Ancient Beauty: The Lewis Chessmen

Today I got to see the set of ivory chessmen that were found on the shores of Uig, Isle of Lewis, over 900 years ago.

I had visited Lewis last summer and spent a week traveling around, taking photos, and generally being amazed by the light and space and quiet.  When I got to Uig, there was a huge wooden chess piece standing on the side of the little road that led to the beach, and a notice explaining that this was a large replica made based on the little ivory chessmen that had been found there in 1831.

Apparently these chessmen date back to the 12^th century, being Scandinavian in origin, and were found washed up on the beach by a local man. 

There was something about these little chess pieces that fascinated me.  Not only their incredible age, but the distance they had travelled.  Lewis is a remote, quiet, almost too-quiet place that is still fairly sparsely populated.  And on one of its beaches – far from Scandinavia! - is where these little carved figurines appeared, washing in with the tide, lying almost hidden under the sand for this man to find.  He obviously knew that these were no children’s playthings, for almost 200 years later I am standing in the National Museum of Scotland, looking at ten small chess pieces in fascination and wonder.

The detail is incredible.  You can still see the intricately carved lines, the eyes, every line of the little sword, the hats, the hair, the robes, the horses.  My friend Whitney and I stood for a good ten minutes discussing which one we thought was which – obviously that there was the rook, and this one the knight, and that one the bishop.  We debated for a while over which were the kings and which were the queens, and my favourite was a little man with his teeth bared over his sword.  I bought a replica in the gift shop as we went out – whenever a museum that good is free, I like to make my contribution via the (nevertheless overpriced) gift shop.  It eases my conscience and brings me a little joy too!  (Or someone else, if I’m actually buying a gift.) 

I know very little about chess (I’m not a strategic-game-player: the most I go for would be Risk because despite the strategy required, it still comes down to the roll of the dice), but the game is so beautiful that I will no doubt one day own a very classic and clever chess set.  The carefully designed characters, each one different from the other and yet following a similar pattern, standing like sentries on their designated squares, obedient to a particular route and rules, waiting patiently while their masters consider and ponder and plot their way through the game.

It’s much more than a game: it’s a military directive, an organised array, a battle that has all the time in the world.  I think it’s the pace of chess that I like – the pause for thought, the hand on the chin, the furrowed brow, the calculating wheels of the mind that are barely betrayed with a slight movement of the eyebrow, the eye, the head.  Then, swiftly, a decision is reached.  The hand goes out, the piece is chosen and shifted, in an instant the entire situation is new and different and (perhaps) surprising.  And after that there is silence again.  More consideration, more thought and planning and quietness, until the strike comes again.  And the pieces – those beautiful, carved, ivory pieces – sit in silence and patience with complete trust in their owner, moving in whatever direction he deems right.

It is, indeed, a beautiful game. 

Delicate Beauty

I went out this morning to find that there was a full, complete spider's web built onto the wing mirror of my car.  There is something so intricately beautiful about a spiderweb, especially first thing in the morning when every section is touched by a drop of dew, and the whole thing sparkles in the early morning sun.  It must have been the work of a night - it wasn't there last night when I drove the car in.  I stood for a moment entranced.  It completely covered my wing mirror, and being covered itself in dew or rain, it prohibited my view.  For the sake of the overnight worker, who had carried out this work with such skill, dedication, and beauty, I quailed at the thought of destroying it - but not being able to see what is behind me or to the right does not a safe car journey make, and away it must go.  I captured it, first, but of course my quick photo on the phone didn't in the least do it justice.  What incredible skill was here.  I have worked for days on projects that are far less beautiful - and this creature, one that had already moved on, had left me a gift of beauty that I had to remove.

I felt like I should apologise as I wiped it away.

Beauty In The City

Took the train into Glasgow tonight to meet some friends for dinner.  It was still light when I arrived at Queen Street Station, and I hurried along the streets thankful I had chosen to wear my big brown coat with the fur lining.  Autumn arrived this week and has begun warring with winter, both of them struggling with each other for the rights to the cold.  Autumn insists that it's his responsibility to usher in the crisp air and biting winds, and winter tells him to just give up the fight and let him come in with all the power of his arsenal.  I avoided them both with my furry coat, but I notice that I and my fellow city dwellers are beginning the winter hunch...both shoulders turned in a bit, head down, hands in pockets, feet moving quickly.

