At Clootie Well on the Black Isle in north-east Scotland, mere pennies won’t get your wishes granted. Here, the currency is a ‘cloot’ or cloth. According to ancient tradition, visitors came here with an offering to heal the sick. They brought a ‘cloot’ from the invalid, in the belief that leaving it at the well would also leave the illness behind.

Today, there are cloots of many colours here – you can see them tied to the trees from quite a way away as they spill down the hill onto the roadside. Some visitors have done it old-style and brought a scrap of clothing or a rag. Those who are more modern, or caught on the hop, have left J-cloths, socks, dresses, t-shirts and even pants. If you don’t have a cloth on you, or value your undergarments, you can make a wish by walking three times sunwise round the well, sprinkling some of the water and leaving a natural offering. Just make sure that it’s something that will biodegrade.

At one time magical wells were common, and they can still be found in areas with Celtic connections. The Irish have ’raggedy bushes’ and the Cornish ’cloughtie wells’. After the Celts, Christians adopted the tradition and the wells became associated with particular saints and festivals. Clootie Well is linked to Saint Boniface or Curitan, a Pict who worked as a missionary in the north-east of Scotland around 620 AD and is most popular around the time of Beltane in early May when visits to holy wells are traditional.

At one point in 1581, during the Protestant Reformation, the practice of visiting wells and other holy places was banned, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped anyone. The trees around the well are dripping with offerings. While there’s brightness and jollity to them – some people have even put up bunting – it’s also sad to see the supplications (I believe that’s the technical term for wishes) for the sick of all ages.

When we visited it was quiet and very atmospheric with the socks rippling in the breeze and the sunlight filtering in through the branches. I could readily believe that wishes come true here and couldn’t resist a quiet moment of contemplation before heading back out to the real world again.

Continue reading "Clootie Well, Munlochy" »

Posted by Anne on July 13, 2009 | Permalink

The crypt of St Leonard’s Church in Hythe contains one of only two ossuaries in the UK (the other is in Rothwell, Northants). It holds over 2,000 skulls arranged neatly along the walls and 8,000 bones in a huge pile stacked almost to the ceiling - like a macabre game of Jenga. When death is such a taboo these days it’s a shock to see so much of it staring you in the face.

Seeing so many skulls in one go makes them less of a sinister object and more of an anthropological souvenir. They come in all shapes and sizes, some with axe wounds and congenital deformities – a sign of the times. One even shows a trepanning wound, where a hole was drilled in the skull and miraculously, the patient survived. A table of jawbones shows rows of teeth in surprisingly good shape. In those days refined sugar wasn’t part of the diet and the greatest dental hazard was tough bread.

This collection is gold dust for those want to know more about the health and genetic make-up of our predecessors. The numbers stamped on to each skull are signs of a study that took place in the 1930s. When I visited, a forensic anthropology student from Bournemouth University was working away with a craniometer, measuring the skulls one by one. The owners hope that new technology will reveal more about the lives of the people who came to rest here.

There have been many theories about how such a large collection got here – as the result of a Saxon battle or a wave of the Black Death. The mostly likely explanation is less dramatic, simply that an existing burial ground was disturbed during the building of the new church in the 13th Century.

At that time ossuaries were relatively commonplace. Bodies were only buried for a short while before being dug up again. The skulls and femurs (thigh bones) were kept as they were the two strongest bones and it was thought that their preservation was enough to guarantee passage into the afterlife. This might seem horribly disrespectful by today’s standards but it was a sign that the physical body wasn’t important. The soul had already ascended to heaven and so the body returned to dust.

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Posted by Anne on June 21, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Tanks rumble across No Man’s Land, submarines patrol the sea, soldiers stand guard and munitions workers labour day and night - all in stained glass. They feature in three of the windows in St Mary’s Church, which, together with a stone cross, constitute Swaffham Prior’s unique memorial to World War I.

Created in 1919, the windows were designed by CP Allix; local squire, church benefactor and a man apparently fascinated with machines. The windows have lots of small scenes, each accompanied by Biblical texts, some of which seem rather laboured, as if they have been levered in to justify the images.

The first one starts with a barrage balloon floating among the stars while searchlights comb the sky and a tank roams the plains. Not the sort of thing you usually see in churches. Under a biplane flying though glassy blue skies is the text ‘Though they climb up to heaven thence will I bring them down.’ Was Biggles an agent of the Almighty in his battles with the Red Baron? As they stack up the shells they‘ve made, female munitions workers are encouraged by ‘Whatsoever your hand findeth to do, do it with your might.’

