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Peterborough Cathedral by Ian Scott Massie
Watercolour
20" x 16" Mounted size
14.5" x 10.5" Image size
Available - framed: £595 unframed: £545
To shop, please click here
20" x 16" Mounted size
14.5" x 10.5" Image size
Available - framed: £595 unframed: £545
To shop, please click here
PETERBOROUGH CATHEDRAL
The approach to Peterborough station brings an awareness of just how watery the landscape is in this part of England. The Fens here are drained by the River Nene and by a complex web of mostly straight-cut waterways. Enough of this area lies below sea level to make anyone nervous of heavy rain. The railway yards are vast here, reflecting the city’s industrial past, particularly as a centre for brick making - lots of water makes for lots of clay. And to the east of the railway lines the distinctive silhouette of the cathedral rises over the buildings.
Although famed for a number of assets, including the lovely tomb of Katherine of Aragon, I remember Peterborough Cathedral as the place where the earth moved for me. One Sunday evening I was sitting in the Cathedral to witness the installation of my mother-in-law as a canon - a priest who comes directly under the rule of a bishop. In the dark of the choir hymns were sung, words said and oaths agreed to, but then a strange feeling came over us all.
Many miles away in Lincolnshire there was an earthquake measuring 5.2 on the Richter scale. Deep in the gothic near-darkness of the cathedral we felt a vibration, a rumbling and a grinding as of masonry being firmly disturbed (but fortunately not sufficient to bring the roof down).
Whether this was a comment on my mother-in-law’s suitability for higher church office by the Creator, or a coincidental disturbance as England shuffled its feet, I don’t care to speculate. But now I find it impossible watch the finials of the cathedral pass in the distance without remembering that evening.
Although famed for a number of assets, including the lovely tomb of Katherine of Aragon, I remember Peterborough Cathedral as the place where the earth moved for me. One Sunday evening I was sitting in the Cathedral to witness the installation of my mother-in-law as a canon - a priest who comes directly under the rule of a bishop. In the dark of the choir hymns were sung, words said and oaths agreed to, but then a strange feeling came over us all.
Many miles away in Lincolnshire there was an earthquake measuring 5.2 on the Richter scale. Deep in the gothic near-darkness of the cathedral we felt a vibration, a rumbling and a grinding as of masonry being firmly disturbed (but fortunately not sufficient to bring the roof down).
Whether this was a comment on my mother-in-law’s suitability for higher church office by the Creator, or a coincidental disturbance as England shuffled its feet, I don’t care to speculate. But now I find it impossible watch the finials of the cathedral pass in the distance without remembering that evening.
How it would look on your wall
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