Brickies

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Ever since those 'Fred Dibnah' the Bolton Steeplejack were on telly I have become fascinated with brickwork. Not that I am found staring at brick walls because this reflects on the excitement of my life, but the patterns revealed, the skill required and atrophy of mind are all involved. As I pedal up the old railway I pass a couple of bridges carrying roads over the line. This one served a farm or two and runs at an angle to the line. When you consider the skill required to build such an arch, let alone ensure it remains in place for over a hundred and fifty years, an admiration for these artisans grows. Bricklayers were one of the many groups of artisans that made full use of the 19th centuries desire to 'better oneself.' Gathering in groups they would pay a few pence a week into a kitty and when sick or short of work could draw a few shillings from the common purse. One near here went on to develop a brick making factory in the gravel pits opposite the railway station. Many houses were built from his bricks and he himself made this edifice from his own bricks and must have been quite important by the late Victorian age. Wasted as office space for far too many years this house once must have appeared a marvel to those who studied 'Self Help' books at the time.

Of course it was just as easy to lose everything overnight in those days and many did. The John Brown who owned 'Hollywood' leaves little trace that I can find but he achieved some success for a while at least. One other famous bricklayer was of course Winston Churchill! One of his 'rest cures' was to build walls in his house at Chartwell. The combination of creativity and a chance to rest the mind in the sun and inhaling fresh air and mortar did him good. He actually became a paid up member of a bricklayers union, and not many Conservative Prime Ministers could say that!  Looking at the bridge I was interested at the manner in which the brick ends are forming such a delicate pattern. The skill shown in many bridges, walls, and especially expensive houses shows much taste. Today of course only multi millionaires could contemplate such brickwork, so we end up with plastic and concrete! Ah well, it could be worse I suppose.


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Door in the Wall

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Some people like doors and some people like brick walls. I like both! The walls are things I often bang my head against, usually meafo.. mentaph .metaphorl.. in my head, and sometimes in reality. The doors I tend to walk through, opening them first for the most part naturally. I am not sure if this door has been opened in a long time, I am standing in the church graveyard as I take the picture, and to walk through the door you may need permission from the various bodies concerned. Behind the wall lies a farm, although whether the wall belongs to the farm or the churchyard, the church is made of similar brick, I cannot say and I suspect you really don't care one way or the other. I suspect the farm belongs to the 'Big Hoose' that lies, surrounded by fir trees rather like a tall green wall, just down the road behind the farm. The Lord of the Manor in England liked to have his own church near by, even if there was a Parish Church available. Maybe the original house was through there and this was the main man's personal door to the service, who knows, and I again suspect you are beginning not to care! 


The amount of red bricks made in the south of England over the years, and particularly in the nineteenth century, must be enormous! Houses, churches, farms and industrial buildings, rail bridges and walls around the many manor houses and landed gentry's properties gave much work to bricklayers in times past. I suspect this is a nineteenth century wall, possibly built when the church was renovated in 1840. Such artisans would meet at weeks end in a designated public house and an offering of sixpence was collected into a fund. From this payment would be made when one of the men met with sickness, accident or distress. This is why there are so many pubs called 'The Bricklayers Arms.' I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often. I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often.

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