It’s that time of year again, when stately homes up and down the land get dressed up in Christmas finery, and members of the public pay handsomely for the privilege of seeing what they’ve been up to. The grouch in me says that mid-November is way too early for this kind of thing, but as we were passing nearby on our way back from a gig, Mrs P and I decided to call in at Harewood House to inspect its take on Christmas.
Located close to Leeds in the county of West Yorkshire, Harewood is a grand country mansion designed by architects John Carr and Robert Adam. It was built between 1759 and 1771 for Edwin Lascelles, the 1st Baron Harewood, a wealthy West Indian plantation and slave owner. As the Harewood website clearly acknowledges, the origins of the house are totally abhorrent, but the building itself is an outstanding example of Georgian architecture and design, and boasts a wealth of fine furniture and art.
The theme of Harewood’s Christmas in 2024 is Mischief at the Mansion. The website explains that “a troop of not-so-angelic cherubs have escaped from the Christmas tree and Harewood House sparkles into life with singing baubles, swirling ceilings and gossiping statues. Marvel as the House tells you festive tales of bygone times…”
There is much more to admire here than the standard Christmas fayre of extravagantly decorated fir trees and colourful flashing lights, including witty spoken dialogue between the cherubs and extensive use of projected, moving imagery.
The Christmas tree baubles were engaged in lively conversation!
The Christmas cakes also had a lot to say for themselves!
Unfortunately, much of this show – and it is a show – doesn’t lend itself well to photography, so you’ll have to believe me when I say that the result is spectacular. A lot of time and money was clearly spent to impress paying visitors, ensuring that the “wow factor” is alive and well at Harewood this Christmas.
Harewood House is open for visits all year round, and based on what we saw a couple of weeks ago I’d happily return at another time of year. This would enable us to better appreciate its fine architecture, furniture and art without the ongoing distractions of Christmas bling and cheeky cherubs! Next year, maybe?
Wordless Wednesday is a simple blog post featuring a photo. This photo of a colourful pheasant sitting atop a gravestone that must be several hundred years old was taken recently in a church graveyard in Norfolk. Life goes on.
We recently spent a couple of days searching for seals. It’s not difficult if you know where to look, particularly at this time of year. There are a few UK beaches where grey seals haul out in large numbers, the females to give birth to new pups and the males to mate with those females as soon as they’re given the opportunity.
A mother’s love. Taken at Donna Nook, 27 November 2015.
The UK’s grey seals are a conservation success story. Back in the early 20th century just a few hundred made their home here. Today, the total stands at around 120,000, which accounts for roughly 40% of the entire world population.
Grey Seal at Horsey Gap, 4 November, 2024.
The recovery of these impressive marine mammals in the UK is thanks largely to a change in the law in 1970. Before that date the seals were heavily persecuted by fishing communities, which regarded them as pests. The new law gave them protection for the first time, allowing them to get on with their lives as nature intended.
Grey Seals on the beach. Horsey Gap, 4 November 2024.
The boom in grey seal numbers has made it easier for members of the public to get up close and personal with them. But improved access also increases the risk of disturbance, and to help mitigate this “seal wardens” are on hand at several beaches to watch over them and intervene when problems arise.
At the water’s edge. Grey Seals at Horsey Gap, 4 November 2024
One of these beaches is at Horsey Gap on the north-east coast of Norfolk. When we visited earlier in the month the wardens were doing a great job of telling people more about the seals under their protection. We learned that…
male grey seals (bulls) live up to 25 years, reaching sexual maturity at six years. Females (cows) can live up to 35 years, and start to breed at some point between the ages of three and five years.
grey seals can dive to depths of 300m, and stay under water for around 20 minutes.
grey seal milk contains up to 50-60 % fat, ten times more than a Jersey cow’s milk.
when they are born pups weigh around 13kg, but just three weeks later they weigh around 45kg.
female grey seals abandon their pups after suckling them for just 17 to 23 days. The pups stay behind on the beach, living off their fat reserves, for another three weeks while they moult off their white coats and grow a grey waterproof one.
adult cow seals weigh up to 250kg, while bulls weigh up to 350kg (to put this into context, former world heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson weighed in at a mere 103kg for his controversial fight with Jake Paul in Dallas on 15 November 2024!).
Little and large. Donna Nook, 14 November 2014
Our visit to Horsey Gap was towards the start of the pupping season, meaning that we saw fewer adult seals than we’d hoped, and just a couple of white-coated pups. In the winter 2021/21 season, 2,500 pups were born at Horsey and nearby Winterton, so clearly the best was yet to come. But although not the spectacular sight we’d expected, it was still a great experience to watch them squabbling in the waves and chilling out on the beach.