The fascination with technology is undimmed in the second window - ‘Though they be hid from my sight in the bottom of the sea thence will I command the serpent’ accompanies a fantastic painting of a submarine, complete with riveted sections, periscopes and a complex rudder mechanism. On the surface a ship steams along happily, but not for long… now you see it sinking under the waves, where you can also admire four different types of mine.

After that the belligerence starts to lessen. Hospital nurses help casualties and, elsewhere in the world British engineers build a pipeline to bring water to the desert. ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour like thyself’ is the inspiring text for an illustration of what seems to be a YMCA shelter – surely the world’s ONLY instance of this organisation appearing in sacred art?

The final window extols the benefits of peace. There are bright scenes of sheep grazing, men ploughing fields, women gathering crops and so on. It’s all very nice and cheery but you can just tell his heart wasn’t in it, or perhaps there just wasn’t enough technology to interest him. If only the Massey Ferguson and the mechanised milking parlour had been invented in time to liven up those pastoral idylls.

Continue reading "Swaffham Prior war memorial, Cambridgeshire" »

Posted by Lucy on May 23, 2009 | Permalink

For many people the 'Saint' has dropped off the front of Valentine's Day, but St Valentine is never forgotten in the church of Blessed St John Duns Scotus in Glasgow's Gorbals. If you go there to worship you'll see a gold casket marked "Corpus Valentini Martyris" - the body of St Valentine, Martyr. So what on earth is it doing here?

A helpful leaflet written by the Franciscan Friars who run the church explains it all. In the 19th century, the relics "with all the requisite authentications" were in the possession of a wealthy French Catholic family. As the family started to die out, one member was thoughtful enough to find a home for their unusual heirloom and contacted Fr Stephen Potron, Commissary of the Holy Land in France. At the time, Fr Potron had heard talk on the Franciscan jungle drums of a fine new Friary being built in Glasgow and persuaded Fr Victorin Cartuyvels who was Provincial Minister of the Friars Minor in Belgium to give the casket a permanent home there. In 1868 the relics were sent to the church of St Francis in Cumberland Street, their resting place, until they moved round the corner to their current home in 1999.

The relics are permanently on display in the entrance to the church and as February 14 approaches the Friars decorate the area around the casket with flowers and a statue of St Valentine. On St Valentine's Day special prayers are said for those in love and out of it - those "experiencing difficulties through separation or breakdown are also remembered".

The leaflet also explains that there is really very little connection between St Valentine and the hearts-and-flowers-athon that is the modern Valentine's Day. Geoffrey Chaucer's Parliament of Foules (Parliament of Birds) is the first recorded link between 14 February and romance when it says 'For this was Seyny (St) Valentine's Day when every foul (fowl) cometh there to choose his mate'. It was also traditional for the gentry to swap love notes around this time of year, when everything was stirring. The tradition now associated with St Valentine may even have pre-dated him.

Continue reading "Blessed St John Duns Scotus, Glasgow" »

Posted by Anne on February 11, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Construction on the Chong Hua Sheng Mu Holy Palace was to be the beginning of a grand complex for spiritual rejuvenation, an oasis of calm within the sprawling suburbs of western Houston. But with the US government preventing the group leader's 2001 return from a trip abroad, all work stopped, without much hope of seeing the Tien Tao temple complex completed.

It has the architectural air of Dr. No meets Wernham-Hogg or Dunder-Miflin. The dramatic gold dome looks perfect for housing a doomsday weapon and twin minarets flank either side, but the construction and materials has all the grace and inspiration of a mundane industrial office tower. The entire property is gated and fenced off, but exploration of the north wall may reveal an accessible entrance. Once on the grounds, visitors to the building will find it buttoned up tight with robust security gates around all the main entrances and side doors. With the project stopped before the interior was started, the inside (apparently) has little to offer. Windows are either blacked out or too high to gaze in on, so the simple bizarreness of the building will have to do. The palace, for an abandoned building, remains surprisingly tidy and seemingly maintained. Grass mowed, parking lot relatively free of garbage and graffiti painted over.

That being said, the rarely trafficked streets and expansive grounds are conducive for relaxation. This island of calm may not be what the religious group had in mind, but it does seem to be a perfect retreat to reflect on spiritual fulfilment and the transient nature of this suburban dream.

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Posted by Robert on November 01, 2008 | Permalink

From the outside, this doesn't look like a place of worship. The small, corrugated iron hut is pretty anonymous but the crucifix on the door marks it as special. Inside the drab exterior there is an ornate world of wonder. Simple wooden pews face a beautifully decorated altar. There are religious statues on both sides and numerous brightly-coloured ornaments. If you look closely you can see that they’re hand-made, the best example being the Blue Peter-style chandelier made from tinsel and coathangers, still going strong after 60 years service.

