from the above that the ladies had started collecting stained glass in the last decade of the 18th century. [All the above references are quoted on the Early Tourists in Wales website].

Chapter House window openings at Valle Crucis. Source: Hughes, January 1895

There is no indication in the journals or letters about the original sources from which the glass derived.  There are unconfirmed suggestions that some of the medieval glass came from the nearby ruined medieval Cistercian abbey of Valle Crucis, and from which the ladies are said to have liberated both a statue and a font from rubble within the abbey precinct.  The Cistercian monastic order, which in the 12th century had prohibited stained glass, had relaxed its rules by the mid 14th century, particularly impacted by the Black Death, so the abbey, which had a bookroom elaborate door flanked by ornamental window openings in the late 14th century also, in the early 1500s, now included an elaborate abbot’s hall and chapter house.  There are also records of lavish entertaining too. As Greene puts it “Valle Crucis had become unrecognisable as a Cistercian abbey in comparison with its early thirteenth century beginnings” (p,108). At the same time, in this process of relaxed values, new stained glass could have been added.  At the end of the 19th century painted glass was reported in Archaeologia Cambrensis in July 1894 and then again in October 1894, uncovered during archaeological excavations. It was only found in small amounts, but it does indicate that it was once there to be found:

The late 14th century book room, attached to the Chapter House, at Valle Crucis near Llangollen. No in-situ glass survives at the site.

July 1894:
Under the roots of an old sycamore-tree, close to_the buttress, he also came upon a quantity of old glass of different periods (some very early, and some of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries), which has since all been set in a small frame, and is now in the Museum attached to the Abbey.

October 1894:
Of painted glass several fragments have been discovered by the Rev. H. T. Owen, the present custodian. Many of these are so far decayed that it is impossible to make out even their pattern, but some perfect pieces have been found. Those in the best state of preservation were discovered immediately outside the north aisle-windows. Amongst these fragments are the representation of a foot, several fleurs-de-lys, and many pieces of single coloured glass, for the most part blue. The remainder of the glass found was in the ground outside the eastern windows of the presbytery. All this glass, however, is much decayed. Some fragments of glass were found in their old leading. All the specimens  seem to belong to rather a late period; and probably, when first erected, the windows were glazed with white glass, and it was not till the Cistercians began to set the old regulations at defiance that the painted glass was introduced.

I have worked my way through all the excavation reports of the 19th century, including one from 1846, as well as the 1970 excavations by L.A.S Butler (all listed in Sources), but none of them found anything but rare fragments of glass.  All of these reports of course post-date the ladies, although they coincide with the occupations of the house by Mr Robertson (1890-1910), but indicate both that coloured glass was found, and that it was only found in small quantities.  This neither rules in nor rules out that the any of the owners of Plas Newydd acquired their medieval glass from Valle Crucis prior to the excavations, and still leaves the possibility open.

Strawberry Hill House. Source: Wikipedia

Whatever odds and ends may have come from Valle Crucis, most of the glass was much later in date, and much of the glass was probably sourced from at least one dealer rather than relying exclusively on local availability.  Collecting old fragments of wood, glass, stone and plasterwork was not as unusual as it might initially seem.  Even in the 17th century it was not at all unusual to keep costs down during the building of a new house, or during the updating of an older house, to import salvaged components. The French Revolution of 1789 and the disruption it caused in western Germany and the Low Countries, included the pillaging of monasteries and churches, created a supply that met the growing antiquarian demand for old glass, carvings, sculpture, and furniture.  Salvage became a lucrative trade in the 18th and 19th centuries, either when a building’s interior was remodelled, when a home or church was demolished, or when an impecunious owner sold glass and other decorative arts to raise funds. A new brand of middlemen developed in England to meet the demand, importing looted decorative arts in bulk and making it available to the new brand of wealthy collector.  In the mid-18th century Hugh Walpole, son of Britain’s first Prime Minister, created a vast and elaborate extravaganza with Strawberry Hill House, including a patchwork of stained glass from both England and abroad.

Modern glass was also available to purchase, and some of the Plan Newydd glass was contemporary with either the ladies or later owners.  It has already been noted above that Eleanor’s journal records prices of stained glass from Francis Eginton.  A letter to Mr Eginton regarding the cutting of the glass for the prismatic arch (from the dining room into the library) is quoted further below, but is a clear indication that the ladies were not confined to local sources for either stained glass or specialist work that they required.  The same letter states that Mr Eginton should forward the completed assignment to Shrewsbury where “they may prepare the joiners for putting up the work accordingly,” which again confirms that they were able to use dealers and craftsmen much further afield than their immediate area.

Detail of the panel of Charles V and the Chevalier de Bayard in the dining room (the full panel is shown further down the page).

The fragments identified as post-1831 (the date of Sarah Ponsonby’s death) were clearly installed by later tenants.  For example, there is a piece of glass in the attic that is clearly Pre-Raphaelite in inspiration, placing them in the mid- to late-1800s, again after the deaths of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby.  All of the glass in attic room, formerly Mary Carryll’s room (d.1809), was dated collectively by Lewis to the 19th century but the Pre-Raphaelite style head suggests that these windows may have been installed from the mid-1900s, the Pre-Raphaelites having assembled in 1848 (although active as individuals prior to this date).  It would anyway have been unusual for a bedroom actually in use to have blocked off a good view with uninterrupted stained glass.  It seems at least possible that the attic glass was installed after the deaths of both ladies when the room was no longer used as a maid’s bedroom.  Two other examples are the elaborate window showing Charles V and the Chevalier de Bayard and the roundel showing the Adoration of the Shepherds, both dated by Lewis to 1870.  This suggests that they were installed either by General Yorke or Mr Roberts.  Pieces assigned by Lewis to the 20th century would, if correct, date their installation to the period when the house was occupied by Mr Roberts or a later resident.  This includes the faux heraldry in the two bedrooms.

 

Complete pieces

As well as fragments assembled into patchworks, there are a small number of windows that were installed intact, of which the one below is a particularly good example.  Showing Charles V of Sweden and the Chevalier de Bayard, it is surrounded by Classical style “grotesques,” fantastical images that show mythological beasts and figures that are part-human and part-plant with wings. It was signed F. Struis Antwerp and was dated by Mostyn Lewis to around 1870 (but apparently based on an earlier style).   Charles V inherited a peaceful kingdom and proceeded, as Holy Roman Emperor from 1500-1558  to define his rule by engaging in warfare.  The Chevalier de Bayard was a renowned French late medieval military leader.  Other than being notable warriors, the two were unconnected.  The window has been repaired in at least one place, possibly two.  Most obviously, the legend under the image of Charles V is incomplete, and the panel replacing the gap is obviously a sympathetic repair; in a similar style the colours of the foliage in the paintwork on the heraldic shield at top right seems inconsistent with the other images on the panel.

Roundel showing the Adoration of the Shepherds, c.1870.