Not quickly enough though, as I noticed a man sitting against a wall with an old coffee cup in his hand, coat pulled tightly around him.  I still don't know yet what is the 'right' thing to do every time you see someone in this situation - especially when in the city, and you pass four or five in an hour.  None of them are ever in the same place twice, which makes it very difficult for any relationship building.  I used to wrestle with this in my mind every time, and avoid it entirely by simply walking on.  But a few years ago that got to me also.  If I'm really a believer in Jesus Christ, and trying to be more like Him, I know for a fact He wouldn't walk on.  Matter of fact, it's pretty clear from everything you can read about Jesus that He was homeless Himself.  No regular place to put His head, no kitchen, no family to take care of Him.  Matter of fact, they all showed up once when He was speaking to a crowd and demanded that He come home - not because they wanted to take care of Him, but because they thought He was quite literally out of his mind.  He went around proclaiming He was God, and they were going to save Him from Himself.  It didn't work, and Jesus went on with what He was determined to do, and here I am two thousand years later with hundreds of people that I don't know how to help who are constantly asking me for help.  I have finally decided on a personal philosophy, and it is just that - personal.  It's not what I think everybody should do, and certainly if it's what we all did it wouldn't be enough.  I think we all have to look deep inside and see who we are, what God has given us, and how we can help, even in the smallest way, these people who sit in doorways and against walls and in bus stations and hold out their hand for help.  Mine is to, if I can, buy them a cup of coffee (or some food), and find out their name.  It has never taken me more than five, or maybe ten minutes, out of my day.  Sometimes I stay and talk, other times I don't.  Sometimes I have appointments to keep and people relying on me, and I don't always take the time.  Sometimes I offer and they say no thanks.  But almost every time they are full of thanks, and I am glad that I met their eyes and did not look away.  Yes, I know all the arguments.  They're going to spend money on drink, or drugs, or whatever.  There are missions and hostels and homeless stations everywhere, and these guys are just professional moneymakers.  You need to really get alongside them and get to know them over a period of time.  It doesn't help to just speak to them the one time, especially if I don't even live in that city.  But if they are anything else in the world, they are a human being made in the image of God, and I cannot think it can be right to always pass by when it is so cold outside.  I wouldn't want to be sitting on a cold ground against a cold wall with religious people passing by on the other side all night long. All this flashed through my mind in a second, so fast I could hardly process it, and I promised myself I'd get him that coffee when I came by him on my way back.  If he was there.

We came out of the restaurant afterwards, and stood for a moment enjoying the sparkling beauty of a city at night.  I love going into a restaurant when it's still light out, and then coming out to fairy lights on the trees, a clock tower rising far above our heads against the blue-black sky, people moving more slowly now, not the crazy rush of employees but the comfortable walk of people who have been well fed.  We smiled at the city and it nodded back, pleased to be of service.  And then I remembered the man I had passed, and my inward promise.  I quailed a little, as you always do when there is something that makes you stand out from your friends, but I've ignored that feeling before to my detriment, and for the love of God, it's just a cup of coffee. So we rounded the corner and there he was, the same man, still collecting.  It was as though my feet stopped of their own accord, and I asked if I could get him something - some coffee, perhaps.  His eyes lit up and so did mine.  It was a very short section of my day.  A few minutes to find a coffee shop, a few more minutes to wait in the queue.  A minute or two for them to make it, a few minutes to walk back, and a minute to ask his name.

His name is John.  He is part of the beauty of the city, tonight.

Beauty in Jane

Tonight my friend and I had a Jane night - watching Jane Eyre as well as some Jane Austen. Sometimes I forget that Jane Eyre is not an Austen book, but a Bronte one...but watching the film I was reminded of the differences.  Bronte is darker, deeper even.  Austen wrote out of a desire to see all her characters get "after a little bit of trouble, everything their hearts desired".  She pleases us with beautiful women and handsome men, dances, kindnesses, prayers, familial love, and cups of tea.  Even the self centred men who do the heroines wrong sometimes have a little pang of heart.  But Bronte seems to enjoy scaring us a little with the truly evil side of people - Jane Eyre brings us harsh stepmothers, cruel taskmasters, talk of hellfire and a raging inferno taking over a castle, jealousy, anger, horror, insanity, and a truly great struggle between good and evil.  Two people make that struggle in their own hearts, choosing actions in their lives based on what they think is right and wrong.  One chooses to set aside that little niggling thought of conscience and do what the rest of the world would surely agree is right; and the other listens to it, flees in the midst of rain and storm, and wrestles with her own soul until right comes.

