Llandaff Cathedral: ‘Off with their heads’

Back in May I blogged about the history of LlandaffCathedral but today I want to expand on that blog a little to show you one of its oddities, a row of sculpted heads of the kings and queens of England and Wales that sit like gargoyles along the side of the cathedral.

They are meant to depict all the British monarchs since William the Conqueror, though I don’t seem to have enough images for that (perhaps I missed a few when I was taking the photographs). Many of the heads are easy to identify (the forceful jaw and square face of Henry VIII; Elizabeth I with her trademark ruff; Edward VIII without a crown), but I’m having trouble working out some of them, not least because a couple have been badly affected by weather erosion over the years.

The idea for their design came from John Prichard, who, along with J. P. Seddon, supervised the restoration of Llandaff Cathedral in the 19th century, but the sculptures themselves are the work of various members of the Clarke family, ecclesiastical sculptors in Llandaff for five generations. 

The first of the Clarkes was Edward (1821-78), who set up the masonry business and was actively sculpting from 1835 to 1878. His son William (1853-1923, and active as a mason and sculptor from 1871 to 1915), came next, and was in turn followed by his two sons, Wyndham Jenkins Clarke (c.1881-1943) and Thomas Guy Clarke (1882-1942). The fourth generation to run the business was another William Clarke and the fifth, and current owner, is William Michael Clarke, a civil engineer.

Image from ebay

E. W. Williamson, author of the 1921 book The Story of Llandaff Cathedral, attributes the sculptures to Edward Clarke’s son William, though at least one head – that of Edward VIII – was completed by another member of the family, as this 1937 press photo shows. The caption reads ‘Wynham [stet] J. Clarke, whose father and grandfather executed the other busts of the kings and queens of Great Britain on the exterior of Llandaff Cathedral, puts the finishing touches on that of Edward VIII, the present Duke of Windsor.’

I’m not sure who sculpted the head of Queen Elizabeth II – perhaps it was the second William Clarke. Like her great-great-grandmother Victoria, she does not look amused. I wonder, too, what will happen when they run out of space for the heads of future sovereigns – but that’s a problem for future generations to solve.

Llandaff Cathedral

I go often to Llandaff Cathedral, not because I’m religious but to admire its architecture, soak in its history, explore its fascinating cemetery, and because it’s at the end of a lovely woodland walk alongside the River Taff here in Cardiff. This is a place with something for everyone to enjoy.

The present cathedral sits on one of the oldest Christian sites in Britain, the place where Saint Dyfrig founded a Christian community in the early 6th century and where his successor Saint Teilo built the first church in the mid 6th century. The only remnant of those very early days is an ancient Celtic cross that now stands in the grounds near the Chapter House.

Construction of the present building began in 1120, when the conquering Normans occupied Glamorgan and appointed Urban as their local bishop, though little of that first cathedral remains – an arch behind the present High Altar and the doorway into the Welch Regimental Chapel are thought to be original. The very impressive west front of the present cathedral was built around 1220, and the cathedral was eventually finished around 1280.

During the subsequent 736 years, the building has, not surprisingly, suffered from the human history happening around it: there was significant damage during the 1400 rebellion led by Owain Glyndwr, it was desecrated by Parliamentarian troops during the English Civil War, and Mother Nature has also inflicted her share of damage, during the Great Storm of 1703 and during further traumatic weather events of the early 1720s, when the entire south-west tower collapsed.

Those architectural traumas were repaired using the gifts of the pilgrims who came to pay homage at the Saint Teilo – his tomb still stands in the Sanctuary – but, following Henry VIII’s restructuring of the church in Britain, pilgrimages were forbidden, maintenance on the cathedral could not be sustained and the building fell into a state of ruin.

Restoration work finally commenced in 1734, to the design of John Wood the Elder, an architect from Bath, though his new building, within the ruined outer walls of the existing cathedral, was never completely finished, and the original walls and pillars were left standing. A further phase of restoration took place during the 19th century, under the direction of J. P. Seddon and John Prichard, and much of their building remains today, though the cathedral was also severely damaged during the Cardiff Blitz of January 1941, when an exploding parachute mine blew the roof off the south aisle and the nave.

After the Second World War, the building’s restoration was managed by George Pace who is the man responsible for the enormous reinforced concrete arch that now dominates the cathedral’s interior. It was a bold decision to introduce such a modern element into such an ancient building but it works, primarily, I think, because of the magnificent aluminium statue of Christ in Majesty, the outstanding work by Sir Jacob Epstein that crowns the archway.

The cathedral continues to have its share of catastrophes: in February 2007 the organ was so severely damaged by a lightning strike that parishioners had to fundraise the enormous sum of £1.5 million for a replacement.

Llandaff Cathedral is the sum of its past, a reflection of the incredible range of historic events that have occurred in this part of Wales, a vital place of worship for the local Christian community, a mosaic of architectural styles and heritage, a place for the dead to rest and the living to ruminate.

Happy National Gutters Day!

