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“I would as soon see the consecration of a pudding as a mass.”Įlsewhere, it is the alienness of this world that sticks in the mind: the women of Leicester banding together to throw rocks at a deranged misogynist preacher a knight punching a vicar in the face for upbraiding him for bringing his hunting hawk to Mass a French nobleman warning his daughters that having sex in church is a bad idea.
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“Matins and evensong are no better than the rumbling of tubs,” comments a dissenter.
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Often, Orme’s details show touching similarities between church then and now – children “laugh, cry and clamour” at the back of services, people nod off during the sermon, or whisper awkwardly that they can’t quite see how the narrative of Genesis makes sense. The sheer mountain of evidence that Orme has marshalled from his sources is astounding – what joy, for instance, to know that six out of seven priests at Sonning Church in Berkshire failed their 1222 Latin grammar exam – but he never includes vignettes without reason. The experience of reading Nicholas Orme’s Going to Church in Medieval England is not dissimilar. The effect is astonishing: watching it, you find yourself suddenly able to imagine that the previously clownish-looking passengers had lives and thoughts of their own – you want to find out all you can about every one of them. A few years ago, someone clever corrected the frame rate, colourised the footage, sharpened it, and added the right sort of ambient sounds. Blurry figures judder around on the platform of a station on the Cote d’Azur, skipping unnaturally between the frames. The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat is a 50-second film, made 125 years ago.
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