After watching Jane Eyre, we turned to Pride and Prejudice - almost for some relief.  We made dinner and were about to set it out at the table, when we decided that my very long dining room table would make an ideal opportunity for a Jane experience. We set the plates out, one at one end and one at the other, as though we were in one of those huge draughty dining rooms with candles and tapestries and servants.  We set candles all over the table, and used the long stemmed glasses for our sparkling wine.  And just as we sat down, we realised that we couldn't have this kind of dinner without dressing up, so we raced to my closet and picked out two beautiful dresses and some pearls, and sat down to eat our first course in style.  It was really lovely, "dressing for dinner".  How often do I make something quickly in the microwave, and eat it while working or reading or even standing at the breakfast bar.  And how rarely do I set aside three courses, with wine and candles, and time to talk, and the mobile phone somewhere else in the house where I can't hear it.  Because there's something not quite right about stepping back in time several hundred years, but trying to bring your existing century with you.  They don't fit.  You must have one or the other, and tonight we chose the other.


There's great beauty in both Janes.  Charlotte Bronte's Jane is plain, with great beauty within.  Jane Austen's women are beautiful inside and out, renowned for their beauty and chosen even when they are poor.  And there's something about the times gone by that makes us wish for it a little - the horses and carriages, four poster beds, family meals, dinners out, ruffled dresses, balls...so tonight we enjoyed it all, from the comfort of my twenty-first century flat.

Elegance and Beauty

"While beauty, in its purest physical form, is nature's gift alone to bestow, elegance, grace and style are infinitely more democratic.  A little discipline and a discerning eye, along with a generous helping of good humour and effort, are all that's needed to cultivate these admirable qualities."  -Kathleen Tessaro

I picked up a small book at a local charity shop called “Elegance”, a novel about a woman who becomes frustrated with her own lack of this quality and seeks to pursue it.  It really is true that you are what you read – even after just a few chapters, I found myself appraising my wardrobe plans for the next day.  Apparently, comfort is out where elegance is concerned.  "When comfort becomes an end in itself, it is the Public Enemy Number One of elegance." I think that’s always been one of the challenges I have faced when it comes to dressing ‘elegantly’, or even nicely: women’s fashionable clothes, particularly shoes, are not created with comfort in mind.  It’s presumed that women will gladly endure a great deal of pain in order to best showcase their charms – and this is presumed because we see it carried out on a daily basis in cities all over the world.

However, there is something to be said for dressing nicely.  "There's something about a slow moving female in the middle of rush hour traffic. Everyone, everything changes. And I discover that moving slowly is one of the most powerful things you can do....I appear to be walking because it amuses me, not because I have to. And in the sea of darting pedestrians around me, I have become majestic." I read this and wasn’t sure I entirely believed it…so often these novels about women who don’t consider themselves beautiful just frustrate me, because they only need to lose a few pounds and go to the gym for a month or two and they’re practically a supermodel.  But I decided regardless to dress today with elegance primarily in mind, and practicality second, and scoured my closet accordingly.

To my own surprise, I discovered a long tartan skirt in green and grey and pink, with tall grey boots to match and a long green coat I had picked up in a charity shop in Glasgow’s West End.  I decided to spend a little extra effort on my hair, choose out a necklace (again surprised to find one that complemented my outfit colours perfectly), and at the last minute added a jaunty grey hat my friend Helen gave me for my birthday many years ago.  I was amazed at what you can bring together from random shopping trips, birthday and Christmas gifts, and a hair dryer and straighteners.  Feeling a little better about myself on the ‘elegance’ side, I sallied forth.

I couldn’t believe the difference.  Perhaps a large part of it is in the mind: if you know that you look well, you walk more confidently and aren’t afraid to meet people’s eyes.  But I couldn’t ignore the fact that people looked me in the eye and even smiled; taxis stopped to let me go past; and the guy trying to get me to contribute to the charity of the day began his spiel with “Well, you look really nice today!”  And the thing was, I knew I did. 

I still maintain that, partly for me and my own personality, and partly because of the world we (or I) live in, striving for elegance every single day is not just exhausting, it’s (horror word) not “practical”.  There are days when I just put on a pair of jeans and work from home.  Or when it’s absolutely chucking it down, and wearing a nice, dry-clean-only coat will be something to regret later. 

I’ve re-read this quote on elegance and beauty, and I disagree.  Beauty is not simply something that 'nature', or God, bestows on some and not others, and you have to just make the most of the hand you have been dealt.  I think that striving for elegance leads to beauty.  When I make an effort to choose my outfit more carefully, and add accessories that match and highlight, others take pleasure in the result.  My cheerful green coat brightens the world a little bit, and so does my smile when I’m feeling pleased.

Have a beautiful day.