1st December 2020
Santa's snowman was looking through a bin of carrots when I left home to walk George, as well as having to deliver one of my limited edition calendars. I headed for Lockington and Hall Garth, parking in the Churchyard where I could both walk George and also assess the possibility of painting the old Hall, Hall Garth, which dates back to 1685. It is an interesting brick building featuring coped gables, finials and, most interesting to me, in an adjoining field, the site of an early Norman castle. No castle buildings are visible but the ground works are well preserved and well worth visiting, that is, observing from the public footpath nearby. I walked past with George, over a plank bridge into another field which also had elevated earthworks. I stopped and looked towards another large farm, essentially red brick and pantile with huge, low level farm buildings, I noted it would do for a future painting.
As I looked, I suddenly spotted an egret, sitting, alone in a field of stubble. I decided, unwisely, to slowly walk towards it for a better view, soon discovering the wet grass was actually a wellington gripping bog. I managed to get close before it climbed into the air, resettling a couple of hundred yards away. Once clear of the bog, where incidentally George had a great time splashing, creating jewelled water drops against the bright sun, I headed back. Then I saw this view. The church with the stream and the trees looked rather beautiful, well balanced and colourful, so, back to the car, I collected my things and returned to paint. Passing through the churchyard I saw a small digger. It was being used very carefully, quietly, and, I think, respectfully, digging a grave. The driver was assisted by another worker who provided panels which, I guessed, would be used to make the walls stable and safe. I looked over the field, it was full of tidy, pale, speckle faced sheep not far from where I had seen the snow white, sun dazzling bright, an ethereal spirit, the white egret. I glimpsed it. It had relocated, standing still, head tucked into its body. The digger dug, it's yellow articulated arm moving cautiously. I thought of the deceased person, who he or she was, of the family, and how difficult it must be in the present time, to organise such things as funerals. The digging stopped, I turned to check ...the ghost spirit had gone. I looked at my watch, it was getting late, the earlier warmth of the sun had passed, my hands getting numb. I quickly packed up, collected George and returned to the car. A man I had seen earlier in the graveyard, arms full of branches was still working. We chatted briefly and I was told that the grave diggers had come from Knaresborough. Such a long way to find work I thought, and then was struck by the question of how safe was it for them, and us, to travel in these Covid times. The vicar, his wife, had only been in Lockington a year or so, I remarked how difficult the year must have been under the strict rules preventing worship. Let's hope for a brighter new year.
So, hope you like the picture, all done en plein air, no modifications or finishing off.
Original plein air painting, Lockington Church from near Hall Garth, oil on canvas board, 12x10 inch,
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