‘Iesu, trugarha wrthyf’. Asking for the mercy of Jesus was the final act of Saint Richard Gwyn before he was martyred in 1584 for refusing to renounce his Catholic faith. Today, on 25 October, we remember St Richard alongside the other five Welsh Martyrs who bore witness to their Catholic faith in Wales during times of persecution: St John Jones, St John Roberts, St Philip Evans, St John Lloyd and St David Lewis. Wrexham holds particular significance in the story of the Welsh schoolmaster, St Richard Gwyn, for it was here that he was executed. Alongside stained-glass memorials, Wrexham Cathedral contains this depiction of the saint, his head encircled by a halo and his hand holding a scroll bearing words of forgiveness and devotion. This poignant detail reminds us of the central place of mercy within the Christian faith and calls to mind those final words of Saint Richard Gwyn: ‘Iesu, trugarha wrthyf’. 🕊️ #Welsh #Martyrs #Catholic

On this day, 23 years ago, Concorde’s final scheduled commercial flight departed New York’s JFK, bound for London Heathrow. She touched down at 16:05, bringing 27 years of extraordinary commercial service to a close. Flying aboard Concorde is one of those experiences that I wish I had been fortunate enough to enjoy in my lifetime. To my mind, there has never been another aircraft quite like her. The sheer beauty of Concorde’s design is incomparable: the elegant delta wings, the distinctively pointed, drooping nose, and the slender, sculpted fuselage. Swan-like in flight, she was powered by four mighty engines that carried her at around 1,350 mph, twice the speed of sound, at altitudes approaching 60,000 feet. Concorde was a true work of art, epitomising the masterful union of aerodynamics and aesthetics. The journey from London to New York took around three and a half hours: a transatlantic feat that seemed to defy time itself. Passengers could leave London in the morning and arrive in New York in time for a morning meeting, sometimes even before the clocks in New York had reached the time at which they had departed from London. Beyond the extraordinary speed, passengers enjoyed an exceptional level of service, with fine dining served on elegant china by immaculately presented cabin crew. Such luxuries may still be found in modern aviation, but Concorde was the pioneer that united supersonic travel with an unparalleled sense of occasion, of theatre. Robert Browning wrote that ‘a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’. Concorde embodied the very essence of that sentiment. She was proof that the boundaries of what seemed possible could be pushed further, and that engineering could aspire to beauty as well as performance. The retirement of this triumph of British and French engineering remains a profound loss. Air travel may be more economical and accessible today, but commercial aviation has yet to recapture that singular combination of speed, elegance and ambition. Perhaps that is why, over two decades later, Concorde still soars head and shoulders above the rest. #Concorde #BritishAirways #Aviation

Saint Donatus of Fiesole belongs to the early medieval world of Irish scholars and clerics who carried their faith across Christendom. Born in Ireland, Donatus is said to have set out on pilgrimage to Rome before arriving in Fiesole, near Florence, where he was elected bishop. Esteemed for his holiness, erudition and pastoral care, he connected Ireland’s early Christian tradition with the holy heart of Italy. Though Tuscany is renowned for its beauty, so too is Ireland. Donatus’ enduring attachment to his homeland finds expression in a poem celebrating Ireland’s natural abundance and its virtuous people: Far westward lies an isle of ancient fame, By nature bless’d; and Scotia is her name, Enrol’d in books: exhaustless is her store, Of veiny silver, and golden ore. Her fruitful soil for ever teems with wealth, With gems her waters, and her air with health; Her verdant fields with milk and honey flow; Her woolly fleeces vie with virgin snow. Her waving furrows float with bearded corn; And arms and arts her envied sons adorn! No savage bear, with lawless fury roves, Nor fiercer lion, through her peaceful groves. No poison there infects, no scaly snake Creeps through the grass, nor frog annoys the lake; An island worthy of its pious race, In war triumphant, and unmatched in peace! The accompanying painting, Madonna with Saints John the Baptist and Donatus of Fiesole (c. 1475–83), was designed by Andrea del Verrocchio and executed largely by Lorenzo di Credi for Pistoia Cathedral. The Irish bishop is brought into the sacred company of Our Lady, the Christ Child and St John the Baptist, thereby affirming his place within the devotional life of Tuscany. Together, the painting and poem reveal a beautiful correspondence: the Renaissance setting locates Donatus in the hallowed landscape of Italy; his evocative verses preserve the memory of the Emerald Isle. That Ireland may count the saint among her own reminds us of the island’s remarkable contribution to the Christian and intellectual history of Europe. In his faith, his learning, and his enduring love for his homeland, Donatus epitomises the spirit of Ireland, the Land of Saints and Scholars.

