Embroidered kneelers at Earnley Parish Church

This little article made me laugh, it's from a Guide to the parish church of EARNLEY. I visited the church in West Sussex last summer.

“The embroidered kneelers were designed and made by a small group of parishioners over the 1960s. Only one kneeler has ever been stolen. Aptly it was embroidered, “He fell among thieves”!

Earnley Parish Church, West Sussex.

Captain William Barnsley Allen VC is buried in Earnley Churchyard, his story is on my other blog: Out of Battle.

For more info: Earnley Parish Church at Looking at Sussex Churches

Cricket is a Serious Thing by Edward Dyson.

The Australian Poet Edward Dyson wrote some excellent poems during the First World War. After the war he contined writing, this poem from the 1920's is about the seriousness of Cricket. Apparently the 'Argus' newspaper at the time "reported cricket matches at far greater length and with a gravity it never quite attained in dealing with any other matter on earth!"


In politics there’s room for jest;
With frequent gibes are speeches met,
And measures which are of the best
Are themes for caustic humor yet.
E’en though the pulpiteer we fret
With sundry quiddities we fling,
We pray you never to forget
That cricket is a serious thing.


The crowd assembles at a Test,
And Hobbs at length is fairly set,
Though Gregory rocks ‘em in with zest;
The barrackers may fume and fret
When Parkin has contrived to get
Five men of ours – we feel the sting,
And give expression to regret,
For cricket is a serious thing.


They have the lead; we would arrest
A sort of rot. No epithet
Is proper, though they’ve got our best
For next to nothing, and your bet
Is good as lost. Don’t sit and sweat;
Due reverence to the problem bring.
We have a pile of runs to net –
Ah, cricket is a serious thing.

ENVOY.
We have to meet a heavy debt,
And Howell makes the leather swing;
Australia’s pride is sore beset –
Yea, cricket is a serious thing!

Nudism in the 30's.

In their book ‘The Long Week End’ by Robert Graves and Alan Hodge published in 1940; talk amusingly of how the English climate was not beneficial to nudism and how boring it eventually became.

'Nudism was not so popular in Britain as in Germany or the United States: it was not suited to the climate. At first nudists gathered in muddy and midge ridden corners of solitary woods, but later built luxurious nature camps and in the winter held indoor meetings with sunray lamps. They adopted the Hellenistic Greek name "Gym­no sophists" , and brought their children along with them. After a time most members found the routine of these camps monotonous, despite the earnest psychological and valetudinarian talk that went on in them. Women especially grew bored sitting about with no clothes, while attracting no erotic interest in the opposite sex, and being made wonderfully healthy by compulsory drill and by lettuce and tinned-salmon teas.

Far better to wear a bathing dress on a beach and be conscious of its daringness, than to sit about with no clothes on and with everyone politely unconscious of it. At the superior nudist camps, a nice class distinction was made: the butlers and maids who brought along the refreshments were forced to admit their lower social status by wearing loin cloths and aprons respectively.'

Changes in ideas of Hygiene

After the First World War and into the 1920’s a new passion for fresh air and sunlight overtook people. Bathing costumes were gradually reduced in size and the fair skin complexion was traded in for the sun tan, all this giving way to an end of ‘Puritan’ thinking.

Gerald Heard in his book the 'These Hurrying Years', published in 1934. Has this to say about the changes in ideas of hygiene:-

'Just below the level of full consciousness were the ... changes in ideas of hygiene. Fresh air had won and pushed its victory against the curtain, blind, wrap and flounce so far that it began to pass the Plimsoll Line of prudery. A new issue was then joined, and the Hygienists, who till then had been allies of the Puritan, began to swing over towards the libertine. "To the pure all things are pure" was extended to the rather different and not so clear assumption that "to the naked all things are unexciting".
It may be true, but up to the present passion prevents sufficient scientific experiment. What is clear is that the fresh-air campaign had ceased to be physiological and had become psychological. That change involved a discussion of issues much wider than costume, though to the psychologist costume had always been a clue to understanding the subconscious sex life. Quite sane and kindly people went on to ask not whether clothes helped chastity but whether chastity itself was helpful.'