In the second bedroom, known by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby as the State Bedroom, there is a very nice roundel showing the Adoration of the Shepherds, which Lewis dates to c.1870.   The use of the lead divides the scene sympathetically, outlining rather than interrupting the main subjects, and it is well painted with realistic facial details.  The face of the Virgin Mary has some Pre-Raphaelite romance in its design, but is delicate, not drifting into some of the excess romanticism of the period.  It retains a sense of the quiet dignity and intimacy of the imagined moment.  The limited use of rich colours provides interest and directs attention towards the primary participants in the scene, without dominating.

 

Fragments

The Oak Room

There are two window openings in the Oak Room.  The first, on the left as you enter the room, consists of two sections divided into two lancets (gothic-style points) and at the end of the room in a niche, a smaller window has been arranged a single lancet.   The stained glass is confined to the window corners, providing interest and colour whilst still allowing light into an otherwise very dark room.

The most prominent pane in this set is the yellow-haird and bearded man with orange cloak and staff, but it is not known who he represented. On the left of the image are a pair of scissors tied with a bow and what Lewis describes as “a fat Magdalene” with yellow hair and a blue dress, holding Christ’s feet. Lewis dates these to the 17th or 18th century and suggests that they are “Continental.”

 

This is a more mixed set with at least two faces and some indistinct pieces, which Lewis again dates to Lewis dates to the 17th or 18th century , “Continental.”

 

The niche in the Oak Room consists mainly of fragments of yellows and oranges on white.  Lewis does not mention this in his book

 

The Dining room

With its leather wall-coverings and glass cabinet, and its simple fire surround, no overmantel, but decorated with delftware tiles, the dining room is a very attractive space that feels quintessentially Victorian.  Most of this is due to General Yorke who, when he bought the house in 1876, not only replaced the kitchen with the Oak Room, but remodelled much of the dining room, adding Lincrusta wallpaper and plan dark oak panneling beneath, and probably the stained glass panels showing Charles V and the Chevalier de Bayard (shown above).  Most of the colour in the room derives from the lovely corner panels filled with fragments of stone glass which, like the Oak Room, were installed by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby and define the appearance of the lancet-shaped window tops.

Plas Newydd dining room, set up with loose-leaf folders and laminated pages in English and Welsh for visitors to read

The two windows overlooking the formal garden at the front, installed by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby, are rectangular windows that have been divided into lancet shapes, each with two corners containing stained glass fragments, just like the Oak Room.

Dining room glass

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Lewis does not comment much on the left window, saying simply “Continental, yellow stain, coloured enamels,; some British, c.1500.”  He offers more information on the right window:
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Right window, top left corner:

The dominant image in the top left corner appears to show the exhumation of a bearded man. The man overseeing the process may have been a monk. Two women are shown at left. Lewis believes that it dates to the 17th Century

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Right window, top right corner:

The main fragment in this corner is on its side, showing a finely painted circumcision scene with a baby on a red cushion, a bearded man with headdress and tasselled cloak, and another with a white collar. A third, with a head covering, holds a knife. Red stain and coloured enamels were used.

From the Dining Room into the Library: Prismatic arch

Dining room side of the prismatic arch

One of the features most celebrated by visitors to Plas Newydd during the tenure of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby was the richly coloured illuminated door arch, a wooden arch-shaped container formed at the top of a door leading from the dining room into the library.  On either side of this arch, and underneath it, is stained glass, within which lamps were lit to bring out the luminosity of the glass.  It was a wonderfully innovative feature, that was mentioned by visitors to the house in their journals, letters and travelogues.  Even better, the Early Tourists in Wales website quotes a letter sent by the ladies to a Mr Egington of Birmingham who made it for them:

1794, 14 March
Letter from The Ladies, Llangollen Vale. 14th March, 1794 to Mr Eginton.
Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby are under a necessity of troubling Mr Eginton in regard to a door light of stained glass which Mr Eginton is making for them, according to  a design and directions forwarded to him the 2nd February by Mr Tudor [upholsterer?] of Shrewsbury, and which they shall esteem as a particular favour Mr Eginton completing without loss of time, as a longer delay than the middle of next week will be of the most serious inconvenience to them.  They further request he will inform them by a line, addressed, within, to Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, Llangollen, near Oswestry, what day it leaves Birmingham and may be expected at Shrewsbury that they may prepare the joiners for putting up the work accordingly.  Mr Eginton’s speedy attention to this request, will much oblige the Ladies”.
Provenance: From the 19th century album of Emma Marshall of Penworham Lodge, Preston. Emma was the daughter of William Marshall, landowner and cotton manufacturer and was related by marriage to the Miller family of Baronets, M.P.s and landowners.
http://www.owenandbarlow.com/pd-the-ladies-of-llangollen-autograph-letter.cfm
[Source: Early Tourists in Wales]

Underside of the prismatic lantern

In 1795 poet Anna Seward (the so-called “Swan of Lichfield” wrote a letter in which she described the archway, giving it the name “prismatic lantern:

The ingenious friends have invented a kind of prismatic lantern, which occupies the whole elliptic arch of the Gothic door. This lantern is of cut glass, variously coloured, enclosing two lamps with their reflectors. The light it imparts resembles that of a volcano, sanguine and solemn. It is assisted by two glow-worm lamps, that, in little marble reservoirs, stand on the opposite chimney-piece, and these supply the place of the here always chastized day-light, when the dusk of evening sables, or when night wholly involves the thrice-lovely solitude.

In 1796 Seward followed up her appreciation of the arch, amongst other features in a 29-stanza poem called Langollen Vale, the style of which is romantic, sentimental, and somewhat florid.  It contains the following stanza describing the impact of the arch:

How sweet to enter, at the twilight grey,
The dear, minute Lyceum of the dome,
When, thro’ the colour’d crystal, glares the ray,
Sanguine and solemn ‘mid the gathering gloom,
While glow-worm lamps diffuse a pale, green light,
Such as in mossy lanes illume the starless night.

[posted on the Early Tourists in Wales website]

 

Library side of the prismatic arch


The Library

Back window

The library extends outwards into the rear garden, giving the room a more substantial and refined air than the other, smaller rooms in the house.  Although partly concealed behind curtains, this is the biggest single display of stained glass fragments in the house.  It is difficult to see details clearly without a zoom lens or binoculars, but it certainly rewards some contemplation, with multi-period and multi-themed pieces all fitted into a bewilderingly attractive ensemble.

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Plas Newydd library

 

 

A charming detail of the main library window showing “Morning,” presumably one of a series. Lewis provides no further details.  I have tried searching for the poem online without success.  If anyone has any information about it please let me know.

Fayre Nymphe whose chast and fragrante beautyes runne
A course yt honours and prevents the sune
Tis thou yt breaking through ye lightened ayre
Comst first ahead and shakst day from the hayre
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Two sets of four heraldic devices in the library, with another isolated example above the lower set.  The lovely wild boar at top left probably dates to the early 18th century.