The Battle of Trafalgar, 21 October 1805: Beginning of the Action Nicholas Pocock created this oil painting just three years after the most famous naval battle in British history. Though the painting’s elevated viewpoint enables us to follow the battle as a whole, light draws our attention to the decisive moment when Nelson’s and Collingwood’s divisions broke through the Franco-Spanish line. Cast in sunlight, Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory, breaks through the allied formation, while Collingwood’s division attacks further down the line. To the British mind, ever admiring of our superlative naval commander, the illumination invites a symbolic reading, reinforcing Nelson’s prominence and the magnitude of his triumph at Trafalgar. Pocock brought unusual authority to his subject. At the age of seventeen, he went to sea and subsequently commanded merchant ships before establishing himself as a professional artist. Thus, Pocock’s maritime experience influenced his compositions, whilst consultation of annotated drawings and plans helped him to achieve precision. From this detached perspective, we can almost admire the beauty of the scene: the elegance of the ships, their crisp sails set against the cool aquamarine sea. Yet this apparent tranquillity belies the chaos and carnage unfolding aboard the vessels. The Battle of Trafalgar helped to secure our Royal Navy’s supremacy for decades to come. Amongst the thousands of men killed or wounded on both sides was Admiral Nelson, who was mortally wounded and died aboard HMS Victory that afternoon. Pocock preserves Trafalgar not only as a defining moment of British naval might, but as a victory whose enduring glory is inseparable from the sacrifice it demanded.

My first introduction to Sir Richard Francis Burton was through this portrait. Having been unfamiliar with the man and his achievements, at first, I didn’t appreciate how effectively Frederic Leighton had captured Burton. From the portrait alone, I surmised that this was a man with many tales to tell, his disposition shaped and his face weathered by an adventurous life. As a soldier, explorer, linguist, translator and writer, Burton proved to be precisely such a man. In 1853, Burton undertook one of the most audacious ventures of his career: a pilgrimage to Mecca disguised as a Muslim pilgrim. Burton remains one of the few European non-Muslims to have entered the holy city, and meticulous preparation enabled him to perform the rites of the Hajj convincingly. As one would expect, his vivid account of the exploit secured his place among the celebrated explorers of the Victorian age. Burton’s subsequent expedition to East Africa brought him to Lake Tanganyika in 1858, thereby expanding European geographical knowledge of the region. The journey also formed part of the wider Victorian quest to establish the source of the Nile. Reputed to have mastered over 25 languages, Burton immersed himself in the customs, beliefs and literatures of the societies he encountered. His linguistic aptitude also enabled him to produce acclaimed translations of The Arabian Nights and the Kama Sutra, works which inevitably challenged the sensibilities of Victorian Britain. I suspect that Leighton’s portrait is so compelling because it serves as an introduction to a man of intrigue. Only having learned something of Burton’s extraordinary life can we appreciate just how much the portrait seems to convey: the countenance of a man shaped by adventure, intellectual curiosity, and encounters with worlds far removed from his own.

