Swindon, hub of the universe

Thomas was over from Lisbon, Agnes and Ida have now immigrated (from Wales), Sarah has been in Scotland, William and Laurie in France, and Edmund all the way across to the Isle of Wight - oh, and we are just off to Italy. So where more natural for us to meet for a family reunion than downtown Swindon?

Altarcation

Today, we have been exploring North Wiltshire, so near (from home), and yet so far. Caroline had never been to the Swindon Museum & Art Gallery before - and indeed I only went there last year for the first time: currently, they have an Arts Council touring exhibition of Matisse's Drawing with Scissors lithographs. This was interesting, as are some of the Modern British works in the permanent collection, and indeed the 20th Century pottery.

The Gallery feels rather a sad place to visit though. Swindon's population is nearly twice the size of Cheltenham's, but its arts facilities bear little comparison.

Things looked up as we left to visit three churches nearby, Simon Jenkins's guide in hand. St Mary's Lydiard Tregoze was luckily open, but only briefly: I should like to return, to look longer at the extraordinary array of memorials, and some rather tantalising mediaeval glass fragments.

St Mary's Purton we thought was probably less likely to get a second look, though the setting is delightful, the twin-towered church alongside a fine late Elizabethan manor house and enormous L-shaped barn. There's some mediaeval wall painting, and a 17th Century "Last Supper" over the main altar: Jenkins describes the reredos as an "awful tapestry", but he visited at a time when the Flemish painting had been stolen, and a local artist had lovingly created a version to fill the gap. (It now hangs at the West end of the church: Jenkins was not too cruel.)

Finally, to St Sampson's in Cricklade. Its disproportionately large tower dominates the Upper Thames valley, and should certainly be seen from within, so we gathered. But the church was locked. Happily, a kind Churchwarden came rapidly along to open up for us in response to my phone call: most impressive. St Sampson, a rare bird, appears in a Kempe West window.

The cat accompanied us as we explored the church: it apparently lives locked up inside.

Spain and Swindon

Four years ago, we were on holiday in Asturias, staying with Caroline's cousin Lizzie. She drove us up into the mountains one memorable day, to the village of Villabre, which modern life seemed to have passed by. There we picked our way amongst clogs and cats and chickens, and between ancient farm buildings, and I photographed this cobwebbed window, which I have always taken to be reminiscent of a Ben Nicholson. For his birthday last week, we gave Tim a framed, blown up version: the postman brought a lovely Timmish thank you letter this morning.

After receiving which I took a train to Swindon for lunch and a walk round Coate Water with my friend Jeremy Rigden: as there was time before the train back, I visited Swindon Art Gallery, and marvelled at its collection - not numerous, but significant - of Modern British (and later) artists.

And there I saw a real Ben Nicholson, which of course bears no resemblance whatever to my photograph. (Perhaps Tim was more on the button in his letter, joking "Eat your heart out Rothko.")