psmv5: Return to Chandos

Following the visit to the Chandos of Tragalgar Square noticed at reference 1, we have finally got around to visiting the Chandos church in Little Stanmore, more properly St. Lawrence Whitchurch and the Chandos mausoleum attached.

An overcast but mild day, and we had woken to no frost. To be surprised at how much easier it is to get up when it is not seriously cold!

Started the day by starting the lentil soup destined for the evening. 8oz of red lentils in 3 pints of water. Brought to the boil, frothed for a few minutes then left to stand while we were out.

Two trolleys on station approach, one on each side. Both from the M&S food hall. But they had gone by the time I got around to them, a day or so later.

I had remembered to take a tape measure for the bricks noticed at reference 2, but forgot to take the measurements. Rushing to get the train on the way in, rushing to catch a taxi on the way out. But I did get to it on Sr. Valentine's Day, to be noticed in due course.

The resident indigent was present and, for once, declaiming into empty space. Probably nonsense, but I did not pause to take any of it in.

The 10:49 to Waterloo was surprisingly full. But it took BH to observe that it was the start of half term.

And so onto the Jubilee Line, emerging into the open air somewhere north of Baker Street and proceeding well above street level. Presumably it was cheaper and simpler to build the line on a viaduct: less disturbance to pre-existing buildings and no level crossings. Impressed by the scale of Wembley Park station, where there was clearly lots going on.

Clearly more significant than one would deduce from the tube map alone.

Poking around afterwards, we found that Wembley Park was an interesting place, once sporting its own version of the Eiffel Tower. A place which had its origins in trade in the second half of the eighteenth century, when a successful tradesman thought to turn it into a stately home, complete with a Repton landscaped park. But he lost interest and eventually, by the second half of the nineteenth century the place had become a pleasure gardens. But that did not work out either, and by the middle of the twentieth century suburban housing had taken over - with Wembley Stadium surviving a little to the south of the tube station.

Shortly after leaving the station we passed some open ground. There were also long views to the south. But the houses soon resumed and we were soon on the pavement outside the tube station.

A little early, so we thought early lunch was the answer, with Melissa of reference 4, right next to the station, turning out to be the answer. A Turkish restaurant offering a Turkish flavoured menu - and what we got was good, plentiful and very reasonably priced. Flat bread - very good and fresh - with the two usual dips. Döner, rice and green salad. Water, although other drinks, including alcohol, were available. Cheerfully served. And busy by the time we left. Thus fortified we headed east to what was left of Canons Park - Canons having been the very flashy country house of an eighteenth century Duke of Chandos - and St. Lawrence Whitchurch.

The notice board for the park included a basic map, which told us that there was a Wellingtonia to be found, although by the time we had finished next door, we decided that it was time for home. There was also a modest country house to be seen in the distance which we later learned had been built by a successful furniture man on what had been the site of Canons.

Our private tour started with the outside of the tower, the earliest part of the church now present, with the construction including flint, local pudding stone and Roman tiles. Once painted white in the local custom, hence the 'Whitchurch' bit of the name.

Inside to a church of modest dimensions, with large box pews and a great deal of painted decoration on walls and ceiling. Some of it trompe d'oeil architectural, such as might be seen at Ham House or Hampton Court Palace, some of it religious, painted by visiting Italians. And expensively restored about fifty years ago by Germans from Tübingen. It seems that the skills needed to restore these paintings, in a Continental Baroque style, were not to be had here. It also seems that some of the paintings might be more honestly described as reconstructed rather than restored, things having got pretty bad by the 1970's.

Brightly lit skyscape behind the altar, not the sort of thing you usually get in an Anglican Church at all, first floor throne room at the west end so that the duke could enjoy divine service in appropriate splendour. There was also a fire place, very much after the fashion of the old church at Esher, noticed at reference 6. Guards from Chelsea Hospital in a small compartment to the left and servants from the big house to the right. One down side was that, being quite high up, the trompe d'oeil effects on the ceiling were spoiled. One was far too close to it. And in the compartments one was too close to both ceiling and walls, a double whammy.

A heritage organ, once sporting a single manual of just two or three octaves and half a dozen or so stops, now tastefully enlarged and still used, on occasion, when an authentic Baroque sound is what is wanted. There were also plenty of cameras and other other electrical gear, apparently installed during Covid for those who felt more comfortable worshipping from their own homes.

The main church was warm enough, which must have cost the parish a good deal, but the mausoleum for the duke adjoining was very cold. A mausoleum containing some elaborate memorials, the largest for the duke, with first and second wives kneeling right and left. He was portrayed in the Roman style, but with his big wig. I don't think it was thought very dukely in his day for a duke to appear in public without one.

A curious bit of memorial sculpture. I dare say such a thing can only be done using one of the better grades of marble - and even then one supposes that a good band of backing stone has been left underneath where it can't be seen.

Back on the road, we came across the extensive grounds of the Barnet Bees football club, clearly quite a serious operation. Not premier league, but founder members of the Vanarama National League, with Vanarama being a vehicle (not to say van) leasing operation headquartered in Hemel Hempstead. To be found at reference 7.

And so back to the platform library at Raynes Park where I acquired a book about pig husbandry, written by a pig scholar from Cambridge called Davidson and first published in 1948, the year before I was born. First sold by Goodmans of Lusaka, a book seller who appears to be with us no more, with neither Bing nor Google turning anything much up.

But all sorts of fascinating information about pigs. For example, while Africa is not very big on pig production, within Africa, in 1935 or so, Madagascar was second only to the Union of South Africa. And grocers in this country, at about the same time, distinguished getting on for a dozen different cuts of bacon. In the good old days when grocers bought in sides of bacon and the watery stuff sold shrink wrapped by the likes of Sainsbury's and Tesco's had not been invented. And when the grocer use to hose the sides down in the yard before bringing them into the shop.

However, despite this priming, we were still too full of lunch to contemplate the lentil soup contemplated earlier, with or without bacon, dry cured or shrink wrapped. We made do with something much lighter.

A few days later to Epsom Library to borrow a copy of Pevsner for London North West, in which a more than three pages is devoted to church, mausoleum and the once famed country house. Generally quite polite by his rather low standard, but with in the sting in the tail that English Baroque works better in England than foreign Baroque. And this from a chap who came from the centre of foreign baroque, that is to say Germany. I learn that the country house was called 'Canons' for the Canons of St. Bartholomew the Great (of West Smithfield and reference 8), who once owned all the land.

PS: Street View seems to have gone missing at Little Stanmore. It was alive and well a week or so ago, so perhaps there is some planned maintenance on the go, to borrow a phrase from Network Rail. But it is the first time that I have noticed such a thing.