Adorable! Donna Nook, 27 November 2015
It was a similar story at Donna Nook, an area of Lincolnshire coastline that is well known for its grey seals. Unlike Horsey Gap, which was new to us, we have previously visited Donna Nook on a couple of occasions. When we were there in mid November 2014, and again in late November 2015, large numbers of adult seals were hauled out and many fine looking pups were on show, the epitome of adorable cuteness. Even better, the seals were lying at the very top of the sweeping sandy beach, almost within touching distance of fascinated onlookers who were gathered behind the wire fencing that kept the two parties apart.
Squabble on the beach. Donna Nook, 14 November 2014
This year, however, we visited very early in November 2024, and at the time of our visit only a few grey seals had so far arrived for the pupping season. More disappointing still, those that were there had settled down close to the water’s edge and were therefore a very long way from their human audience. The warden explained that it would take a high tide, and perhaps a day or two of stormy weather, to drive the animals further up the beach to a place where they would be easier to observe.
Messy pup. Donna Nook, 14 November 2014,
We left Donna Nook a little deflated. Our previous visits encouraged us to expect much more, but the experience is a clear reminder that, when you watch wildlife, timing is everything. We got it slightly wrong this year. Oh dear, we’ll just have to go back!
Bulls, cows and pups. A Donna Nook selection from November 2014, 2015 and 2024
Luckily, Mrs P took lots of great seal photos on our two previous visits to Donna Nook, and I have used some of them to help illustrate this post. They are a clear demonstration that, if you get the timing right, watching grey seals at pupping time is one of the UK’s great wildlife spectacles.
Wordless Wednesday is a simple blog post featuring a photo. It seeks to convey a message, but speaks for itself without using words. This photo features Horsey Windpump, which can be seen in the English county of Norfolk.
I instinctively expect churches to be grand, imposing buildings, fashioned from stone by craftsmen whose skills draw on centuries of tradition. Most of the churches Mrs P and I see on our travels around the UK do indeed fall into this category, but just occasionally we encounter one that challenges my conventional expectations. And as unconventional UK churches go, the tin tabernacle takes some beating.
Henton Mission Room Oxfordshire (now in the Chiltern Open Air Museum). Erected 1886.
Also known as “iron churches” or “iron chapels”, tin tabernacles emerged in the mid-19th century. Comprising a timber framed building externally clad in corrugated, galvanised iron and lined with boarding, they were basically prefabricated places of worship that were sold in kit form.
It was in the late 1820s that an English engineer came up with a way of mass-producing corrugated iron. By the early 1830s, it became apparent that his process made possible the production of a relatively cheap, lightweight system for cladding buildings. In 1837 the final piece of the jigsaw fell into place when another bright spark realised that galvanizing the iron with zinc would stop it rusting. The stage was therefore set for the development of tin tabernacles.
Henton Mission Room.
Demand for more churches and chapels was fuelled by the rapid population growth that accompanied the Industrial Revolution. Existing buildings were simply not large enough, or in the right place, to serve new and emerging communities. Those communities often had no access to the materials, skills or financial resources needed to build “traditional” places of worship, but off-site prefabrication of tin tabernacles offered a practical and affordable way forward.
Tin tabernacles were intended to be temporary and portable, usually providing short-term accommodation for their congregations until they raised the money to build permanent churches. Luckily for us today, some of them survived a lot longer than expected.
Inside the Henton Mission Room.
Many tin tabernacles were built to house non-conformist groups like Wesleyans, Baptists and Moravians whose numbers expanded considerably during the religious ‘revivals’ of the 19th century. However, they were also used to accommodate Anglican congregations during an era of rapid population growth. Pre-fabricated iron churches were also exported to the British colonies, including Australia, South Africa and Canada
The first tin tabernacle anywhere in the world is believed to have been constructed in 1855 in London. They became increasingly popular towards the end of the 19th century, and a few were still being built in the 1920s and 1930s. Today, there are still around 80 scattered around England, although some of these have been re-purposed and others have been moved to museums in order to preserve them.
St Margaret’s Mission Church, South Wonston, Hampshire (now in the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum). Erected 1908/09.
Mrs P and I were pleased to get up close and personal with a tin tabernacle during a recent visit to the Chiltern Open Air Museum. Henton Mission Room was erected in 1886 in Chinnor, a small village in the county of Oxfordshire. Here it served as a place of worship for the local community, who affectionately referred to it as their “little tin church”, until 1973.