This chapel was built by Ukrainian prisoners of war who were sent here in 1947. Between 420 and 450 men were imprisoned in Rimini and sent to Scotland instead of being sent home where they would have been tried as traitors and faced almost certain death. They arrived in Glasgow wearing German uniforms, and came to Happendon Lodge near Motherwell, then Carstairs before landing up in the camp at Hallmuir, 3 miles outside Lockerbie in the Scottish Borders.

90% of the men were farmers so the Ministry of Agriculture gave them jobs on the local land. One man, Mr Fallat, bought some fruit seeds from Italy and planted an orchard that still stands to this day. Inside the church they were just as creative. The landowner, Sir John Buchanan Jardine gave them this small hut and after humble beginnings they began to decorate it as a home from home. On the high altar is a model of their local Ukranian cathedral, carved with a pen knife. It was made from memory as the Russians destroyed the real one. The candlesticks beside it are made from shell casings and the standards surrounding the arch from a tent brought over from Rimini. For a place decorated in a time of austerity it's wonderfully cheerful.

Continue reading "Ukrainian POW Chapel, Hallmuir" »

Posted by Anne on November 21, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Even some of the most experienced south Londoners will furrow their brows and scan their mental A-Z’s in vain when you mention a visit to Nunhead. Despite being firmly lodged in zone 2 the area possesses a spymaster’s flair for anonymity. Perhaps its low profile can be ascribed to the Post office decision in the early twentieth century to lump Nunhead and Peckham together within the SE15 postcode. Ever since being made GPO bedfellows, Nunhead has played the poor relation to its neighbour and the crisis of identity was only exacerbated when Del Boy and his three-wheeler stamped an indelible mark on the nation’s popular consciousness. But while Peckham revels in notoriety, Nunhead possesses at least one very good reason why you should make tracks to this overlooked corner of the capital. Tucked away among the ordinary terraced side streets is perhaps the greatest of all London’s nineteenth century cemeteries, a true hidden gem, which the more discerning visitor will be just dying to visit.

From the outside, the front entrance to Nunhead cemetery exudes the sort of gothic menace which would excite the location finder for any Hammer House of Horror film production. The drama of the huge iron gates hanging from towering stone columns is heightened by their recessed location from the main road. It’s easy to imagine long faced Dickensian undertakers arriving atop a jet black carriage, pulled by plumed horses the colour of midnight. This monumental entrance is the meeting point for the vast ten foot high wall which encloses some 52 acres of gravestones. The gates revel in the insignia of death featuring badges depicting an emptied hour glass flanked by wings of a feathered angel, and more ominously, a skeletal demon. Similarly the stonework is decorated with down turned torches, the life of their flames permanently extinguished. It’s fair to say that this exterior possesses sufficient creepiness to encourage the casual passer-by to consider crossing the road even in the full glare of daylight. But if the outside alone is liable to unnerve then perhaps those of a nervous disposition would be advised not to take a stroll inside.

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Posted by Maurice on April 02, 2007 | Permalink

There's nothing unusual about finding a shrine in Bangkok, apart from this one. Instead of the usual Buddhist gods and spirits the Tuptim Shrine (also known as the Lingam Shrine) revolves around something that some might consider quite unholy. Tucked away at the back of the Nai Lert Park Hotel, ignominiously hiding under some trees by the tradesmens' entrance the brightly coloured scarves and offerings beckon you in. In the middle there is a traditional Thai spirit house festooned with gifts and garlands. Nothing unusual there. But on closer inspection the large black pillar beside the spirit house reveals a familiar but unusual shape - a giant penis. And indeed, all around the things that look like little sticks of wood and statues are all the same - loads and loads of penises; all shapes and sizes - fat ones, thin ones, tall ones, small ones, some that even have legs and a tail.

A sign explains:

The origins of Chao Mae Tuptim are obscure. It can only be recalled that a spirit house was built by Nai Lert for the spirit who was believed to reside in the large Sai (Ficus) tree.

The basic offerings are fragrant wreaths of snow-white jasmine flowers, incense sticks, pink and white lotus buds. Chao Mae Tuptim has received yet another, rather unconventional kind of gift, phallic in shape, both small and large, stylised and highly realistic. Over the years they have been brought by the thousands and today fill the area around the shrine. Confronted by the extraordinary display the shrine has automatically been concluded to be decidated to fertility.

The sheer numbers and variety are dazzling. Even the fence around the shrine is made out of little penises all standing to attention. Although the comedy value is high for some, the variety of gifts and offerings show that it's serious to those who come to pray for a family. Bangkok has a reputation for its sexual exploits but this is a peaceful antidote to some of the more in-your-face spectacles on offer in the city.

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Posted by Anne on February 25, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)