On the anniversary of a monarch’s death, it is natural to reflect upon the legacy left behind. ‘Bad King John’ is perhaps not the most flattering epithet to have acquired but there are only so many ways to dress-up military failures, territorial losses, conflict with the Church and baronial confrontation. This fourteenth-century miniature was produced more a century after King John’s death in October 1216, and appears in an English manuscript of laws and statutes. Hunting was a traditional expression of rank and royal privilege, and thus monarchs were frequently depicted in this setting. Yet, within a manuscript concerned with English law, one wonders why the king so closely associated with the Magna Carta is instead portrayed as an aristocratic hunter, mounted atop a noble steed, surrounded by hounds and in pursuit of a stag. Of course, not every royal image was intended to be a commentary on a monarch’s reign, and hunting scenes were common in medieval manuscripts from the thirteenth century onwards. Nevertheless, the contrast between King John’s historical reputation and this particular depiction invites us to reflect upon the power of imagery. If this illustration were the only surviving evidence we had for King John, what might we think of him? #KingJohn #English #Manuscript

‘And their eyes were opened and they recognised him’ (Luke 24:31). Today, the Church celebrates Saint Luke, traditionally honoured not only as an Evangelist, but also as the patron saint of artists. This seventeenth-century engraving of Saint Luke, made in 1653 by the English engraver William Faithorne (c. 1620–1691), offers a fitting meditation on that association. We see Luke depicted with the tools of a painter, working on an image of the Virgin and Child, with the ox beside him: the traditional emblem of the third Evangelist. The portrayal of Saint Luke painting Our Lady and Christ has a rich history in the art of Christendom. In this motif, Luke may be understood to embody the conviction that the making of an image can itself become an act of devotion: a means of contemplating and honouring the sacred. Faithorne’s engraving invites us to contemplate Luke the Evangelist and to honour him as the patron saint of artists, thereby bringing together two forms of creation: the written word and the visual image. The inscription beneath the figure describes Luke as ‘The holy Artist with Inspired Pen’. Thus, on the Feast of Saint Luke, we may use such images to reflect upon the relationship between art and faith, between seeing and understanding. Though our eyes are drawn to paper marked by words or images, our minds are invited to contemplate that which lies beyond. #StLuke #Feast #ChristianArt #ArtHistory

A small glimpse of the rich beauty within Shrewsbury’s St Mary’s Church. Looking up towards the ceiling, I was struck by the sight of these three distinct architectural features, all contained within a single frame. At the centre stand the sweeping, round-headed arches of the nave arcade, with their carefully worked stone mouldings and clustered shafts crowned with foliate capitals. To one side of the arcade, dark timber beams have their simplicity punctuated by golden ornaments. Beyond the great stone arches lies one of St Mary’s celebrated treasures: the nave’s fifteenth-century carved oak ceiling. Even from this partial glimpse of its richly patterned panels, curved crossbeams, and intricate carvings of angels and animals, its magnificence is striking. Perhaps it is the transition between these different colours, materials and styles that I find so beautiful: from the simplicity of the dark timber to the cool tones of the stone arcade, its appearance softened by the skill of medieval masons, and finally through to the warm, almost glowing oak beyond. Each element has its own character, yet together they create a wonderful display of craftsmanship and history. #ChurchArchitecture #Shrewsbury

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 Ceiriog’s beautiful poem, Y Mynyddau Mawr, seems to be the perfect way to mark Shwmae Su’mae Day, a celebration of the wonderful Welsh language. Aros mae'r mynyddau mawr,
Rhuo trostynt mae y gwynt;
Clywir eto gyda'r wawr,
Gân bugeiliaid megis cynt. 
Eto tyfa'r llygad dydd,
Ogylch traed y graig a'r bryn;
Ond bugeiliaid newydd sydd
Ar yr hen fynyddoedd hyn.

Ar arferion Cymru gynt,
Newid ddaeth o rod i rod;
Mae cenedlaeth wedi mynd,
A chenedlaeth wedi dod. 
Wedi oes dymestlog hir,
Alun Mabon mwy nid yw;
Ond mae'r heniaith yn y tir,
A'r alawon hen yn fyw. (My fellow Anglophones may like to read an approximate rendering below). #Welsh #Poetry #Wales