Never stand under a bridge (and take photgraphs)

Although I've had my trusty Fuji for a few years, I have never quite managed to try all the functions out.  Perhaps its timidity, or perhaps its lack of suitable subjects on which to experiment.  But today, I decided to be different.  Boldly selecting the multi-frame continuous option, which is different from the mult-frame top, or multi-frame bottom options, I hoped to capture a David Bailey-esque sequence of classic shots as Clan Line drifted towards me.   However, it was not to be .....

Resting on an ancient but servicable camera-pole, and with iso set, programme mode set, multi-frame selected, chrome off, focus to spot, and fast focus..... I pressed the shutter release.....  click, pause, click, pause, click, pause ... ah? oh ... Its gone passed me ....  And the result is as you see.  near, nearer, in the dark (under the bridge), and gone.   Now, if I hadn't been standing at the bridge.....

HS2 is coming, I hope the granchildren like it in 2026

So, we're getting another High Speed Rail Link.  One which will extend the existing high speed route linking the Channel Tunnel to London, onwards up to somewhere north of Birmingham; HS2 is its abbreviation, HS1 being the existing CTML, or Channel Tunnel Main Line across Kent to St Pancras.  HS2 sounds nice and 'technical' (I suppose BML would sound like an obsolete nationalised industry), and it'll run, at least in part, upon the alignment of the old Great Central/LNER main line into London's Marylebone terminus, a line with the unhappy distinction of being the last main line to reach London, and the first to be closed (it was abandoned and lifted north of Quainton, Bucks., in 1966-69).

And people are quite naturally asking do we need it? and do we want it ?  Its suggested that the cost will be in excess of 30 billion pounds, which is a lot of money by most standards - sufficient to add at least five Queen Elizabeth class Aircraft Carriers (without their aircraft) to the Royal Navy, build a quite few hospitals, or maybe catch up with the backlog of road repairs.  But those things already have their own budgets which already dwarf the cost of HS2, spread as it will be across a dozen or more years of construction work.  So would it be money spent on something worthwhile ?

There seem to be several factors that the debates around HS2 are ignoring, or perhaps under estimating.  The first is the growth in rail travel itself (on whatever speed route is used).  The statistics for passenger numbers continue to break all the records set in the 20th century, with rail travel in recent years exceeding anything achieved in the 1980s or 90s, and far exceeding the passenger levels of the nostalgic golden days of the steam railway.  These record numbers have been delivered on a reduced network, shorn in the 60's of much of its feeders of secondary routes and branch lines, and with most track and infrastructure pared down to the minimum.  Infrastructure and track miles equal maintenance costs, maintenance costs are overheads, overheads are watched by accountants etc.  But reducing the costs has meant less double track miles, less relief lines, fewer points, longer signalling block sections, and fewer lay-bys and sidings, all of which contribute to a less flexible and lower capacity network overall.  To achieve the passenger mileage, the network and rolling stock is now 'tuned' to faster trains, fewer stops outside of the big conurbations, and actually works only by many routes running at their maximum capacity, at least during the normal working day.

The second overlooked factor is freight.  Rail freight is one of the remarkable secret success stories of the modern era.  In the 1970s, freight abandoned the rails for the roads in almost every market, and Dr Beeching often prophesied a network of passenger only rail with vestigial freight services linking a few major centres and with highly specialised cargoes.  The coal strikes of the early 80s seemed to kill off that traffic as well as both pits closed and the dash-to-gas accellerated at UK power stations.  But today the situation has completely reversed.  2010 saw a 13% decline in road freight, while on rail, the last six years (2006-2011) have seen a steady growth of freight, running at 2% per annum each year, and with projections putting the growth nearer to 7% across this current decade.  The additional traffic is partly driven by the Channel Tunnel, but more by the rise in intermodal traffic and the expanding or planned expansion of deep-sea ports such as Haven, Thames, Medway and Solent, along with Mersey and Salford opening up in the near future.  But the freight traffic is starting to exceed our rail capacity.  Freight cannot, and indeed has no real need to move at the speeds of passenger traffic, 60 or 75mph is more than adequate, yet even at those speeds on the trunk routes freight is too slow and blocks other (faster) traffic.

Without HS2 factored in, freight traffic is starting to demand more paths on the WCML than there is capacity to run the trains.  And the same pressure will soon be felt on the GWML, the GW route north through Oxford and on the cross-Anglian route linking Felixstowe to the midlands.  The solution is ether to rebuild most of the principal trunk routes south of Manchester, giving them something approaching four track capacity, or taking a significant section of the long distance passenger traffic off of those same routes, the largest of which by a long way is the WCML.

So, to me at least, that seems to make a very strong case for another route from the SE to the Midlands.  HS2 may or may not be the correct or best choice, but another route of some significance does seem like a sensible idea.

And if you think its easy for me to not be a NIMBY because HS2 isn't running along my garden fence, let me herby state that I will gladly swap my property (from which the trains are frustratingly hidden by buildings and trees) for one of similar value overlooking or adjoining HS2 and commanding a proper view of the passing spectacle.  Offers anyone ?

