Book round-up 3

Andrew Ziminsky, Church Going: A Stonemason’s Guide to the Churches of the British Isles

Published by Profile

Andrew Ziminski is a stonemason who works on the repair and conservation of historic buildings, especially churches. He also visits Britain’s churches endlessly, and has met many fellow visitors in the process, noticing how many of them knew relatively little about the architecture, furnishings and fittings of the churches they were visiting. So he wrote this book to explain these things. CHURCH GOING guides the reader around the churchyard, the church exterior and the interior, describing the purpose and architecture of the different parts of the church (porch, nave, side chapels, chancel, vestry, etc), and of the fixtures and fittings (font, seating, altar, etc, etc). He covers everything from wall paintings to ancient graffiti.

But to summarise the book like this is to make it sound like a rather worthy handbook, and it’s much, much better than that. What makes this book so impressive (and often so entertaining) is that it’s written out of direct, practical experience. This is a guide written by a stonemason – Ziminski knows how these buildings work not just because he has visited thousands of churches (he has), not only because he has read about them (he has done that too), but because he has taken bits of them apart and repaired them.

Ziminski’s practical experience tells him that there are structural reasons why the doors of Irish round towers are set high up in the wall. He assures us that there are good structural reasons too for building a round tower when your building material is flint, as in many Norfolk churches. Contemplating the 89 carved Norman corbels on Kilpeck church in Herefordshire, he says that each one would have taken a single carver three days to create. Naturally, Ziminski shows a close familiarity with building materials, especially stone, and describes eloquently the explosive fizzing when water is added to quicklime to make lime mortar, and evokes the pleasing riven surfaces and undulations of stone church floors, whether of limestone, sandstone, granite or slate. Stone, of course, is everywhere in ancient churches, from the floor to the spire. Asked if he knows how to build a spire, Ziminski is pleased to be able to deliver a punch line he’s had ready for years: ‘Up to a point’.

One of the joys of CHURCH GOING is the author’s strong opinions. He dislikes much Victorian architecture and is particularly scornful of Victorian church tiles, with their ‘hard’ surfaces, so different from softer medieval tiles. He is against paying to enter a church. He is very much in favour of leaving in place even the most modest historic deposits. Working in a church roof he finds a pair of 19th-century shoes left by a Victorian roofer. When he shows the find to the vicar, she tosses them into the skip, declaring the idea of leaving behind such ‘offerings’ to be ‘superstitious nonsense’. Ziminski continues, ‘It was uncomfortable to learn that she had broken her ankle the following day after tripping on an undone shoelace…only I know how it was that the shoes were returned to their original position.’

Whether writing about church bells, about animals in churches (bats, bees, doves), about the structure of fan vaults, about rood screens, or simply about the effect of the colours of medieval stained glass projected on to a church floor in York, Ziminski is engaging and informing and a pleasure to read. He brings details such as carved roof bosses, ‘green man’ or foliate head carvings, images of heaven and hell in wall paintings, and wooden misericords to life in his descriptions. Anyone who wants to find out more about Britain’s pre-Reformation churches will enjoy this book and learn a great deal. Those of us who think we know a lot about these buildings already will learn yet more.

Avebury, Wiltshire

More uses for face masks

One of my favourite passages in Andrew Ziminski’s excellent book The Stone Mason: A History of Building Britain, is quite near the beginning, where the author describes his attempts at working sarsens, the materials used for the enormous prehistoric stone circle at Avebury and also for the nearby Dissenters’ Chapel. The chapel was originally built in 1670 using in part bits of sarsen obtained by chopping up chunks of some of Avebury’s standing stones. The point is that sarsen is very hard stone (up there with granite) and Ziminski wanted to try working it using the kind of tools available to Avebury’s prehistoric craftsmen. In other words he’d be working stone with stone – rounded lumps of sarsen or flint, which he’d use to pound away at the surface of the stone to cut into it or to smooth its surface.

Using stone tools like this, Avebury’s builders (working at some time between 2850–2220 BC) managed to prepare and position around 100 stones, as well as building a large circular bank and ditch – the resulting henge is so large that the modern village of Avebury sits inside it. And this stone circle is only part of the picture. It sits in a whole landscape of ancient sites – barrows, the causwayed enclosure of Windmill Hill, the stone circle at the Sanctuary, the vast mound of Silbury Hill – stretching for miles around. The integration of stones and landscape also makes Avebury a wonderfully atmospheric place – it is my favourite English prehistoric site. 

Ziminkski discovered that walloping away at a large lump of sarsen with stone tools like those used in the Neolithic soon raises a huge amount of white dust; since sarsen is made essentially of silica, this dust can be dangerous to human lungs. Anyone doing this Neolithic job in the 21st century needs a face mask. Even so, it took a whole day of pounding to produce about a square foot of approximately smooth stone. This might lead us to conclude that in Stone Age Avebury there was a lot of labour available, and there might well have been. But Ziminski makes another point. Like other kinds of stone, sarsen gets extra hard when it has been exposed to the elements for a long time. If you quarry stone that has been beneath the earth’s surface it contains much more moisture, or ‘quarry sap’ as stone workers call it. Stone containing all its quarry sap is softer and easier to work and it was probably knowledge of this secret that made monuments like Avebury and Stonehenge possible. And also buildings like the Dissenters’ Chapel, which Ziminski had come to Avebury to repair. For that job, the stone mason could use his modern steel hammer, punch, and claw tool.