Elswyth

From Elswyth , my record of the ways sound inhabits sacred space. At St Gregory the Great , Harpford, the worn keys of the organ carry the memory of countless services – each note layered over generations. I’m drawn to the meeting of craft and devotion – wood polished by use, air and echo shaping prayer into something both physical and fleeting. Centuries of music in worship at the church of St Gregory the Great, Harpford. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , my exploration of detail and devotion in stone. On the west front of Exeter Cathedral , the carved figures and beasts seem both ancient and alive – expressions of imagination weathered by centuries of rain and restoration. I’m drawn to their humour and endurance – reminders that faith and creativity often share the same impulse to watch, to guard, and to endure. Meeting up with old friends on the west front. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a series tracing the living presence within historic ground. In the churchyard of Holy Trinity , Buckfastleigh, the gravestones tilt gently among grass and shadow – each stone shaped by weather, memory, and renewal. I’m drawn to how life persists in these places – moss softening the edges, birdsong threading through the stillness, time moving quietly over stone. These gravestones in the churchyard of Holy Trinity in Buckfastleigh are very much alive. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a study of how landscapes hold their own language. Milestones like this one – carved, weathered, and constant – speak of movement and memory, even as meanings shift around them. I’m drawn to these fixed points in the landscape – where time travels past, yet the stone remains, marking both distance and return. The conclusions we can draw from numbers like this are meaningless without context. Does this signify a short journey or a day of travel? The stone and its inscription have remained the same across time, but it's fascinating to consider how the weight of the words has shifted. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , my exploration of sacred art and its quiet contradictions. In St Disen’s , Bradninch, a dragon coils beneath the feet of a saint – colour and glass translating conflict into light. I’m drawn to these moments where story and symbol meet – where faith borrows from myth, and the boundaries between the imagined and the believed grow beautifully thin. Pausing in Bradninch to reflect on the curious juxtaposition of a Christian saint with a mythological beast. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a record of places where time leaves small, human traces. These chalked notes on a brick wall – written decades ago by a previous owner of our house – hold the simplicity of ordinary life preserved by chance. I’m drawn to how handwriting endures beyond intention – marks of thought, weathered into belonging. Notes chalked on our garage wall decades ago by a former owner of our house and garden. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a record of coastal edges and the stories carried in stone. Along the Jurassic Coast , time feels visible – each cliff and pebble shaped by tides, pressure, and light. I’m drawn to these small traces of vastness – the weight of history held in a handful of smooth stone, the sea breathing against the shore as if to remind us of scale and continuity. For my oldest possession is the pebble in my pocket. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , my collection of photographs tracing the textures of English life and landscape. This cottage, with its newly thatched roof and scaffolding still in place, catches a moment of renewal – craft meeting weather, the ordinary made beautiful. I’m drawn to these working details – the rhythm of straw and light, the patience of hands shaping shelter. "Mine is a most peaceable disposition. My wishes are: a humble cottage with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, the freshest milk and butter, flowers before my window, and a few fine trees before my door" - Heinrich Heine  Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , my record of spaces where memory and design meet. The Chapel of St Michael and St George at Wellington School was built as a memorial to former pupils who fell in the Great War – a place where colour and light form a quiet act of remembrance. The blue ceiling seems almost sky-like – a field of calm above the carved dedication below. "Built by the old to remember the young" - dedicated in 1931 in memory of the Wellington Old Boys who gave their lives in The Great War. The setting today for a service of confirmation. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a collection tracing the quiet endurance of Dorset and Devon’s small churches. St Gabriel’s , Morcombelake, sits folded into the hillside – stone and shadow meeting beneath an open sky. The air carries the scent of sea and grass, and the wooden cross above the door seems to hold both age and renewal – a reminder of craft, care, and continuity. The wooden cross over the west door was made from wood from the old chapel of St Gabriel in Stanton, and the salvaged rood beam dates from c1500.  Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

 From Elswyth , a quiet record of Dorset and Devon’s churches and landscapes. In the churchyard of St Michael & All Angels , Hinton, morning light filters through the trees – the gravestones leaning gently, moss-softened and green. It’s a place that holds its peace lightly – where history, weather, and stillness seem to share the same breath. Serenity among the gravestones at St Michael & All Angels Church in Hinton. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a journal of journeys through landscapes shaped by story and faith. Minstead , in the New Forest, holds the resting place of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – a quiet churchyard where light drifts across the grass and carved stone. The place feels steeped in both imagination and remembrance – history, belief, and narrative entwined beneath the same sky. We stopped at Minstead on the way home from London, where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is buried in the graveyard. Anglo Saxon carvings on the font in All Saints' church include a depiction of the Lamb of God with a cross (symbolising Christ's victory over sin and death), and a lion with a calf eating together (Isaiah 11.6). Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.