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Detail of the library window with mixed fragments including, at bottom right, two portrait-style images.  The black wyvern with a kinked tail and a crown around its neck, standing on a red pillow, is very nearly identical to one at Brynkinalt in a window with a number of heraldic and other pieces at the head of the stairs in the Great Hall.

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Detail of the Library window with a winged animal, a headless ostrich on an orange background, a red-headed green parrot eating a cherry, a yellow star on a red background (abraded flashed glass) and what looks like an artichoke (symbol of prosperity, hope, love and fertility), as well as a heraldic shield that is one of a set of four.

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First landing

A pretty roundel of rich glass is at the top of the stairs, forming the pattern of a flower in red, green and black.  The glass rest of the glass is transparent, letting in light over the staircase and the surrounding carvings, and offering views over the rear garden.

At the top of the staircase

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The main bedroom

Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby shared the main bedroom, an arrangement by no means unusual in the Georgian period.  They used the adjoining dressing room and the bedroom itself in the evenings to update their accounts, write journals and letters.   The windows mix transparent glass and stained sections, providing both colour and light.  The heraldry in the windows is, according to Mostyn, modern and probably invented for decorative purposes.  Pieces of the light green glass surrounding some of the heraldry is textured in a style that was not introduced until the 20th century.  There are however older fragments in the top panels, probably Flemish dating to the 17th century.  

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Lower half of a female figure, probably 17th century Flemish

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A detail of the window showing a fragments of the Flagellation, with Christ tied to a pillar being beaten, with architectural details in the background. Probably 17th century Flemish

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Modern heraldic glass in the main bedroom (left)

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Lion rampant heraldic shield

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The second bedroom (the state bedroom)

This is very like the main bedroom in both design and the fragments chosen for their brightness and colour, and also includes heraldry framed in fragments, which Lewis places in the 20th century.

The second bedroom

 

Stained glass in the second bedroom with faux 20th century heraldry

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Stained glass in the second bedroom

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Stained glass in the second bedroom with faux early 20th century heraldry

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The first floor landing leading to the attic

As in other part of the house, three rectangular windows have been given a gothic appearance by the addition of lancet-shaped frames.  In the corners made are floral and leaf shapes using pot-metal glass that provides a particular richness to the windows..   Inserted into two of the windows are identical botanical motifs, each surrounded by other fragments, all framed. The right hand frame has rounded corners at the base to look a little like a heraldic design.Lewis gives a probably date to the mid-19th century.

First floor landing

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The Attic (Mary Carryll’s Bedroom)

All of the stained glass in the attic has been dated by Mostyn Lewis to the 19th century, although some of it might feasibly be earlier.  This would have blocked the view over what in the days of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby was a field but is now the formal yew tree garden.

 

 

The Dressing Room (State Room) and the rest of the attic

The dressing room has been closed all season to date, so I have not been able to look at and photograph the stained glass.  Hopefully I will be able to do this at some point in the future, as the room is currently being refurbished.  As well as Mary Carryll’s room here are other rooms at the very top of the house, the attic level, that are not open to the public so I have not been able to include those.
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Lost glass

When talking about the glass in the dining room, Lewis comments “Much of the early window glass has now disappeared, but there are fragments dating from c.1500.”  He does not elaborate on this, but it does imply that there was glass in at least one room that has been replaced, although it is not stated when these replacements might have been made or why a replacement would have been required.

Above the front door was a roundel, now clear glass, which once held a mermaid, which sounds charming, and which he dated to the 17th century, but was already damaged when Lewis was writing in 1970 and has now apparently been removed, or has been lost:

Mermaid, orange hair, yellow tail, holds mirror on which their are arms (unidentified)

In the library Lewis describes a piece of glass that has been lost, which is such a shame as it sounds like a classic:

Until recently, delightfully vulgar fragment of a man with trousers down, telling off two others, one sitting on basket (all that remains), probably Flemish early C.XVII; now destroyed, whether by stone of naughty child or by umbrella of prude, I do not know. (p.121)

Fascinatingly, in 1818 G.H. Steele wrote in his travelogue A Three Weeks Tour into Lancashire, Cheshire and North Wales, that there was “a beautiful greenhouse the front of which consists of beautiful stained glass.”  It was also mentioned in the auction catalogue that followed Sarah’s death.  I would have given much to have seen it!

Finally, it is not known exactly what either of the wings added by General Yorke and Mr Robertson looked like, but this postcard shows a room, which although it looks very like the library in some ways, does not look like the stained glass ass it is today.  General Yorke ran the house as a museum, so the postcard may have dated to this time.

At first glance I thought that this was the library at Plas Newydd, but I am not at all sure if it is.  The stained glass does not look quite right.  The contents of the room certainly post-dated Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby and probably date from the time of General Yorke. Source: RCAHMW

Final Comments

Stained glass in the library

Plas Newydd is an absolute rock-star of a house, full of colour, light, and original creativity.  It belongs not only to the inspiration of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby but also to subsequent owners who built on the remarkable legacy that the ladies had built.  The stained glass was probably the earliest of the steps taken by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby in their long history of collecting and installing salvaged decorative arts, beginning almost as soon as they arrive in the 1780s; their collections of wood carving only seem to have begun in 1814.  Their experiences of collecting stained glass may well have set their other collections in motion.

Whether or not the eclectic and diverse stained glass can be considered to have artistic merit is entirely subjective and a matter of personal taste.  Writing in 1968 John Harries made the following comment about mixed stained glass:

Many pictures in galleries have been retouched or repainted in surprisingly large areas, and we do not think a great deal worse of them for that.  But what of those windows where a light, or window opening, has been made up of assorted panels or figures, roundels and shields, bits and pieces of borders and patternwork by the same artist – even by different artists, for from different churches? . . . The result would be interesting but ridiculous.  And yet a surprisingly large number of windows are like this . . . They are often still enjoyable. [Harries 1968, 1980, p.5]

Pointing to the “rich colour and beautiful drawing of detail” Harries believes that it says “much for the robustness of stained glass” that it retains its beauty in spite of its removal from its original context.  This is exactly the case at Plas Newydd where the stained glass is frequently referred to as a jigsaw, but unlike a jigsaw it was never intended to form a coherent and recognizable whole.  Instead, if an analogy is needed, then it is more like a patchwork, with attractive but random pieces joined together to create a beautiful and unique artistic creation, full of wit and imagination.

Visiting

For visiting details, please see my previous post about Plas Newydd here.  As well as the splendid house, there is a limited amount of free parking, an excellent cafe and lovely stream-side walks with wild flowers.


Sources

With thanks to stained glass specialist Aleta Doran (www.aletadoran.co.uk/) for sending me material to help with my understanding of the background history to stained glass manufacture and development – and for untangling my confusion about grisaille glass!

