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Of the more-than 400 sites and monuments that are currently cared for by English Heritage, around a fifth are known to have surviving wall paintings. These vary greatly in date and design (and condition), ranging from later 2nd-century images of nymphs adorning painted wall plaster at Lullingstone Roman Villa in Kent to much more recent decorations like those seen at Osborne House, Queen Victoria’s holiday home on the Isle of Wight. The vast majority of these sites, though, date to the medieval period – among them, Goodrich Castle near Ross-on-Wye in Herefordshire, which forms the focus of this article.
It was already known that the castle’s chapel (which is housed in one of the towers of its gatehouse) contained the remains of a very simple paint scheme, with a white, lime-washed background applied directly to its stonework, over which regularly spaced red lines run both horizontally and vertically in imitation of neatly cut masonry blocks. This was a common, convenient, and quick way to cover large areas of wall space, and variations on this theme, some very plain, some incorporating more ornate elements, have been recorded in both sacred and secular settings at medieval sites across the country. Now, though, a recent survey of the version at Goodrich Castle (which survives only as poorly preserved fragments) has revealed that the chapel’s interior was once much more elaborate, including detailed figurative scenes.
This new discovery emerged during a long-running audit that English Heritage has been undertaking since 2019, systematically inspecting all of the sites in its care that have documented wall-paintings in order to assess their condition and conservation needs. During this work, external conservation consultants Stephen Rickerby and Lisa Shekede were commissioned to examine all of the areas of Goodrich Castle chapel where patches of the ‘masonry’ design were known to exist. The pair were in the process of recording two window embrasures (internal recesses) when – ‘to their astonishment’, English Heritage Wall Paintings Conservator Sophie Stewart said – they spotted something strikingly different and completely unexpected.
Facing the past
High up on one of the walls was a small but delicately detailed painting of a male face, shown in three-quarter profile. Clearly medieval in style, it survives only as a red outline – the original under-drawing, with any overlying layers of pigments long since faded or flaked away – but the figure’s characterful features can still be clearly seen, including narrow eyes, a pointed nose, thick eyebrows, and a mop of wavy hair. Located high up in the window recess and measuring only around 5cm (2in) across, it is easy to see how the painting could have been overlooked for centuries, but its rediscovery transforms our understanding of the chapel’s interior decorations.
The face was contained within a fragmentary frame, suggesting that it had formed part of a larger scheme, and as Stephen and Lisa continued to look, they saw further traces of this border appearing in other areas of the recesses, as well as a painted halo hinting at another, less well-preserved figure. It seems that the chapel embrasures had once been filled with a sophisticated sequence of little scenes, Sophie said – a common device in medieval religious painting that was used to tell a story with a biblical, historical, or moral message. More extensive surviving schemes like that at Chester Castle (see http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/chester-castle-agricola-tower-and-castle-walls/history/wall-paintings; we will bring you a feature about recent work to reconstruct these decorations in a future issue) testify to how elaborately adorned these spaces could be, and other clues emerged during Lisa and Stephen’s survey to suggest that no expense had been spared during the creation of Goodrich’s paintings.
Elite imagery
Close to, but separate from, the little face was a tiny fragment of blue pigment that has been identified as azurite. This is a natural pigment derived from a basic copper carbonate mineral of the same name, Sophie explained, and (citing Helen Howard’s 2003 book Pigments of English Medieval Wall Painting) she described how, during the medieval period, it was very expensive, imported into England from sources in Hungary and France for use in very high-quality wall-paintings from the middle of the 13th century.
The survival of this small trace of pigment, when elsewhere the chapel’s paintings only appear as under-drawings, is very unusual – and very lucky, as it offers illuminating insights into the status and resources of the person who commissioned this scheme. The chapel appears to have been sumptuously decorated, Sophie suggested, and the presence of azurite suggests that it was the product of a rich patron. The castle chapel would have served as an intimate sanctuary where the resident nobility could have pursued private worship, and as the scenes all seem to have been enclosed within the window recesses, it is tempting to imagine that elite individuals might have sat in these spaces, using the paintings as prompts for religious contemplation.
As for who it was who might have commissioned the images (which are stylistically typical of the later 13th to 14th century, Sophie said), we can only speculate, but one possible candidate is Joan de Valence, Countess of Pembroke (d. 1307). A wealthy heiress, she brought extensive lands and numerous castles, including Goodrich, to her marriage. She is known to have spent long periods at Goodrich, which is said to have been her favourite home, after the death of her husband in 1297, and unusually we have detailed surviving accounts relating to her household at this time. We know that she maintained a large entourage at the castle, and spent lavishly on food – could she have been equally extravagant in investing in the chapel’s decorations?
Whoever was responsible for the paintings’ creation, though, the fact that they have survived for us to see today, even in fragments, is very fortunate. Wall paintings are particularly vulnerable, Sophie noted, being so exposed and often located in damp stone buildings – the chapel at Goodrich is cold and leaky, creating challenging environmental conditions for the survival of historic images like these, and the fact that they have endured for so long is particularly lucky given the castle’s turbulent history (see box ‘The noblest ruin in Herefordshire’ below).
As for what the future holds for the figures and framework, the paintings cannot be covered, as that would create a micro-climate that could be damaging in its own right, Sophie said, but they have now undergone expert conservation treatment, and specialists will maintain a watching brief to monitor the fragments and intervene again if more treatment is needed. Even so, Sophie added, the fact that ‘these fragments have managed to hang on for centuries’ is very exciting, offering a colourful reminder that, while medieval chapels can today appear to be austere spaces dominated by grey stone, they were once vibrantly immersive devotional environments. Their detailed decorative schemes were not only intended to express the status of their patrons, but also to inspire prayer and religious teaching: a tantalising glimpse of how faith was experienced in these places centuries ago.
‘The noblest ruin in Herefordshire’
Standing on a high outcrop in the Welsh Marches, Goodrich Castle takes its name from Godric of Mappestone, a local Anglo-Saxon thegn and landowner mentioned in the Domesday Book, who is thought to have built an earth-and-timber fortification to guard a strategic crossing of the River Wye.
All trace of this original castle has been obscured by later works: Goodrich was rebuilt in stone in the mid-12th century, and was significantly expanded in the late 13th century under William de Valence, a French nobleman and half-brother of Henry III (and husband of Joan de Valence; see above). Its defences then remained largely unchanged for centuries, until they were given a dramatic ‘redesign’ courtesy of the English Civil War.
Goodrich was initially a Parliamentary stronghold, but after its capture by Royalist forces it suffered a two-month siege in 1646, culminating in a devastating bombardment by ‘Roaring Meg’, a specially commissioned cannon capable of firing ‘grenades’ (hollow iron balls filled with gunpowder) weighing 85kg (190lbs). The effectiveness of these shells is vividly illustrated by the condition of the North-west Tower (also known as the Lady Tower), where the Parliamentarians concentrated their attack: it was almost completely destroyed. After the conflict, the castle was slighted, and the site gradually fell into ruin – albeit one that was much-admired by Romantic writers and painters in search of the Picturesque, among them William Wordworth, who described it as ‘the noblest ruin in Herefordshire’. Given the site’s eventful past, it seems even more remarkable that the castle’s chapel and its traces of paintings have survived for us to see today.
Source: Sophie Stewart is a Wall Paintings Conservator in English Heritage’s Collections Conservation team.
All Images: English Heritage, unless otherwise stated
