Sweeping St Mary's

Sweeping St Mary's - The Altar

After a couple of minutes spent in stillness, listening to a soundscape muffled and muted by thick flint and stone walls, I placed the portable recorder on the communion rail and pressed pause to begin recording. Picking up the soft-bristled, sturdily crafted broom, I began sweeping the chancel floor.

As I swept, my eyes flitted, scouting the floor ahead of the brush then forensically examining the growing pile of detritus for clues as to the people and events that had visited this space. My ears were tuned to the sound of the brush on the flagstones, tiles and wooden flooring, listening to the clunk of the brush against the altar table, communion rail, stone walls and pews, the louder, more percussive knocks sounding the space. The softer sweeps were punctuated by the brittle scrapes of larger objects; a loose wood strip; a humane mouse trap; and what looked like the back of a plastic display case. In sweeping these sounds into existence, my attention became narrowly focused and the wider soundscape all but disappeared. I remember briefly playing with the idea of sweeping as a monastic, as if this imagined role would help me embody a sense of spirituality. But the sensations and demands of sweeping were more engaging. Occasionally, thought-sound broke through; doubts about capturing my phone ‘ding’ on the recording; listing of further jobs that need doing (wiping down the ledges, washing the altar cloth, polishing the wood and brass, repainting the walls); and the uneasy thought of someone entering and finding me sweeping the empty church. Then, as I noticed pine needles tumble down the broken edges of ledgerstones, the church filled with carol singing and the measured tones of a clergyman, But, apart from these mind-wanderings, there was only the sound of sweeping tempered and softened by the awareness of my movements being documented on the recorder. Back-ache eventually convinced me to call it a day and merge the piles of dust at a spot between the chancel arch and the nave. Not knowing where the dustbin was, I left the dustpan and handbrush where I had found it, recorded a further moment or two of stillness, before halting the recording to sit and type these rememberings into my phone.

Sweeping St Mary's - Wood, Stone, Brick, Ceramic

The initial invitation to get involved with the lighter side of church maintenance came via a small, laminated Churches Conservation Trust leaflet by the door. The leaflet casually asked anyone with an inclination to brush, dust or tidy, to simply grab a broom or cloth and join in.  Such an uncomplicated and direct form of volunteering appealed to me. With no email to send, no group to join, no time to turn up or kit to bring, this felt like the kind of non-committal commitment that could slot into my unpredictably scheduled life. I enjoyed the sense of care and satisfaction I got from maintaining a sacred space. The sweeping encouraged me, or rather compelled me, to notice the detail; the content of the dirt, the patterning of the tiles, the reverberations of the church, the crafting of masonry and woodwork and the multiplicity of other ‘microvolunteering’ opportunities available. This familiar place was becoming unfamiliar as I noticed what I had previously had no reason to notice. Yet, there was a growing sense of knowing the building intimately; its cobwebbed corners, its stained altar cloth, electric taper candles and heavily scarred woodwork. Although the church stands battered, bruised and mildly neglected, its otherness and seeming lack of purpose spoke to me of uncommon, underrepresented values, the usefulness of the useless. The church’s impractical, sacred emptiness had afforded me a quiet space to sweep with greater care and awareness than at home. And with this sweeping and noticing, a nascent connection with my local church, not a possessive one, but a custodial one, a connection that accepted me as a caretaker, part of a lineage stretching back eight-hundred years.

Take good care of yourself,

Richard.

p.s. then you spot a job that needs doing and just can't leave it...

Listening through the wood with a geophone

Whatever brought you here, you are very welcome.

Thank you for listening and do consider sharing your experiences, reflections and wisdom in the comments below or by emailing me at: richard@anoisysilence.com

Resources

For more sweeping and soundscape investigations, you can check out 'Sweep,' a Sonic Art Research Unit project with Sound Diaries.