Books, booklets and papers

Wild boar, probably early 18th century. Library

Butler, L.A.S. 1976.  Valle Crucis Abbey:  An Excavation in 1970.  Archaeologia Cambrensis 125 (1976), p.80-116

Fleming, John. and Honour, Hugh 1977, 1989 (2nd edition). The Penguin Dictionary of Decorative Arts. Viking

Greene, J. Patrick. 1992. Medieval Monasteries. Leicester University Press

Harries, John 1968, 1980 (2nd edition). Discovering Stained Glass. Shire Publications Ltd.

Harris, John. 2007. Moving Rooms. The Trade in Architectural Salvages. Yale University Press

Hicklin, John 1847.  The “Ladies of Llangollen,”
as sketched by many hands; with notices of
other objects of interest in “That Sweetest of Vales.”
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/20810/20810-h/20810-h.htm

Hughes, Harold 1894.  Valle Crucis Abbey. Archaeologia Cambrensis, 5th Series, Vol.XI, No.XLIII, July 1894, p.169-185

Hughes, Harold 1894.  Valle Crucis Abbey. Archaeologia Cambrensis, 5th Series, Vol.XI, No.XLIV, October 1894, p.257-275

Hughes, Harold 1895.  Valle Crucis Abbey. Archaeologia Cambrensis, 5th Series, Vol.XII, No.XLV, January 1895, p.5-17

Lewis, Mostyn 1970. Stained Glass in North Wales up to 1850. John Sherratt and Son Ltd.

Mavor, Elizabeth 1984.  Life with the Ladies of Llangollen. Viking (hardback). (Published by Penguin in 1986 in paperback as A Year with the Ladies of Llangollen)

McRae Thomson, Aidan 2018. Stained Glass. Amberley Publishing

Osborne, Harold (ed.) 1970. The Oxford Companion to Art. Oxford University Press

Osborne, Harold (ed.) 1975. The Oxford Companion to the Decorative Arts. Oxford University Press

Rosewell, Roger 2012. Stained Glass. Shire Library

Veysey, A. Geoffrey and David Freeman 1988.  Plas Newydd and the Ladies of Llangollen. Glyndwr District Council.  (Based on the booklet by Veysey, County Archivist for Clwyd County Council, published in 1980.  Two sections were substantially updated by Freeman in 1988 – the Oak Room and the Ladies’ Bedchamber).

Yorke, Trevor 2022. Victorian Stained Glass. Shire

 

Websites

Brynkinalt Estate
https://www.brynkinalt.co.uk/

Early Tourists in Wales
Plas Newydd Home Page
https://sublimewales.wordpress.com/attractions/mansions-and-grounds/ladies-of-llangollen/
Descriptions of Plas Newydd and the Ladies of Llangollen
https://sublimewales.wordpress.com/attractions/mansions-and-grounds/ladies-of-llangollen/descriptions-of-plas-newydd-and-the-ladies-of-llangollen/

The Leiden Collection
Young woman in a niche with parrot and cage
https://www.theleidencollection.com/archives/artwork/GD-105_young-woman-in-a-niche-with-a-parrot-and-cage_2023.pdf

Roaringwater Journal
Netherlandish Glass in Ireland
https://roaringwaterjournal.com/2023/09/24/netherlandish-glass-in-ireland/

The Stained Glass Museum
Glossary
The Development of Stained Glass in England

https://stainedglassmuseum.com/glossary

West Midlands History
Francis Egington. Designer and Glasspainter. By Martin Ellis, Curator of Applied Art, Birmingham Museums Trust (no date)
https://historywm.com/file/historywm/e04-a15-francis-eginton-89236.pdf

 

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Valle Crucis Cistecian Abbey, founded 1201

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==

Gresford All Saints’ Church – exterior gargoyles and grotesques

A previous post took a quick chronological hike through All Saints’ church in Gresford, which dates mainly from the 15th century but includes features dating back to the 13th century.  As with many gothic churches, the exterior may be architecturally consistent with what is going on inside, but often has a rather different character that seems scarcely in keeping with the sacred, the holy and the peaceful ideas associated with a monument to the divine.  The photographs on this page are a small selection from All Saints’ Church, dating to the 1400s or later, shown at random.  If you want to visit the church, maps and visiting details are on the previous post.

There is a lot of writing about gargoyles and grotesques, much of it descriptive, and there are some terrific books of photographs to show what these creatures looked like, but there are no definitive answers about what these external features were actually doing there.  So far, a job description remains elusive.

Gargoyles and grotesques each has a slightly different definition.  Both are usually made of stone, and are high up on on or under the rooflines of church, cathedral and abbey, or clustered around windows and door openings.  Some may be highly sculptural and elaborate, and others are less complex, but all make up a landscape of the unknown.  They are all carved into fantastic forms, some fearsome, some weird, occasionally crude, and every now and again borderline pornographic.  Gargoyles are usually grotesques, but not all grotesques are gargoyles.  A gargoyle is a carving that draws water away from the building, spewing rainwater out through its mouth or rather more unusually its rear end via a water spout.  A grotesque is any ecclesiastical carving that merits the term, something from another world, a creature from an alternative reality or a reality just out of sight, something of nightmares and fears.  Some may be monsters of the imagination, some grotesquely distorted human faces, some composites of recognizably human and animal features, others simply odd.

Grotesques and gargoyles occupy liminal spaces, between heaven and earth at the top of buildings, and at boundaries between interior and exterior at windows and doors.  Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris is famous for its gargoyles and grotesques, and vividly demonstrates how in the bigger ecclesiastical constructions, many of these features are invisible from ground level and always would have been.  This may imply that some of these creatures were intended not only for human audiences, but for supernatural observers too.

One evocative piece of contemporary writing on the subject survives.  The vigorous Cistercian  monk, abbot and mystic Bernard of Clairvaux was unimpressed by gargoyles in the following oft-quoted 12th century piece, but what is interesting is that he seems to have been just as ignorant of their actual symbolic purpose as researchers today:

What are these fantastic monsters doing in the cloisters under the very eyes of the brothers as they read? What is the meaning of these unclean monkeys, strange savage lions and monsters? To what purpose are here placed these creatures, half beast, half man? I see several bodies with one head and several heads with one body. Here is a quadruped with a serpent’s head, there a fish with a quadruped’s head, then again an animal half horse, half goat … Surely if we do not blush for such absurdities we should at least regret what we have spent on them.

