My homeland of the United States, of course, is a nation of immigrants and imports. But hyphenated Americans hold onto their roots. (Witness American tourists in Ireland coming “home” 160 years after their ancestors couldn’t wait to shake the sod off their heels.) The English assimilate. Maybe not immediately, but slowly, steadily and permanently.
A brilliant case in point is the climax of any visit to Westminster Abbey: the Lady Chapel. This triumph of English Perpendicular Gothic is arguably the most beautiful single interior in the whole country. As a representative of the architectural style only King’s College Chapel at Cambridge can come close.
With its soaring windows, delicate tracery and ceilings like bunches of hanging lace, Perpendicular Gothic became so synonymous with the English that when the Victorians sought to kick out all of the foreign neo-classicism of the 18th century it was their go-to “local” style for the rebuild of the Houses of Parliament.
And yet…
If you look hard at Westminster Abbey’s exquisite culmination of Perpendicular Gothic you’ll see a Welsh-born king buried at its centre, who important Italian iron workers for his tomb, surrounded by a style originally created by the French, based on a pointed Arabic arch. (All, of course, glorifying a god born in the Eastern Mediterranean.) Yet, somehow, English gothic is distinctly English. There’s a playfulness and lightness to it that’s completely lacking in, for example, the royal tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella in Grenada that are from the exact same time period.
If you only linger over one thing in the vastness of Westminster Abbey, this magnificent room is it. In addition to the tomb of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, founders of the Tudor dynasty, the side chapels are encrusted with additional royal and aristocratic tombs like barnacles on an old boat’s hull. But these are exquisite barnacles, bristling with spires, angels, faithful dogs, heraldic beasts and grieving relatives.
The chapel is also the formal centre of the heraldic order of the Knights of the Bath, with gorgeous mahogany choir stalls topped with helms and each members’ banner. Any lover of architecture and history could easily spend an hour just in this one small chapel.
But this is Westminster Abbey, national burial place of the great and the good, and the Lady Chapel is just a small fragment of what there is to see. Tombs are the thing, and a solid working knowledge of British history … or a good connection to Google … is hugely helpful. Beyond identifying the kings, signage is sketchy and the famous verger tours … where experts tell you who’s who … aren’t running because of social distancing. The most magnificent tombs don’t necessarily commemorate people whose fame has lasted, so you may end up playing detective. (Only bother laying out £5 on the audio tour if you are coming with absolutely no prior knowledge. It’s extremely basic.)
Medieval worthies lie beneath stone effigies of themselves in armour or their best court clothes, faithful hounds at their feet. Most of those have lost their original colour but William de Valence, a half-brother of Henry III, opted for bronze with enamel accents and still rests his head on a brightly coloured and patterned pillow.
Henry V is, sadly, on a perch too high to get close to, but the gothic chantry chapel forming a bridge above your head is spectacular.
If you only linger over one thing in the vastness of Westminster Abbey, this magnificent room is it. In addition to the tomb of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, founders of the Tudor dynasty, the side chapels are encrusted with additional royal and aristocratic tombs like barnacles on an old boat’s hull. But these are exquisite barnacles, bristling with spires, angels, faithful dogs, heraldic beasts and grieving relatives.
The chapel is also the formal centre of the heraldic order of the Knights of the Bath, with gorgeous mahogany choir stalls topped with helms and each members’ banner. Any lover of architecture and history could easily spend an hour just in this one small chapel.
But this is Westminster Abbey, national burial place of the great and the good, and the Lady Chapel is just a small fragment of what there is to see. Tombs are the thing, and a solid working knowledge of British history … or a good connection to Google … is hugely helpful. Beyond identifying the kings, signage is sketchy and the famous verger tours … where experts tell you who’s who … aren’t running because of social distancing. The most magnificent tombs don’t necessarily commemorate people whose fame has lasted, so you may end up playing detective. (Only bother laying out £5 on the audio tour if you are coming with absolutely no prior knowledge. It’s extremely basic.)
Medieval worthies lie beneath stone effigies of themselves in armour or their best court clothes, faithful hounds at their feet. Most of those have lost their original colour but William de Valence, a half-brother of Henry III, opted for bronze with enamel accents and still rests his head on a brightly coloured and patterned pillow.
Henry V is, sadly, on a perch too high to get close to, but the gothic chantry chapel forming a bridge above your head is spectacular.
The Tudors and Jacobeans loved colour, too. A riotous variety of their monuments show off not only the bodies they wanted remembered but exuberant architecture and decorative elements attesting to their wealth. But it’s the Georgians who really start getting extravagant, with sculpted scenes of the climactic moments in their life (a long-forgotten sea captain has a naval engagement in high waves so vivid it looks like the set for a play about to open) or extraordinary creatures either mourning or winging them to heaven. One of my favourites is the monument to General Wolfe, hero of the Battle of Quebec, whose tomb is guarded by two of the most emotionally stricken lions it’s possible to imagine.
