Addison Embroidery
at the
Vicarage

Blackwork embroidery on cotton shirt (hand embroidered by Mary Addison)

Rummaging through box files recently, I came upon the above photograph, taken long ago, longer than I care to work out accurately. I have no idea what became of the above shirt or when I last saw it although I can remember doing the embroidery. Strangely enough, it might actually have been wearable now as big, bold, slightly menacing foliage motifs are once again fashionable. Worn with a pair of jeans, it would make quite an impact. So I was pleased to see the photograph and thought it would make a nice short blog post while I’m so busy on the altar cloth.

Blackwork embroidery on cotton shirt (hand embroidered by Mary Addison)

Blackwork is often referred to as Spanish blackwork from its supposed association with Katharine of Aragon.  Certainly the dramatic contrast of black thread on white linen looked at its best next to the milk white skin and dark hair more often seen on a Spanish lady than on her English counterpart. But the truth is such embroidery was known in England before this. Chaucer in the Canterbury Tales describes the dress of Alison, the miller’s wife in the following way. “Of white, too, was the dainty smock she wore, embroidered at the collar all about with coal-black silk, alike within and out.” 

Blackwork embroidery on cotton (hand embroidered by Mary Addison).

 However, the design on the shirt above  has a definite Jacobean feeling. Blackwork in the early C17th has become a much more flamboyant and overblown style, the dainty lines on Alison’s smock having given way first to embroidered single flowers still obviously recognisable botanically (as on my Elizabethan jacket here though in black, not colour) through to the sort of fantastical foliage imagined above. Along with bigger and more elaborate leaves, the design also became more all enveloping until whole paniered skirts, bed curtains and hangings became  so densely embroidered you could scarcely see the white linen beneath. Get closer to such work, however, and the stitchery is to be wondered at – minute speckling stitches providing shading in one place while other areas are worked in tiny geometric patterns on counted thread. My eyes are just not up to this now.

Blackwork on white shirt (hand embroidered by Mary Addison)

The stitches I have used are backstitch, stem stitch, fly stitch, couching, french knots, a sort of double knot (coral stitch?) and my favourite, satin stitch. English blackwork has in general not survived as well as the Spanish because the former contained more unstable iron in its composition which ate away at the thread. Black dye is notoriously difficult to stabilise, either turning a browny shade or going green. When some of my children wore black sweatshirts to school I was forever refreshing the ‘colour’ by throwing a packet of Dylon machine dye into the washing machine to revive them from their increasing drabness. Some Oxford dons prize their ancient academic gowns which have turned a dull forest green after year’s of  exposure to the light (suggesting the colour, and probably presence, of mould of the sort found on a half full coffee cup found under a teenager’s bed).  Sadly, my husband decided he couldn’t afford a wool cassock, and I’m somewhat loathed to admit that the terrible polyester monster he invested in has stayed as black as a starless night in the vicarage back garden (still no dry cleaning bills, straight into the washing machine and even at 60 degrees it emerges intact). Now I think about it, embroidering in white has far fewer associated problems, so I shall return to my altar cloth revived and refreshed.

This morning a green woodpecker was busy at work in the line of trees at the end of the garden – just the hammering, not yaffling and not visible.

Parish priests are constantly urged to open up churches for community events as if their primary skills lay in the direction of entrepreneurial event organisers. My husband has been no shirker in this direction and in his various parishes has had regular art and craft exhibitions, dancers (Morris, Tibetan, etc.)  pot luck suppers, full orchestral concerts (including a performance of the 1812 overture with canon – all correctly secured and safe for action), a pantomime, a weekly MP’s surgery a sub post office, an exhibition devoted to local planning issues, church porch sales, pilgrims gathering (I’ve just stopped my husband right there – you get the gist – well a bit more than the gist actually) and that’s not to mention carol services (followed by seasonal food and drink), harvest festivals, Easter vigil slide shows of religious paintings, weddings, christenings, funerals, memorial services and of course – last but not to be forgotten, weekly Sunday services. In some of these he was the prime mover but in others the events came to be suggested through good solid pastoral work as he got to know and be trusted by his parishioners. The church itself must then furnish two further requisites – the right sort of space and … lavatories and it is the latter that is often the real problem.