Henton Mission Room was an intimate space, housing just 50 chairs arranged in rows either side of a central aisle. The altar was equally modest, just an ordinary table supporting a pair of humble brass candlesticks. In keeping with its modest design, the room boasted neither a sonorous organ nor a grand pulpit – a simple harmonium supplied the music, while the Rector of Chinnor’s monthly Sunday afternoon sermons were delivered from an unpretentious lectern.
St Margaret’s Mission Church.
Following its closure in 1973, the Mission Room remained unused for two decades, until in 1993 it was acquired by a far-sighted museum. Reversing the original process of assembly, the chapel was then carefully dismantled, loaded onto trucks and transported 20 miles for re-assembly at its new, permanent home, where it offers fascinating insights into social, religious and architectural history.
Another tin tabernacle is preserved for posterity at the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum. It originally stood in the Hampshire village of South Wonston. The village was created from scratch in 1892, but originally had no church. The Rector of Wonston determined that this was unsatisfactory, and so in 1908 paid £8 (USD 10) out of his own pocket for a plot of land with the intention of erecting a mission room upon it. Money for buying and fitting out a prefabricated building was raised largely through public donations. The total cost, including the laying of the foundations, was £102.50 (USD 133). The church, named St Margaret’s Mission Church, first opened for business on Sunday 7 February 1909.
St Felix Chapel, Babingley, Norfolk. Erected 1880.
Initially the tin tabernacle served its community well, but as the village of South Wonston continued to grow its small size (just 42 square metres) became an intractable problem. And so, in 1996, all services were transferred to the new church of St Margaret’s built in the centre of the village. Ten years later the tin tabernacle was offered to the Weald and Downland Museum by the Trustees of the St Margaret’s Mission Trust. It was dismantled the same year and opened as a permanent exhibit in 2011.
St Felix Chapel at Babingley in Norfolk is more unusual than the two tin tabernacles featured above in that it boasts a thatched roof and is cruciform in shape. It was erected in 1880 as a mission chapel, a response to the fact that Babingley old church was situated a mile from the nearest road and was in a poor state of repair. When the Church of England came to the conclusion that this pretty tin tabernacle was surplus to its requirements, ownership passed to the British Orthodox Church, which still holds services in the building today.
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This short essay demonstrates, I hope, that tin tabernacles are a fascinating piece of our heritage. They are not grand or imposing, but they have real character. And each has its own story to tell. Hopefully Mrs P and I will be able to visit many more examples in years to come as we continue our travels around the UK.
The Western Isles of Scotland are home to many more sheep than people, and are therefore officially my kind of place. We were last there 30 years ago and a return visit was long overdue, so earlier this year we booked tickets for the ferry, packed plenty of warm, water-proof clothing and set off on our travels. The islands themselves didn’t disappoint, though sadly the weather did.
No people. Several sheep. My kind of place!
Also known as the Outer Hebrides, the Western Isles lie at the extreme North-West edge of Scotland. By British standards they are very remote. Head due west from one of the beautiful beaches and your next landfall will somewhere on the northern tip of Labrador, Canada.
The string of islands that together make up the Western Isles stretches for over 100 miles (160 km). They are connected to one another by a series of causeways and ferries which allow tourists like Mrs P and I to island-hop along their entire length, passing scenic sea lochs, dramatic cliffs, rugged hills, sandy beaches, moody moorland and gloopy peat bogs on the way.
Water, water everywhere. You’re never far from the sea in the Western Isles.
You’re never far from the sea on the Western Isles. For tourists the sea’s scenic value is enormous; for many islanders its fish and shellfish have long been an important source of sustenance and income. And when the fishing boats are too old and broken to be safely used, they are left to slowly decay on the shoreline where they give endless pleasure to Mrs P and her fellow photographers.
The fishing industry has left its mark on the Western Isles, much to the delight of photographers.
The islands echo to the sound of bird calls, while gangs of red deer patrol the hills and clusters of seals chill out on the shoreline. We were thrilled to catch a glimpse of a White-tailed Sea Eagle, although it refused to pose for a photo. So too did the Short-Eared Owls, which hunted audaciously along the roadside in broad daylight. Other birds were more accommodating, including a handsome Red-throated Diver. But perhaps the most memorable wildlife experience of our trip was to be able to stand at the kitchen window in our holiday cottage and watch Red Deer in the garden, grazing on shrubs and grasses.