On a disused Victorian toilet block

Today is the day to ensure sure your hopper heads are firmly attached to your downpipes and your gutters are clean and unclogged ready for the winter onslaught of rain, sleet and snow.

Guttering is, of course, a very practical invention – buildings do not survive long without the means to rapidly and effectively jettison rainwater – and it was the Romans who first brought the notion of good water management to Britain. They even had a goddess of the sewers, Cloacina (who, not surprisingly I suppose, also protected sexual intercourse in marriage!).

Following their successful invasion of England in 1066, the Normans instigated the construction of huge numbers of castles, manor houses, churches and more, throughout the land, and these buildings, with their stone roofs, towers and turrets, required gutters and gargoyles to throw the water clear of their walls. Though unverified, it is thought that the first downpipe was erected in Britain in 1240, to protect the newly whitewashed walls of the Tower of London. 

The destruction of church buildings that began in 1536 after Henry VIII’s decree for the Dissolution of the Monasteries was, amazingly, a good thing for gutters because large quantities of lead became available. This lead was repurposed and reshaped into hopper heads for use on England’s many great houses, and the hopper heads were decorated with designs and dates, a fashion that continued when the use of cast iron replaced lead in the late 1700s.

Fabulous gargoyle water-throwers on the tower at Llandaff Cathedral

Also at Llandaff Cathedral, hoppers and Kings of England and a jolly Green Man

Cast iron was cheaper and more plentiful than lead so gutters, downpipes and hopper heads became commonplace on smaller houses and the fact that the iron was cast meant it could also be patterned. During the Victorian period, hopper heads became rather ornate, their designs more detailed, and downpipes might have embossed motifs or barley-twist patterns.

Sadly, this fashion died out in the mid 20th century and the gutters of today are very uninspiring, mostly black and frequently plastic, usually plain and angular, with no ornamentation. Fortunately, there are still some craftsmen manufacturing replica guttering for the refurbishment and restoration of historical buildings, and they maintain the old tradition of adding ornamentation and dates to their work. 

This magnificent beast attends to the rain water at Cardiff Castle, as do those pictured below

National Gutters Day does, of course, have a more practical purpose than simply celebrating the gutters of the past. The day came into being in 2002 and was the brainchild of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings (SPAB). It is the finale of National Maintenance Week, ‘an awareness campaign designed to encourage everyone who owns or looks after a building to take a few simple steps at the beginning of winter to ensure that their property is ready for anything that the season can throw at them, especially in these increasingly wet, windy and unpredictable days’.  

On the Cardiff Crown Court and City Hall buildings

On a repurposed church and on a private house (a well-used pigeon perch by the look of it)

It’s an eminently sensible cause. For me, though, today is about paying tribute to the craftsmen who created the wonderful designs to be found on the hopper heads of some of Cardiff’s glorious old buildings and about celebrating the ornate guttering of centuries past. Happy National Gutters Day!

The beautiful creatures above and below guard the gutters on Cardiff University's Trevithick Building

A selection from the King Edward VII Hospital buildings

An appropriate design for this hopper at St Margaret's Church in Roath

My favourite of Cardiff's gutters to date: this magnificent hopper can be found on Cardiff University's Glamorgan Building

Grave matters: Celtic crosses

The elaborate knotwork of Celtic art has long beguiled me.

I have a lovely gold ring shaped in a knot pattern; I have a book full of charted embroidery patterns adapted from such exquisite works as the stone Crosses of Moone and Muiredach, the metalwork of the Petrie Crown and the Ardagh Chalice, and the incredible illuminated manuscripts of the Books of Kells and Durrow; and I have used simplified versions of these patterns in my knitting designs.

So, during my wanderings around the graveyard that sits adjacent to Llandaff Cathedral and through the extensive grounds of Cathays Cemetery, both here in Cardiff, I find myself attracted again and again to the many fine Celtic cross headstones.

This design is a combination of a cross, with a ring the surrounds the intersection of the two branches of the cross. Though usually labelled a Celtic cross, its origin is something of a mystery. Some sources claim it comes from the 6th century Coptic Church because it resembles the Egyptian Ankh (or key of life); others see its roots in pagan religions, with the circle symbolising both the sun and the eternal circle of life; while the Romans believed it developed from the draping of victory wreaths across the horizontal bars of crosses.

There’s also a popular legend that attributes St Patrick with the idea of combining the Christian cross with the Sun cross to create the Celtic cross, in an effort to convert the Druids and Pagan Irish to the new Christian religion. Whatever its origins, it was adopted by the Celtic tribes of Ireland, Scotland and Wales in medieval times, and is now most often associated with those peoples. It is also the official cross of the Church of Scotland.

In the mid nineteenth century, the Celtic cross became popular as a grave marker, often in conjunction with decorative bands of intricate Celtic knotwork. It was not only used for people of Celtic origin but also for the general public, so it’s not surprising to find many examples in graveyards dating from Victorian times.

All the photographs included here are of crosses I found in the Llandaff Cathedral cemetery. The structural designs, the complex patterns, and the construction materials vary but each cross is a work of superb craftsmanship and intricate beauty.