The luckless church

I really enjoyed and appreciated the (historical) details of the church in Elton, and I thought that some of my followers might enjoy it too.

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

There is never enough time to explore everything on our travels. There are always intriguing buildings, signs and churches that we say we really must explore at some point… and never get the chance to see. So, if I get the chance at any point, I will try to rectify that. One grey day between Christmas and New Year, when I had a little time to spare, I took the car out to explore some of the lanes and villages that criss-cross ‘our’ patch in Derbyshire.

The village of Elton is one we have driven through on more occasions than we could count. We have passed through there every time we have visited the prehistoric landscape around Robin Hood’s Stride, Cratcliffe Tor and the Nine Stones Close stone circle…and we had never stopped to explore. Yet, Elton is an old village, mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086…

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Less Holy Than Thou

Vincent at rochereau.wordpress.com has written this wonderful post on Margery Kempe, a fascinating women who has featured in a couple of my posts over the years.

a wayfarer’s notes

Margery Kempe was a bloody-minded woman, living in a time when England was still Catholic. Bishops, priests and friars held worldly and spiritual power.

bloody-minded: Chiefly Brit. Perverse, contrary; cantankerous; stubbornly intransigent or obstructive. Cf. bloody adj. OED

She came from the provinces, had no education and bore 14 children to a husband socially beneath her. I feel for the poor man—read on and see.

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“This Creature”: 40 Years of Margery Kempe

I’ve written about Margery Kempe before in this blog (https://carmelbendon.com/2018/09/04/yes-power-2/ ) and I’m really pleased to be able to reblog this post on Margery from one of the world’s “Margery Kempe experts”, Clarissa Atkinson. Her book, “Mystic and Pilgrim: The Book and the World of Margery Kempe” was ground-breaking at its time of release, and remains essential reading for students of Margery. By the way, Margery Kempe was, in part, the inspiration for the modern-day character, Sister Margery Plimsoll, in my novel “Grasping at Water”.

The Oldest Vocation

In the mid-1970s, casting about for a dissertation topic, I stumbled over Margery Kempe. In those days you had to stumble over her – she did not appear in the syllabus of any course in medieval studies, nor did she haunt the ether. (Not that we would have known if she had.) Students of medieval Christianity had probably heard of Margery, but very vaguely, with few specifics about her life or work. She was a mystic, sort of, but her book was not read along with Julian’s Revelations or The Cloud of Unknowing. It was not assigned.

sculpture crop Frontispiece to my book: Mystic and Pilgrim: The Book and the World of Margery Kempe (Cornell University Press, 1983)

Margery Kempe was an English woman of the late 14th, early 15th centuries who “wrote” a kind of memoir – dictated it, really, as she couldn’t read or write. It was…

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Book review: Grasping at Water by Carmel Bendon

A bit of a departure from my usual ‘contemporary mixed with the medieval’ style of post, but as it is a very thoughtful review of my new book ‘Grasping at Water’ (which is ‘contemporary mixed with the medieval’) I just wanted to share it with you.

Isobel blackthorn

I do enjoy reading novels with strong mystical content. Especially when, as is the case with Grasping at Water, the author has profound knowledge of her subject.

About Grasping at Water

When a young, unidentified woman is pulled alive and well from Sydney Harbour in 2013, the connections to another woman – found in similar circumstances forty years earlier – present psychiatrist Kathryn Brookley with a terrible decision as the events of the present and past begin to mirror each other and the gap between truth and illusion shrinks.

When the young woman goes further and declares that she has lived continuously since coming to ‘understanding’ in the 14th century, her vivid accounts of life, love, childbirth, and loss in the Middle Ages seem so authentic that they test Kathryn’s scientific objectivity to the limit. As Kathryn delves she discovers that she is not the only one whose habitual…

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Something Sinister at Hand

Left-handed-monk

A few weeks ago I suffered a crushing injury to part of the right hand. Yes, all very traumatic but, thankfully, with some nifty microsurgery, I will regain most of the function of my dominant hand. Since the injury, however, I’ve had to do things with my left hand and for someone like me who, I’ve realised, has been rigorously right-handed all my life, the necessary change in dominance has been very challenging. Good for the brain, no doubt, but I now realise that the world shamelessly privileges right-handers. And it got me thinking about those among us (about 10 %) who are decidedly left-handed.