For us, wildlife is one of big attractions of the Western Isles. Here we see Red Deer, a Buzzard, Whooper Swans and a Red-throated Diver.
Glimpses of the islands’ rich history are everywhere. The Western Isles were first settled by humans as the climate slowly warmed up after the last Ice Age, around 8,500 BCE. Some 5,000 years ago their descendants erected one of the most extraordinary prehistoric structures in Britain. Calanais (Calanish) is a cross-shaped setting of standing stones, the tallest of which is 16 feet (4.8m) tall. It was an important place for ritual activity for at least 2,000 years, and is believed to have been a rudimentary astronomical observatory.
At over 5,000 years old the Calanais (Calanish) standing stones predate the famous prehistoric monument at Stonehenge in the south of England.
Another picturesque feature of the Western Isles is the scattering of traditionally designed domestic buildings. Thick stone walls and tiny windows are a reminder of the inhospitable climate that local people have had to contend with over the centuries, while the thatched roofs conjure up (somewhat misplaced!) romantic notions of a cosy lost world.
On the Western Isles, some traditional domestic buildings have been restored, conjuring up romantic notions of a lost world.
With a resident population of just 22,000, peace and tranquillity are never far away on the Western Isles: these are indeed roads less travelled. It’s a truly magical place in which to escape the stresses and strains of 21st century urban life, even if the weather is sometimes a bit challenging!
It was the summer 2024 public art trail that prompted my first ever visit to Newark-on-Trent. Launched in July to coincide with the start of the Newark Book Festival, the trail features bench sculptures shaped like an open book, each decorated by artists from the East Midlands. The colourful designs showcase a range of themes from Newark’s rich history, the beauty of nature, cultural stories and nursery rhymes.
“Corporal Ciapek” by Nottingham artist Nicola Mills.
Some of the benches tell stories from the real world. Corporal Ciapek, for example, is inspired by the story of the artist’s grandfather, who was a member of the Polish Air Force. During WW2 her grandad was based in England, where he met his future wife. He was part of the Polish 305 bomber squadron, whose mascot dog – known as Corporal Ciapek – is shown in the design of the bench.
“Shimmer and Shine” by Carla Dee.
The design of several benches includes the River Trent, which runs through the centre of Newark. “Shimmer and Shine”, for example, references a poem that speaks of 30 tributaries of the Trent, and 30 types of fish found in its waters.
The book-benches were colourful, inventive and lots of fun, and wandering the streets in search of them proved to be a good introduction to the town’s other attractions. It turns out that Newark has a lot to offer.
Newark Castle and the River TrentSpot the book-bench in front of the castle!
Standing on the banks of the River Trent, the ruins of Newark Castle dominate the centre of the town. A castle was built on this site around 1068, shortly after the Norman conquest of England, but the current remains are of a building constructed at the start of the 12th century.
Newark Castle is notable as the place where King John died from dysentery in August 1216. John was incompetent, sadistic and deeply unpopular with his people, so much so that chronicler Matthew Parris was moved to observe that “”Foul as it is, Hell itself is made fouler by the presence of John.” I bet they were dancing in the streets of Newark the night he finally succumbed!
The River Trent was once a thriving hub for waterborne commerce
For centuries, the River Trent was the lifeblood of Newark, which grew into a thriving hub for waterborne commerce, particularly trade in wool. The river’s bank became home to numerous wharves, warehouses and mills, as well as maltings and breweries. Keeping the boats moving freely became a priority, so a lock was built in 1773 and extended in the 1830s.
A narrow boat passes through Newark Town Lock, towards the ruins of the castle beyond.
These days, of course, commercial use of the river is minimal, but it remains popular with people who like to spend their leisure time boating along inland waterways. We were delighted to watch one very handsome narrowboat pass through the lock to continue its journey along the Trent.
Chain Lane – delightfully quaint and picturesque.
Away from the river, Newark has many picturesque streets and handsome heritage properties that get historians and photographers excited. Chain Lane, for example, is lined with historic buildings, while the hanging baskets of flowers added to the charm of this oasis of calm.
It seemed as if, every time we turned a corner, we spotted more historic gems, like those shown in the photos above. And yet, rather than a tired museum piece, the town seemed lively and relatively prosperous. Although Newark’s history is clearly cherished, the town isn’t living in the past.
“The Little House” (centre of photo, above the arch). The Town Hall is to its right.