Coconut macaroons, half dipped in dark chocolate (no recipe)

We are lucky as to space at Ipsden Church for the idiosyncrasy of  its evolution has meant that what we loosely call the north aisle is in fact a small, almost perfect barn, complete with glorious roof trusses (some carved with scallops), fragments of wall painting (what could almost be dusky red lace makes an incomplete border around the east window) and rather good acoustics (much better than the body of the church which has a bit of a time lag west to east). It is also easy to heat and pleasantly cosy. The loo bit is more of a problem but can be solved with smart portaloos, or in the case of this concert, the sort of loo you find on a narrow boat or caravan inside a scout tent with jug and ewer in attendance.  (We do, in fact, have a small legacy specifically to go towards a lavatory but let’s not go there …it is a contentious issue. My husband is at present researching a composting toilet of which possibly more later … or possibly not.)

Thus it was that the vicar and an enterprising musical lover in the village found themselves singing with mutual enthusiasm off the same hymn sheet (so to speak) and the idea for a series of short Sunday afternoon concerts came into being realised. Our first concert took place on Sunday 23 February through the grace of God and against substantial odds, as two of the three performers awoke to find their ground floor flooded while the third performer had been taken ill in the night. But Anthony Jennings (bass clarinetist, member of the BBC Symphony Orchestra and formerly clarinet professor at Trinity College of Music) and his wife Cynthia Morey (D’Oyley Carte soubrette who had latterly slipped back into kimono and sandals as one of the three little maids from school in the recent film ‘Quartet) were not to be deterred by a few inches of dirty water and turned up wreathed in smiles and eager for action. Earlier in the day, Mary Daniels was caught just as she left to play the organ at Checkendon Church and in a rash moment allowed her default good nature to co-opt her into being a replacement pianist. (Think serene swans and all that paddling like billy-o from our performers, terrific pros that they are and not a histrionic between them.)

Ipsden church, Oxon: roof trusses of barn-like north aisle.

The concert started at 3.30 and by then there were 20 in the audience, not including performers, the organiser Gillian Kelley and her helpful husband (thanks David for the tented field loo). This was heart-warmingly good for a little church in a very rural area on a not very nice day.

Ipsden Church, Oxon:detail of lace-like wall painting around window

Now the bass clarinet is a wonderful beast (not at all clarinet at the bottom where it resembles an overblown saxophone with a horn down which you could lose a sandwich) but it is not very often viewed as a solo instrument and perhaps it should be for the sound that filled our little barn was warm, melodious and enveloping. Some pieces were written specifically for the bass clarinet (by english pastoralist, Edward Germans) and others were for the cello (from Saint Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals) whose range was happily much the same. Mary Daniels played an unrehearsed piano piece and Cynthia read poems and chatted about her recent experience filming. Declaring all Quartet’s stars a delight to work with (she was especially taken with the director Dustin Hoffmann who she said had time for the stage hand, tea boy and star) she teased us with describing one of the actors as a prima donna (could be prima huomo) but refused to say who it was. We were disappointed that she wasn’t singing herself, that afternoon. ‘Another time,’ we decided.

Ipsden church, Oxon: barn-like north aisle; chairs facing into the chancel.

45 minutes later and tea and cake beckone from a table in front of the chancel steps. All homemade – a dark rich ginger cake, a winter classic contrasted with a Victoria sponge cream sandwich topped with strawberries which summoned up thoughts of warmer, less wet days ahead. I contributed some coconut macaroons for which I shall not give the recipe as I was not quite happy with it. (Nigella says only use shredded coconut which is tantamount to looking for gold dust in these parts. To make the desicated coconut more moist I steeped it in almond milk for a while but this made absolutely no difference except causing the macaroon to sink into itself.) Never mind, they still tasted good, especially dipped in dark chocolate which is a salve for many a substandard biscuit. I forgot my camera so only have a photo of the coconut macaroons as I took that at home.

Entry and refreshments were free.

Future recitals are Sunday 23 March and Sunday 13 April (Mary Daniels, piano.)