Another favourite is David Garrick, superstar of the Georgian stage, who is shown full length and life-sized (at least it appears that way from the ground), throwing aside the theatre curtain to take his applause. Even the most self-obsessed “luvvie” wouldn’t have the confidence for such eternal self promotion these days.
The thing that was once the centrepiece of the whole church … the tomb and shrine of Saint Edward the Confessor … isn’t much to look at now and is in a raised area blocked off to visitors. That won’t matter to most because the tomb that now stands in his place in the veneration stakes is that of the unknown warrior, near the front door and near a memorial to Churchill. Framed with a perpetual border of poppies, the warrior’s is the only tomb in the Abbey nobody is allowed to walk on.
While the tombs could keep you busy for days, it is worth remembering that you’re in one of the great medieval cathedrals of Europe and paying some attention to the architecture. One of the most precious things in the building is something neither signage nor the audio tour give enough attention to: the magnificent Cosmati pavement.
The Cosmatis were a family of Roman craftsmen who reinvented the idea of mosaic for their own age. Rather than the tiny square tesserae the ancient Romans used to bring detailed illustrations to life on their floors, the Cosmatis went for a more abstract approach inspired by Islamic artists in North Africa, and used reclaimed bits of ancient Roman buildings for their materials. They were particularly famed for figuring out how to take thin discs off ancient columns, as if they were slicing a salami. You can see many of those big circles in the Westminster pavement.
Cosmati work is rarely found outside of the Italian world, went out of fashion by the high Middle Ages and the Westminster example is unique for having inscriptions set into the marble made of brass letters. It really is quite extraordinary to be able to see such a complete example, and another proof point of the English comfort with assimilating foreign styles.
The current, pandemic-driven low density of tourists gives visitors a chance to appreciate the stark beauty of the bones of the place. Look up from the tombs and notice the elegant simplicity of the black columns beneath the white vaults. I leave it to you to decide whether the exuberant Victorian choir screen and the towering organ enhance or take away from the scene. On the way out you’ll go through the old cloisters and the Chapter House, deft examples of English skill with an older, more French version of gothic than you see in the Lady Chapel.
Another favourite is David Garrick, superstar of the Georgian stage, who is shown full length and life-sized (at least it appears that way from the ground), throwing aside the theatre curtain to take his applause. Even the most self-obsessed “luvvie” wouldn’t have the confidence for such eternal self promotion these days.
The thing that was once the centrepiece of the whole church … the tomb and shrine of Saint Edward the Confessor … isn’t much to look at now and is in a raised area blocked off to visitors. That won’t matter to most because the tomb that now stands in his place in the veneration stakes is that of the unknown warrior, near the front door and near a memorial to Churchill. Framed with a perpetual border of poppies, the warrior’s is the only tomb in the Abbey nobody is allowed to walk on.
While the tombs could keep you busy for days, it is worth remembering that you’re in one of the great medieval cathedrals of Europe and paying some attention to the architecture. One of the most precious things in the building is something neither signage nor the audio tour give enough attention to: the magnificent Cosmati pavement.
The Cosmatis were a family of Roman craftsmen who reinvented the idea of mosaic for their own age. Rather than the tiny square tesserae the ancient Romans used to bring detailed illustrations to life on their floors, the Cosmatis went for a more abstract approach inspired by Islamic artists in North Africa, and used reclaimed bits of ancient Roman buildings for their materials. They were particularly famed for figuring out how to take thin discs off ancient columns, as if they were slicing a salami. You can see many of those big circles in the Westminster pavement.
Cosmati work is rarely found outside of the Italian world, went out of fashion by the high Middle Ages and the Westminster example is unique for having inscriptions set into the marble made of brass letters. It really is quite extraordinary to be able to see such a complete example, and another proof point of the English comfort with assimilating foreign styles.
The current, pandemic-driven low density of tourists gives visitors a chance to appreciate the stark beauty of the bones of the place. Look up from the tombs and notice the elegant simplicity of the black columns beneath the white vaults. I leave it to you to decide whether the exuberant Victorian choir screen and the towering organ enhance or take away from the scene. On the way out you’ll go through the old cloisters and the Chapter House, deft examples of English skill with an older, more French version of gothic than you see in the Lady Chapel.
A socially-distanced visit has its drawbacks. No guided tours is a problem in a place with so many layers of history. The chapels containing Elizabeth I and Mary I on one side and Mary, Queen of Scots on the other are closed because their tight spaces don’t allow enough room to keep people apart. And these are amongst the top 3 things you want to see here. The staircase up to the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Galleries is also closed because of unenforceable social distancing, and was the one new thing in the Abbey I’d been wanting to see. The views are supposed to be fantastic and there’s a whole new design of the old museum to appreciate.
So as much as I loved the low-crowd visit, this is still a place I need to return once regulations loosen.
So as much as I loved the low-crowd visit, this is still a place I need to return once regulations loosen.
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