As much as the Victorians revelled in beauty and sentimentality, they really were a bunch of morbid sods at heart.
"‘An idealist and a dreamer, he died of loneliness and a broken heart, searching for a shrine he never found."
I don’t know about you, but when I think about Methodism, the first thing that springs to mind is a horse skeleton.
Sitting like miniature residences between the headstones, these doll’s house graves are a striking example of non-traditional funerary art and changing ideas of grief, innocence, personalisation and burial.
In 1726, when the rest of the country were dealing with periodic harvest failures, Mary Toft sat at home and gave birth to rabbits.
The 400 year old arm, impaled on a meat hook, serves as a warning to all future criminals considering robbing the church.
In the age before embalming and refrigerated storage, keeping bodies preserved and cool was a serious issue for undertakers and families alike.
In life, three things are for certain: Birth, Death and Cheese. The greatest of these is cheese.
Medieval wall paintings. Grand, loud, bright and famous. They fill the pages of guidebooks, celebrated by tourists for centuries. They are never forgotten. Right?
Shelters may seem to have been a rather excessive addition to the world of ecclesiastical furniture, after all; what’s a little rain between a vicar and a coffin?