Although different types have been identified and named, creating a terminology to enable discussion of the different forms that appear, this is a matter of categorization rather than comprehension.  Identification of recurring themes such as hunky punks, chimeras, and sheela na gigs help to navigate the landscape of the grotesques, but do not explain what they are doing there.  A number of explanatory approaches have been attempted, but these simply serve to underscore that there is no consensus on the role of grotesques and how they should be understood.  Here are a few examples, in no particular order:

  • Depictions of demons or heretics as a warning against sin and depravity , and as an aid to church teachings, to reinforce the campaign against sin
  • Demons vanquished and expelled by the Church
  • Illustrations of specific Christian texts
  • A vivid contrast to the divine and the angelic: “The gargoyle is all body and no soul – a pure projector of filth, the opposite of the angel whose body is weightless and orifice-less” (Michael Camille).
  • Representations of paganism
  • Warnings to intruders not to violate the holy space within
  • Figments of the imagination
  • Critiques of human monstrosity, reflections of imperfections in humanity and the individual
  • Devices to reinforce religious hierarchy:  “These glimpses of the impossible, in their absurdity, work to safeguard the established order and whatever is promoted as normal and morally right” (Alex Woodcock)
  • Copies of earlier forms that have lost their meaning over time

Alex Woodcock comments:  “If there is no definitive answer to the question fo why they are there, then it is because the carvings themselves are too full of possible meanings, and paradoxical ones at that, to be comfortably explained – and perhaps that is the point.  In his book Medieval Religion and Its Anxieties, which looks at “the other Middle Ages”, Thomas Fudgé suggests, apart from St Bernard, we have no real way of reaching what people in the Middle Ages saw and thought they looked on grotesques: “It seems clear that viewing medieval art through modern yes is fatal and that creating artificial categories with the use of terms such as marginal, official, high, low, and so on when referring to art is a form of hegemony by posterity on the past.”

Yet although they may not be marginal, in the pejorative sense of the word, the grotesque and the peculiar often do occupy the margins, not only in architecture, where they occupy distant spaces and boundaries, but also in illuminated manuscripts, rather like subversive or thought-provoking comments on the main message.  This idea of the strange and inexplicable occupying the margins is explored by Michael Camille, in his book Image on the Edge.  Here the margins are an active component of the core text, be that text an illuminated manuscript or an architectural narrative, or indeed a social situation.

Fudgé traces a chronological trend within grotesques, describing 13th century gargoyles as terrifying, whilst in the 14th century “they took on comedic dimensions that by the fifteenth century gave way to amusement.”  As Camille says, “The medieval image-world was, like medieval life itself, rigidly structured and hierarchical.  For this reason, resisting, ridiculing, overturning and inverting it was not only possible.  It was limitless.”  During the process, fear was replaced by fun, and monstrous elements of human nature and activity became the targets of satire.  Grotesques disappear during the Renaissance, when their role was apparently no longer relevant.

The gargoyles and grotesques on the exterior at All Saints’ in Gresford are carved a mix of forms and sizes, and date to when the church was re-designed and given two new side aisles in the 1400s.  Some of the grotesques look down from the roof and tower, a lot are arranged in a line above a string course just beneath the roof of the side aisles, whilst others sit on finial bases or above window corbels, much nearer to the observer, and perhaps most threatening, although as the photo to the left shows, not all of the carvings were fearsome monsters; some were unalarming representations of human faces.  I have photographed all those that can be seen from ground level, some rather more successfully than others, and as a corpus it is quite a remarkable collection of images.  Only a small selection are shown here.  They are delightful to the modern eye, perhaps rather less so to the late Medieval church-goer.
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There are more photographs, high quality images taken at the level of the gargoyles and grotesques, on the Images tab of the All Saints’s page on the Coflein website, together with images of statues amongst the pinnacles.  See  more too on the Archives page. Some of them provide an excellent overview of the imagery that exists at roof level.

Sources:

Camille, Michael 2019 (2nd edition).  Image on the Edge. The Margins of Medieval Art.  Reaktion Books.

Fudgé, Thomas, 2016.  Medieval Religion and its Anxieties.  History and Mystery in the Other Middle Ages.  Palgrave Macmillan

Woodcock, Alex, 2011.  Gargoyles and Grotesques.  Shire Publications

A Chester Local List Workshop – what is local listing all about?

A few weeks ago, Chester Archaeological Society forwarded a request from Cheshire West and Chester (CWAC) for participants to attend a Local List Workshop.  I volunteered, but at that time I had only the fuzziest idea of what a local list actually is.  This post aims to clarify the subject of local lists and provides an account what happened during the fascinating Chester workshop.

A lot of county and city councils have programmes dedicated to local listing, and are running their own workshops and other forms of interaction with the public in order to launch their own local lists.  So what is a local list when it emerges from its burrow?

What Local Listing is not

The Grade 1 nationally-listed Chester Cathedral. Shame about the big purple sign, which completely destroys the first impression.  One of the lessons of Chester is that inappropriate signage and shop frontages can intrude very negatively on an otherwise beautiful city.

First, it’s useful to understand what local listing is not.  Local listing is not the same as the more familiar sense of the term listing, which is where a building or monument is “graded.”  Most of us are aware that when a building is officially listed and allocated a grade (Grade 1, grade 2 etc), it is given a special status and there are limits on what can be done to it and how it can be used.  Here’s part of the English Heritage explanation:  “Listing marks and celebrates a building’s special architectural and historic interest, and also brings it under the consideration of the planning system, so that it can be protected for future generations.  The older a building is, and the fewer the surviving examples of its kind, the more likely it is to be listed.”  There are currently 511 listed buildings (Grade 1, Grade 2* and Grade 2) in Chester City Ward alone.  Chester Cathedral, for example, is Grade 1 listed.  This is a national designation, and usually referred to as National Listing.

Local Listing

Local listing is different.  For a start, it is not a national designation and is not determined by a centralized national unit.  It is organized on a local basis by the council.  Here are some of the details on the Cheshire Local List Project website:

“In addition to the National designations, (including Listed Buildings, Scheduled Monuments, Registered Parks and Gardens and Registered Battlefields) local heritage can also be identified through the production of Local Heritage Lists of non-designated heritage assets. These enable the significance of any building or site on the list to be better taken into account in planning applications affecting the building or site or its setting.”

As I discovered when contesting a planning application in London a couple of years ago, one of the sticking points in objecting to any planning application is the concept of a “material consideration.”  A material consideration is something that a planning department takes into consideration when accepting or rejecting a planning application.  More to the point, anything that is not a material consideration is ignored when objections are made.  Local listing ensures that even those aspects of the built environment that are not nationally listed and have no grading are included as a matter of material consideration, which may make all the difference to communities attempting to care for their assets.

National, graded listing is designed to protect buildings and other sites, and ensures that when changes are proposed, a process of consultation takes place, but there are many other buildings, sites and objects that are not nationally listed, but nevertheless have an important role in communities, either because they contribute to community identity, or represent significant markers of local history.   As locally listed entities, these become subject to material consideration in the planning process.

The Cheshire Local List Project (CLLP) website goes on:

The Cheshire Local List gives importance to local heritage within the planning system, but also allows the expression of community identity, both through the list itself and through engagement in the research and designation process. It is a key component of conservation area management and Neighbourhood Plan development, and allows numerous stakeholders to better understand and appreciate the heritage of the county and its communities.