One unusually quirky building we encountered was the so-called “Little House”, which at just 6ft 9ins (2m) wide is one of the thinnest buildings in the UK. The origins of this three storey curiosity are unclear, but it is believed to be older than the Town Hall which it adjoins. Eventually, the Little House was knocked through into the Town Hall. Today, its sitting room on the first floor is used as a robing room, where the Mayor of Newark puts on his (or her) ceremonial costume before attending civic functions.
More bizarrely, perhaps, the Little House also contains a toilet specially installed for the visit of Princess Anne to the town in the 1970s. Strange, but true. Clearly royalty doesn’t “go” where the rest of us “go”! Well, who’s a lucky lady then?
The Governor’s House
We ended our day in Newark by treating ourselves to afternoon tea in the Governor’s House café. The half-timbered building dates from 1475, and is a glorious example of late-medieval architecture. Drinking tea and eating cream cakes in a room oozing with history gave us the chance to reflect on our visit to this small, underrated Nottinghamshire town. The public art trail was great*, but by the time you read this it will already have been dismantled. However, there are countless other reasons to visit this place, and Mrs P and I will undoubtedly return. Newark is so much more than a bunch of colourful book-benches!
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* Postscript: In case you’re bored with historic buildings and yearn instead for book-benches, here are a couple more examples
For most travellers, the airport’s just a staging post on the way to their holiday destination. However, in the Western Isles of Scotland, Barra airport is a destination in its own right, thanks to its unique runways. Barra is believed to be the only airport in the world where scheduled flights land and take-off from a tidal beach, and every day spectators gather to watch the drama unfold.
Landing at Barra Airport. The tide had recently gone out and there was still plenty of standing water on the “runway”.
Barra is a small island at the southern tip of the Western Isles, which are also known as the Outer Hebrides. The resident population is only slightly above 1,000, but numbers are boosted during the summer by visitors hoping to experience the island’s famed beauty and tranquillity. Most tourists arrive by boat, but a few opt for the alternative, a plane that lands at low tide on the beach at Tràigh Mhòr (which appropriately, when translated from Scottish Gaelic, means “Big Beach”).
This is the airport. Honest!Spectators are warned to be sensible.
The first plane to land on Tràigh Mhòr touched down in 1933. At the time the search was on for places where an air ambulance service might be able to land when there was a local medical emergency. Barra postmaster John MacPherson suggested that the compact sand of the beach, popular then and now with cockle pickers, might also be suitable for aircraft.
On 14 June, 1933, Captain Jimmy Orrell tried it out, and confirmed that the beach would indeed pass muster as a landing strip, albeit only when the tide was out!
Coming in to land. On the left, spot the control tower and, a little further to the right, the arrivals/departures lounge!
Three years after Captain Orrell’s touch down, the Air Ministry officially licensed the site as an airport. The first scheduled flight landed on the beach on 7 August, 1936.
And today, 88 years later, they still do. Although Barra has no fewer than three “runways”, laid out in a triangular configuration to enable services to operate regardless of wind direction, the airport is, of course, a small scale operation.
Touch down! Note the windsock visible of the far left of this shot.
Unsurprisingly, there are no international flights. Indeed, the only scheduled route is between Barra and Glasgow, and passenger numbers are tiny: just 13,102 people passed through in 2022. Scheduled flights are confined to daylight hours, but in an emergency situation the airport can operate at night. When landing in the dark, pilots safely find their way with the help of vehicle headlights and reflective strips laid on the beach.
When Mrs P and I first visited the Western Isles 30 years ago, Barra’s quirky little airport was one of the must-see destinations of our trip. And so it was again this year. The word “unique” is overused and misused (you should hear Mrs P rant about that whenever she hears someone on television getting it wrong!), but in this case it is entirely appropriate.
There’s nothing quite like Barra airport, anywhere in the world. I was born and grew up in West London, within a couple of miles of Heathrow, one of the world’s busiest airports, but believe me when I say that the tiny, incongruous airport on the beach at Barra is infinitely more interesting.
Nearly 200 years ago a remarkable discovery was made on the beach at Uig in the Western Isles of Scotland; a hoard of 93 medieval artefacts that are today popularly known as the Lewis Chessmen. The hoard comprised 78 chess pieces, probably from five sets, 14 “tablemen” (pieces for backgammon or similar games) and one belt buckle.
Close-up of the queen. Grumpiness personified, or merely deep in thought?
The gaming pieces are carved from walrus and sperm whale ivory, and are just 60mm to 100mm (2.5 to 4 inches) tall. They were probably made in Trondheim (Norway) at some point in the 12th or 13th centuries, and their presence at Uig beach reflects the close relationship that existed between northern Scotland and Norway at the time.
