However, I don’t believe it’s known for sure how it got its name (it’s pronounced ‘Ascoffey’ folks).
Nevertheless, recent archaeology has discovered much that was once hidden; stairs, passageways, tiles… all of which are included in the comprehensive museum illustrating the history, not only of Spalding, but of the whole South Holland region and its wonderful agricultural heritage.
Leofwine Tanner 2019
How would the local accent have sounded then, say in 1500? Would I have understood them? More to the point, would they understand me? I doubt it, but I have a liking for old church doors.
This north facing example bears all the marks of being very old, probably late medieval, but I could be wrong. Look
at the tracery… perpendicular style?
Sir Edwin Lutyens’ wonderful War Memorial to the local fallen of the Great War in the grounds of Ayscoughfee Hall, Spalding.
It may be one of his lesser known pieces of architecture, a ‘hidden gem’ that should be appreciated far more.
In a diamond city night we’re
taxied through floodlit streets
angled snow alabasters old facades
medieval histories beyond all guessing
Flanders is frozen outside this misted glass
the two of us sitting nose to nose
our tongues loosening aperitif smiles
white burgundy cutting through brie
making heads light and cheeks flush
and toe touch toe
Our eyes meet when bare soul strokes calf
kissing slim fingers one by one
plied each day to taut cello strings
sneak previews to plots and suites of night
image and poem © copyright David F. Barker
* sorry, but this is an oldie!
I’ve been baffled by this talk of
perpendicular, amused by the students
drifting by
in lurid hats and long scarves. Some are arm-
in-arm, quite oblivious to me, their
languid strides taunting
my age.
It’s a peculiar English thing, this style
of architecture,
(I know it hurts you to say) but I pretend
not to care, because my
recall of art history class is minimal
at best, a choice
that perhaps I regret now in these
idle moments,
sitting hunched in this cafe on
the square, bleeding its pasts. Maybe I’m jealous of
these boys, their short-skirted girls
with dark tights going on forever. And that bell,
it has a continental ring; I see
other occupants here, the shadows
of angular men in martial grey, mingling
with the smiles and chat of stylish women. But
now I have to watch you eat, your
gannet-eyes sucking coffee, washing
down the sachertorte you wolf. The mere
thought of those cobbles out there just beyond
this warping glass— you know
they are as hard as the freeze
which grips this place, the tissue of
your frozen heart
© copyright David F. Barker 2012
Ciscography 