It would have been helpful if the word “listing” had been confined to national graded listing (such as when we refer to something as Grade 1-listed)  to avoid any confusion, but hey-ho, we’re stuck with it, and whatever it is called it is a really good idea, assuming that it is well implemented and becomes an integrated part of local planning procedures.  Local listing is a government initiative that sits at a level beneath graded listing, and is a much less formal designation, but could be just as important for communities if they work with councils to identify important local sites that cannot be nationally listed.  It puts the onus on councils to engage with the idea, but my hour on Google suggests that many have taken up the gauntlet.

The idea of the workshop

One of the Project’s aims is to be community-lead.  Here’s the official wording:  “We see the Cheshire Local List as a community-driven dataset. Rather than impose detailed criteria, which may be restrictive and exclusive, we have developed non-asset-specific criteria which we hope will enable local communities to define local heritage significance on their own terms.”

The term “community-driven” is often an indication that an organization intends to do nothing at all unless poked firmly in the ribs by some community-based pressure group, but here we had excellent James Dixon, Built Environment Officer (Conservation and Design) at CWAC, reaching out to Chester Archaeology Society, amongst other groups, for people to come and participate in a series of workshops.  The objective, ongoing, is to understand sensory experiences of small groups of people walking the same route through Chester to see how this might help to build an idea of what the concept of local listing might contribute to a city that already has 511 nationally designated listed buildings.   Rather than looking at the merit of individual buildings, this approach sought to develop an idea of how people respond to and interact with the city as a whole.

The approach is evidence-based.  Evidence-based approaches have become popular in all sorts of research that involves human interaction, including archaeology, social science and economic development as well as urban planning.  They have largely emerged from the basic idea of phenomenology – the way in which different living spaces are experienced and interpreted by individuals and communities – but are now a tool for developing  strategies or policies.  It takes the idea that how people live their lives and how they perceive their built, natural and cultural environment should influence what decisions should be made about those environments.  First, of course, is the requirement to understand people’s responses, both conscious and subconscious to the context under discussion, in this case the city of Chester.  In our workshop group at least, it produced some interesting results.

Another concept that has been incorporated into the Cheshire approach is “group value.”  This divorces heritage in its own right from other things we appreciate, such as assets, objects and spaces and how we experience all of these in a sensory way.  Valuable buildings are easy to put a finger on, describe and evaluate, but the open spaces in front of them, the odds and ends of  modern sculpture, ancient architectural lumps and bumps, and the occasional well-positioned tree or cobbled footpath are more difficult to evaluate.  And yet, they too are part of the heritage landscape, the built environment, the cultural context or whatever else we are calling it this year.  My above whinge about the purple sign in front of Chester Cathedral is just as important to people’s perception of how we move through our cultural space as the building we want to engage with, because signage is an attention grabber, and it manages expectations.

Archaeologists and historians are always flipping between what a site, building or object might have meant in the past and what it means in the present and how that distinction influences how we interpret the past.  That’s the archaeologist in me talking, but it works for any entity that we look back on from the perspective of time.  Cities and towns are accumulations, so we are reacting not to a single slice of time, but to an amalgamation that spans the oldest to the newest building and and is generally  experienced by the user (shopper, visitor, worker) as something that instead of having many multi-layered and multi-temporal identities, has one single identity in their own minds, in this case the identity of being Chester.

Because we humans are all so different from one another, a Chester identity is no single thing, because different people will respond to it in different ways depending on, for example, nationality, familiarity, personal interests, and the way in which they are intending to interact with it.  So Chester actually has multiple identities, each person perceiving the city as single cohesive entity but each doing so from a different perspective,  meaning that there are multiple identities of Chester, all of them compressing the complexities built up by time into a hurried present-day reality through which we pass, often in a tearing hurry.

In order to move beyond this sense of Chester being any single thing, James has come up with a method of directing participants in the workshop to look at Chester in an alternative way, something that had nothing to do with arranging its buildings chronologically or by function, but by asking us to think about how we reacted to different sensory aspects of it.

Participating in the workshop

Post-Covid there are a lot of empty shops, looking abandoned and derelict, dragging down the image of their neighbouring shops. The entire of the St Werburgh Row is devoid of life, and tragic. This initiative, however, where empty shop windows are provided with imaginative Chester-themed boards is excellent, raising a smile. The one here is the former Patisserie Valerie on Bridge Street.

On the 18th of November, the 90 minute workshop started at the bottom of Bridge Street, where we received our instructions from James, an excellent, reassuring communicator who turns out to have a natural gift for herding cats.  From the bottom of Bridge Street to The Cross, and then from The Cross to the top of Northgate Street, the workshop set out to build an evidence base of sensory experiences including, for example, colour, sound, smell and texture, and more elusive concepts like fun and solitude.

James handed each of us a 6x4inch card, at the top of which was written a single word.  There were eight of us in the group, which was a good number for exploring some of the concepts, and enabled us to exchange notes on three occasions, once after we had walked Bridge Street, once after Northgate Street, and once in the town square, outside the town hall.  The topics were, in no order, were texture, colours, sound, stillness, views, words, and mine was fun.

There were Covid-aware latex gloves for those of us who wanted to explore texture by touch.  We could partner up with someone else, we could proceed en masse, or we could go off individually.  Apart from that we were given no direction so that the thoughts that came to us were not influenced in any way by James, or by the council’s objectives.

The idea was to write down words that occurred to us in relation to the given topic on the card.  I have to say my heart sank because I had no idea how I was supposed to interpret “fun,” but it was hugely enjoyable once I got into the swing of it.  The photos on this post are snaps that I took as I was walking around and thinking about my target word.  It came in very handy for consolidating my thinking as I went along.  If I had had a different word on my card, the photos would have been entirely different, which is an interesting thought in its own right.  For example, if I had had “stillness” or “texture,” both my words and photos would of course have been quite different.

The record cards

The keywords are clever, because they avoid simple reductionist descriptions based on liking or disliking, positives and negatives and instead focus on more nuanced responses and descriptions.

When he set us off on our own, James said that there was no right or wrong thing to write down, that the whole point was to let us react and write accordingly.  We had a card for Bridge Street and either the reverse side or a new card for Northgate Street.  One of mine is shown here, annotated to make it legible.  As well as capturing our thoughts so that we didn’t have to remember them, they helped us to marshal our thoughts when we gathered to discuss our findings.  We handed the record cards in at the end, so that James could collate them with those of other workshops.  The cards were an important part of the workshop.  Several of us had to apologize for our handwriting 🙂

Discussing the keywords

James was great at getting us together, on four separate occasions.  Two of the discussions were about what we had written on our record cards.  Here’s just a bit of  that, but I am sure that James received radically different comments when running different workshop groups, so this is just a sample of a sample.

In all the discussions it was clear is that we were all looking in different directions, and that’s partly because of the keywords, which directed attention to different parts of the built environment, and partly because of how we interpreted those keywords and what took our interest.