Full view of the queen. She is around 100mm (4 inches) tall.
Mrs P and I were delighted to catch up with a few pieces from the hoard at the Lews Castle museum during our recent visit to the Western Isles (aka the Outer Hebrides). Controversially, most of the hoard is displayed 670 miles (1,080km) away at the British Museum in London, while a further 12 pieces are held at the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh. Just 6 chessmen can be seen at Lews Castle in Stornoway – the biggest town in the Western Isles – where they are now on permanent loan.
The king.The bishop.
My favourite of all the Lewis Chessmen, is, in fact, no man at all. The expression on the queen’s face is priceless. To me it’s clear she’s irritated, cross and annoyed with someone or something. Grumpiness personified, in fact.
The rook (or warder).The knight.
But some scholars disagree. In their view she’s not grumpy at all, merely deep in thought, as might reasonably be expected during a game of chess. They’re entitled to their expert opinions, obviously, but I reckon they’ve got it wrong. I’ve seen that expression countless times on Mrs P’s face when I’ve displeased her. I know grumpiness when I see it, and that’s it!
Clockwise from top left. Bishop (rear view); Queen (rear view); King (rear view); Knight (head-on view); Rook (warder); Pawn
Although the pawn is relatively plain, and is possibly intended to represent a boundary marker, all of the figurative pieces are full of character. And they all look quite miserable. Again, scholars take the view that the sculptor did not intend to suggest any emotion, but rather to portray seriousness and determination. Personally I prefer to think that they’re fed up because they’ve run out of beer.
As well as viewing a few of the original chessmen in the Lews Museum, visitors can also see modern sculptures inspired by them in various parts of the islands. This towering wooden version of one of the kings was particularly impressive. Without doubt, seeing some of the original Lewis Chessmen, as well as modern artworks they have inspired, was one of the highlights of our tour of the Western Isles.
This summer a herd of 74 colourful elephants have been parading proudly through the Staffordshire city of Lichfield, as well as the nearby towns of Tamworth and Sutton Coldfield. And what a show they put on, bringing welcome colour to the urban landscape, supporting local businesses by boosting tourist numbers, and lifting the spirits of anyone spotting them.
“Fruity Frida” by Lucy Hebden, inspired by the markets of Lichfield, Tamworth and Sutton Coldfield.
But there’s more! Working in association with the events management company Wild in Art, a local Lichfield hospice – St Giles – has been instrumental in the organisation of the art trail. As a result of this collaboration, when autumn comes and the show is over, many of the sculptures will be auctioned off to raise funds that will help support local people who are living with a terminal illness. Everyone’s a winner when the elephants come to town.
“Mighty Oak” by Donna Newman. The design is a celebration of British wildlife and promotes the message of conservation.
Lichfield lies a few miles north of the city of Birmingham, and has a population of around 35,000. Although boasting a number of historic buildings, by the far the most famous is its medieval cathedral, the only three-spired cathedral in the UK. The organisers of the March of the Elephants public art trail were canny enough to place one of the sculptures in the grounds of the cathedral, enabling photographers like Mrs P to record this improbable sight for posterity.
“Staffie” by Anne-Marie Byrne, dwarfed by the majestic Lichfield Cathedral.
Sculptures along the trail come in two sizes. The larger elephants are designed and painted by professional artists, some local and others with a national profile. Without exception these are eye-catching creations, and it was great to see how both adults and children engaged with them.
Clockwise from top left: “Elovephant” by Reilly Creative; “Nellie” by Sophie li-Rocchi; “Tony” by the St Giles Hospice team; “Flora” by Becky Smith; “Henry the Elephant” by Donna Newman; “Trunkful of Memories” by Gayani Ariyaratne.
In addition there are around 40 smaller sculptures designed by local schools and community groups, displayed in shops and venues like the local library. This aspect of the trail is particularly pleasing to see, an obvious attempt to make art inclusive and for everyone, rather than a minority, elitist pursuit.
A selection of “mini-elephants”, the work of local schools and community groups.
Our day in Lichfield was a day well spent. It’s not a place I would ever have considered visiting were it not for the March of the Elephants. It plainly has a lot more to offer, including a scattering of historic buildings, a museum dedicated to the 18th century writer Samuel Johnson (“Dr Johnson”) who was born in the city, and a well maintained public park. But our visit to Lichfield was so crammed with elephants that we failed to do the rest of the city justice. Oh dear, we’ll just have to go back!
Now I'm 64 