In the Middle Ages, being left-handed was considered to be a sign of the devil. The Latin word for ‘left’ is ‘sinistre’ and we all know the connotations that are associated with its English version ‘sinister’. That is, because left-handedness was very much in the minority then (as now) it was treated with suspicion, and the biblical allusions to ‘right’ and ‘left’ only served to underline the distinction. For example, Jesus is said to sit at the right hand of the Father; in Matthew 25:32-33, the ‘sheep’ (those in God’s favour) go to the right while the out-of-favour ‘goats’ are directed to the left.

But the bias extends much further back than the writings of Matthew and, no surprise, there is a gendered component at its basis. Eve is said to have come from a rib from Adam’s left side (and we all know the problems that Eve is blamed for), and women have been under suspicion ever since. In the witch hunts of the 15th century, for instance, left-handedness in a woman was sometimes enough to bring her under suspicion of witchcraft.

Still, given the ‘sinister’ associations, the prejudice may not have been as acute in the Middle Ages as we might think. Palaeographic evidence from medieval manuscripts shows that left-handed monastic scribes and copyists were not uncommon so, in the religious houses at least, it seems that left-right discrimination was not being practised. This evidence arises from examination of the difference in the way that letters appear on the parchment or vellum, with the more usual right-handed scribes creating ink strokes that show the quill was pulled from left to right of the page, while the left-handers’ strokes show evidence of pushing.

Somewhat ironically, it may be that the most marked prejudice against left-handedness appeared with the Age of Enlightenment, particularly with the associated spread of education in the 18th and 19th centuries. The formalisation of education also demanded conformity and, as most people wrote with their right hand, left-handers were punished, often severely. Tying a naturally left-handed child’s left hand behind his back was not uncommon. Even into the 20th century, left-handed children were often considered to be wilful and difficult. It is a relatively recent development that has seen left-handedness being regarded as a normal (albeit minority) occurrence and, in fact, often a sign of creativity and giftedness.

Hands up left-handers. Your time has come!

From the depths of winter to The Peacock Summer

This is a beautiful reflection by Hannah Richell on loss and grief, and our innate drive to carry on. Hannah’s new novel “The Peacock Summer” is just out and I know it will be a wonderful read.

hannah richell

There is a general consensus that broken hearts are fertile ground for creativity. The break-up album. The affecting, painted canvas. The revealing memoir. Joan Didion wrote eloquently about loss and grief after her husband’s death in The Year of Magical Thinking. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds wrote the dark and dazzling album, Skeleton Tree after the tragic death of Cave’s young son. Sir Francis Bacon produced some of his most important and moving paintings after the suicide of his lover. Meryl Streep once famously concluded a Golden Globes acceptance speech with, ‘Take your broken heart and turn it into art.’ There is a clear sense that the experience of deep emotion can be somehow as transformative and productive as it is painful.

Not so, for me. In the earliest days of loss my feelings were out of control. Everything felt sharp and hyper-real. I was on the edge…

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Gargoyles

This is a great post on a fascinating medieval topic by Robyn Cadwallader, author of “The Anchoress” and, recently “Book of Colours – both wonderful reads.

I love gargoyles, and when I was travelling around England and in Paris, I took lots of photos of them. Little did I know then that one of them would insinuate its way into my novel.

At the base of the roof was an army of gargoyles, stone-grown and
weather-worn, each one distinct, all reaching out beyond the gutters,
spout-mouths open. Creatures dragged from some netherworld
and put to work guarding the holy ground beneath. Such proud
ugliness, so assured of their right to be there, as if directing water
away from the building was merely a foil for their true status. Will
was entranced. What minds the masons had, to carve from solid
stone such creatures that seemed at once of air and earth. Hybrid
beasts: bird beak, wolf mouth, monkey snout, ox hoof; ravaging
teeth and horns; flapping ears and wings; howl and snuffle, snicker
and growl. He…

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