The Cross

Our first stop to exchange notes was at The Cross, where Bridge Street meets with the other three primary roads preserved from the legionary fortress, Eastgate Street, Watergate Street and Northgate Street.  We had at that stage walked only up Bridge Street.  James asked us what struck as what we found surprising about Bridge Street, within the parameters of the keywords on our cards.   I didn’t know anyone’s names, so these comments are all anonymous, and are shorter, simplified versions of what was discussed:

The Rows. There is a lot more stillness here than down on the streets, at least at the moment.  It makes for a nicer experience, but I am sure that the shops would prefer greater footfall.

Views:  As one looks up towards the Cross, the impression is of a great complexity pattern of walls and facades of buildings that forms an incredibly intricate pattern that frames the view from the floor up.  Some bits stick out, some don’t, and all the buildings have their own character, but they lead unambiguously to The Cross, along a road that is surprisingly wide given its Medieval past.  The rows give the whole thing a very distinctive feel, and means that the shops on those level are set back from the road. Everything converges on St Peter’s church, which is a big red sandstone building that draws the eye.  The path from one end to the other, seen as a view, is almost too much for the eye to make sense of.

Touches of colour in the old buildings above shop level stand out and are welcome.

Colours:  The biggest surprise was the contrast between the more or less uniform character of the builds above the shop frontages versus the brightly multi-coloured shop frontages themselves.  There were only a few details in colour on the older half-timbered buildings, which made the colour stand out.  Chester at street level is a torrent of colour, but when one captures a little of it in the buildings that soar above the shops, it is a lovely piece of deliciousness.

Sound:  In this area, the biggest surprise was what could not be heard.  There was such a cacophony of clinks, roadworks and street music, that the things that one could see going on around one, were lost in the other noise.  A pair of hard heels could be heard, but trainers and other soft-soled shoes were lost in the overall sound.  Even individual voices were difficult to make out.

Words:  At shop level the impact of words, in the form of text, was impossible to avoid, and overwhelming.  Branding and signage dominate, in a variety of lights and colours, and it is difficult to differentiate one from another.  Silent, in terms of audibility, they still manage to form a cacophony.

Different ideologies expressed in different building materials, different approaches, different design ideas,  different colours and textures.

Texture:  Texture occurs at every level.  It changes underfoot, but is most obvious in the walls, which are red sandstone, yellow sandstone, brick, wood, concrete and many other materials, which each has its own personality.  Decorative plasterwork is very distinctive and very fine, but not always noticed.  Each texture has its own character – granular, soft, smooth, slippery etc.  Each adds to the diversity of the buildings.

Stillness:  This one was rather sad in many ways at this point.  The main stillness was embedded in failed, closed-down shops.  There had been several before Covid, but there have been some tragic losses since.  These were all devoid of movement and interaction, dead areas that people walked past without looking.  More amusingly, anywhere not selling coffee had a certain stillness, by contrast to those places that were, which were busy, noisy and drew attention to themselves.

Fun:  There is not a lot of fun at foot level because it is all shops with unlovely frontages, but look up and there is a lot to make one smile in the decorative architectural elements that embellish the buildings, particularly the 19th century facades, a bit like excessively ornate wedding cake decoration, and improbable towers and incredibly ornate ironwork.  Often OTT, and very confident, these flourishes  are always very finely crafted.  They are both fine and truly great fun.

The Story House

The Story House is a thing of real ugliness, but even so I would defend it energetically if anyone were to threaten it because it is a monument to its era.  Not all heritage is pretty.  The same could be said for the telephone box in the foreground.  The bollards, however, at the edge of the road, were agreed by all to be cultural as well as physical barriers.

Our next stop was at the Story House.  Northgate Street had started out very like Bridge Street, with lots of engaging architecture similar to Bridge Street, again sitting on top of ordinary shop frontages, but as one proceeds, it opens out and there’s a lot of more architecture to see, some from more recent times, not all terribly positive.  The four most dominant buildings as one filters through the narrow entry to the market square are Chester Cathedral, the Town Hall, the Motor Works, and the Story House.  There is also a very conspicuous frontage to The Forum Shopping Centre, which incorporates the market.  At the moment, the Christmas market dominates the public space, closely clustered and overwhelmingly full of cooking smells.  We walked past the market and gathered in front of the Story House to discuss the walk up Northgate Street.

Inevitably and fascinatingly, we all talked about how interesting it was to compare the walk from the bottom of Bridge Street to The Cross with the walk from The Cross to the Story House.

Views:  This was a story of constriction within fairly narrow confines to a sense of release in the big space in front of the Market Square and the Town Hall, but it was also a story of disappointment.  The sense of being lead somewhere by views of trees beyond the narrow start of Northgate Street lead to nothing more than an untidy space that was undefined and offered nothing like the oasis that was suggested by the trees.  At this time of year, particularly, the trees lend very little because they are deciduous and have dropped all of their leaves untidily onto the ground.  The Christmas market did not improve matters.  The cathedral, to one side, was a pleasant presence but did not dominate.  The main dominating factor, in terms of being lead forward, was actually the Story House, not Chester’s most aesthetically pleasing building.  Beyond the Story House, the symmetry collapses and there is nothing to tempt one forward.

Colours:  This is so dependent, just as it was on Bridge Street, on where you happen to look.  Ground level is bright and full of aggressive colours, but although on Bridge Street these were very jarring, they are more restrained on Northgate Street.  Looking up things are far simpler with black and white facades, and reddish-brown brickwork that provide a warmer feel.  The Christmas decorations were felt, by everyone who expressed an opinion, to be just right, not overstated or understated, but entirely suitable for the job in hand.

Sound:  In contrast with Bridge Street, Northgate Street was a far richer audio experience.  There was tapping, humming, rattling, the sound of wheeled suitcases on cobbles, a bicycle, and more human traffic, as well as the inevitable street music.  The sound of heeled shoes versus trainers was again particularly noticeable.  Reaching the marketplace, the noise of people talking increased enormously, and there was more traffic.

Words:  The plethora of promotional messages at street level was again dominant.  It was all very urban and vibrant, but there was also text in the historic buildings above the shops, where there were other messages to be seen that were resonant of the past.

Textures:  There were so many textures to be seen including the old versus the new, tiles versus glass, wood versus brickwork and the incorporation of carvings and sculptures into building facades.  As well as buildings, there were plants and trees to take into account, including moss on cobbles next to the cathedral.

Stillness:  The cathedral, a former abbey, is an oasis of stillness in the city, and offers a gateway into an inner peace, including its gardens.  The interface between the city and the peace beyond is provided by the Abbey Gate, and was probably the only entirely still place in the part of Chester that we walked on that day.

Fun:  Again there were a lot of excellent architectural details that were functionally unnecessary but expressed real exuberance.  Examples are the little sculptures in niches above the row of shops that includes Lakeland and Zara, little towers at the top of buildings and ornamental plasterwork on all sorts of buildings.  The overall impression of certain attention-grabbing buildings, like the town hall and the motor works lift the spirits, and both these draw attention to the positive impact of colour in building materials.

We did not, of course, explore internal spaces, but the idea of exploring interfaces between external spaces and internal spaces is an interesting one.  Little corridors leading from one space to another gave an almost secret feel to some of the city.

The good, the bad, and the highly nuanced

The other two discussions took place first in the public space in front of the Town Hall and the entrance to the market (The Forum Shopping Centre) and then at the point of Bridge Street where it becomes traffic-free and were less on what was on our cards than on our overall impressions.

Market / Town Hall Square

When we paused in front of the Town Hall, in what is usually an open area, we were asked what our impressions were of that public space.  The Christmas market was setting up, obscuring a sense of what it is like of most days of the week, but some interesting comments emerged.

Two of the dominant buildings, the Town Hall and the old Motor Works were exuberant, and were terrific examples of how whole buildings can express the enthusiasm and enjoyment (as well as ambition and pride) of those who created them.  They, together with the Story House and the Cathedral, surround the public open space.  The chap who was looking at “views” drew attention to how we had been funnelled from the lower end of Northgate Street, between buildings similar to those in Bridge Street into a space that, from a distance, with trees visible, had led to a sense of anticipation, but had very little to offer.  There were random odds and ends dotted around, leading to the sense that there was no cohesion in the space.  A very grubby Roman column here, a modern sculpture there, and an anti-terrorism barrier across the road.  I think that we all had the sense that nothing seemed properly integrated, and that a public space that might have had real potential was actually very drab, in spite of being surrounded by some great buildings, each of a very different but superb character.  We also looked at a bike rack that was very intrusive but could be placed somewhere less conspicuous and still be useful.  This was no piazza or plaza, and there was really nothing to celebrate.

The entrance to the indoor market.  A reminder of Chester’s Roman heritage, or just ugly?

I found myself almost back to back with a Roman soldier who was explaining something to a small group of visitors. I love the soldiers, who certainly come under the heading of “fun,” because wherever they go they raise a smile, but these soldiers, whether giving guided tours to adults or leading long strings of children wearing cardboard armour and carrying cardboard Legio XX shields, are a terrific innovation.  Some of us were also facing a Roman column that usually looks a little forlorn and isolated, and for which I have affection, but on that day looked more than a little farcical hemmed in on all sides by the Christmas market.   In Chester, a great effort has been made to incorporate the city’s Roman past, and there are constant, excellent reminders that help to reinforce the fact that as well as the built environment, the buried environment also plays an important role.  But that column could do with a rethink and a clean.

Little flourishes are worth looking out for.

Although the keywords on the record cards avoid simplistic likes and dislikes, positives and negatives, we found that in discussions value judgements were inevitable, because for every example of “fun” there is probably a “dull” in the next street, and for every ten tactile and aesthetically enjoyable examples of “texture” there is probably an edifice of brutal concrete nearby (the Pepper Street multi-storey car park springs to mind for both examples).  One of the interesting things from the discussions was that there are so many positives that the negatives stand out as noticeable intrusions on the positives.  One of the workshop members pointed out that anti-terrorist bollards, for example, are not only very ugly with their modern appearance and big lights, but give a misleading sense that there are better bits and less desirable bits of the city, separating  areas in which one is safe and where there are good thing to visit from those which may be not quite as safe, and not quite as worth visiting.  Once this was pointed out, everyone agreed, and we all understood that the city should not be seen in terms of what lies within and  what lies beyond those bollards, but that the perception is difficult to avoid.

Upstairs or downstairs – where does the fun lie?

Response to the keywords is a hugely personal thing.  I am guessing that many workshops would be required to capture even a small sample of what an entire community might think and feel about their living environment.  I interpreted “fun” as anything that would make me smile spontaneously.  I automatically looked away from the street level shopfronts to the upper levels where time, imagination and skill have wrought wonders. Some shop road level frontages are better than others, but for me all are brash, most of them frightfully ugly, and I hate shopping anyway, so nothing fun is to be found there.  But I have friends for whom shopping is hugely enjoyable, and the bright lights and colourful window dressings are all part of the enjoyment, and some of them would be puzzled by me describing architectural exuberance and decorative flourishes as “fun.”  So my interpretation of fun, confined to the upper levels where history looks down at me and I look back at it, would not be someone else’s.

Pausing again on Bridge Street

We paused again on Bridge Street, just on the uphill side of the anti-terrorist bollards, to discuss our views.  We were on borrowed time, as we had eaten up most of our 90 minutes, but we were all eager to point out the negatives of our immediate environment, because we all wanted to see improvement to encourage businesses to invest in that part of town.  Everyone agreed that the anti-terrorist bollards seemed, again, to cut one part of the street from another, and that the area north of Bridge Street was rather more prestigious than that to the south of them.  We also looked at some truly awful shop frontages, text-heavy, with lurid colours, tacky.  We asked about planning permission for frontages, as we were standing in front of a particular shocker at the time, and it turns out that they are indeed subject to planning permission, but that some retail outlets do not follow the procedures.  There is a lot of work to check up on those who ignore the rules, and it takes even longer to enforce the violated regulations.

The future

James said that he will feed back to Chester Archaeological Society about the results of the workshops once they have all been completed, and I really look forward to that.  Particularly, it will be interesting to know the answer to James’s own question – what can the local list do that designated graded listing does not already do in somewhere like Chester, which has listed buildings everywhere you turn?

The good news, even before the workshops have been completed and their findings collated, is that the Local List facility is already up and running and you can nominate an “asset” for local listing if you feel that it has particular community value and should be taken into account when planning and other issues are raised that might place it under threat.  You can find out full details on the Chester Local List Project website at the following address:
https://local-heritage-list.org.uk/cheshire/guidance:

The Proposal Process

When you make a proposal or proposals for the Cheshire Local List, you will first have the option of creating and revising a draft that will not be reviewed until you submit it. When you submit your proposal, a Conservation Officer will check it to see if more information is needed. If so, it will come back to you for revision, and if not it will be moved forward for approval.

Make a proposal for the Cheshire Local List here

Approvals for nominations to the Cheshire Local List will be done by a panel of Conservation, Planning and Built Environment officers from Halton, Cheshire West and Chester and Cheshire East.

The final list will be put forward for formal adoption by each of the three boroughs in due course as part of the development of new Supplementary Planning Documents for local heritage.

The Assessment Criteria are here:
https://local-heritage-list.org.uk/cheshire/assessment-criteria

The top-level asset categories are Buildings; Parks & Gardens; Landmarks, Art Works and Way Finders; Other Sites, Structures & Landscapes, but see the following page for more information on each category:
https://local-heritage-list.org.uk/cheshire/assessment-criteria-asset-type

If or when I hear more about the project, I’ll post about it on the blog.