The Old Iron Lady

The Iron Lady, released last weekend, is a film about Margaret Thatcher, the former British Prime Minister once dubbed 'The iron Lady' by the Soviets. But it is also, or perhaps principally, a study in old age, the onset of dementia, and grief.  The camera frequently lingers on the elderly face of Margaret Thatcher (played outstandingly by Mery Streep), and we watch as incomprehension, confusion, or sudden moments of clarity, are played out in the movements of her eyes, the suck of a lip, or the tilt of the head.  Streep captures very poignantly the decline of old age, as we see her try to buy a pint of milk in a busy newsagent, or try to work a DVD player, everything is there - the shuffling gait of the elderly, the gripping of a chair back here, a door frame there, the slight swaying when she pauses.

It is a film crafted from, and relying wholly upon the fundamental elements of movie making.  The camera is mostly still, yet the scenes are composed and lit with great precision.  There are no (obvious) lapses in to CGI, only one explosion requiring of the use of special effects, no sweeping vistas, no grand melodies played to move the audience where the scene is weak.   Most of the time there are only one or two actors in camera, and most of the locations are intimate and tightly bounded - a sitting room, around a dinner table, or in a polling station.  Yet with these simple uncomplicated elements a tale is told of an elderly lady finally coming to terms with death, loss and her own old age.  The lady just happened to be a former Prime Minister.

In tone and simplicity, Iron Lady compares well with 'The Queen', where Helen Mirren plays Elizabeth II, or with 'The King's Speech', where Colin Firth plays the man who became King George VI.  All three rely heavily and successfully on the ability of the principal character to animate his or her face before the camera.  But also like them, Iron Lady is not a film to watch to learn much about 20th century political history, or about the rise and fall of a Prime Minister.  For such learning and insight one would turn elsewhere.  But having said that, there is one particularly amusing moment, where, at the heart of the Falklands Crisis, Mrs Thatcher is explaining to Al Haig, the US negotiator and intermediary, that Britian will not be negotiating with the Argentinian Junta (characteristically pronounced with a hard 'J').  He counters with the observation that the Falklands are small, remote, and have few inhabitants, to which Mrs Thatcher asks him whether the US would negotiate if someone invaded Hawaii ? - the expression on Haig's face is priceless.

So, a film worth watching I'd say.

Carols by Candle-Light

Christmas always provides some great opportunities to use the camera indoors. The inside of a church fully decorated for the festival I find particularly photogenic, and this year, as has been my practice, I spent some time attempting to capture the scene it presented. Indoor photography is always interesting, not least due to the lower lighting conditions, the range of artificial light sources, and the presence of colourations that are absent with sunlight.

For 2011, the Christmas tree itself was the tallest that we've ever erected, and its tip, along with the mandatory plastic (ex- Woolworths?) star was hidden from direct view by the rafters. So a closer and more upward looking approach was called for.

Having captureded a selection of shots on my trusty old Fuji, it then occurred to me that the green, red and gold-cream colours lent themselves to creating a mock Victorian post-card feel. So, back at base, a few minutes experimentation with irfanview to blur and pixelate produced the effect you see at left (OK, I did have to 'photo-shop' out a bit of pipe on the back wall, but it doesn't show too much). The result was sufficiently impressive to make the cover of our 2011 Carols by Candle-light Order of Service !

Being in the right place at the right time

Some things catch you by surprise. Take passing trains for example. In my time I have stood for upwards of three hours to watch a particular locomotive pass by, only to see nothing pass at all. On other occasions I have arrived too late, or just as what I sought was disappearing into the distance. But on this occasion I sought nothing, was expecting nothing, but saw something rare (for a BR Southern Region person at least).

This was Carnforth Station in October 2011. I was walking towards the northern end of the platform for the double-track line which runs around the Cumbrian Coast, when I heard a relaxed grumbling behind me. Turning around, I was greeted by the sight of a pair of class 66s conveying a nuclear fuel flask wagon along the goods avoiding line towards Sellafield (I assume). Now, to see a flask train is fairly uncommon anywhere in the UK, but to have the combination drift past me at gentle pace and just a few feet away was quite an unexpected chance occurrence.

As I said, its all about being in the right place at the right time.

Another Martello Ticked Off

On a bitterly cold December day in 2011, I ventured East to Felixstowe's Landguard Common and its namesake Palmerston era Landguard Fort. Nearby is Martello Tower 'P', one of the four remaining Martellos that guarded the once important anchorage and harbour of Harwich.

It is an interesting, tightly bounded area, hemmed in by the sea on three sides, the modern port of Felixstowe on the fourth, and capped by an oddly located caravan site. Part of the common is a seasonal nature reserve, but it mostly owes its existence in its current form to the presence of the defensive works sited there for almost 400 years.

The main section of Landguard Fort consists of casemates for 7 guns facing into the estuary, backed by brick and earth walls, magazines and covered accommodation, and surrounded by ditches with caponiers. Many of the latter have either simply been filled in, or have been built over by the large Edwardian battery which faces out sea. In addition to the 1900 extension, WWII added anti-invasion defenses and a range of protected harbour control installations.

Out on the Hills

A shepherds soliloquy
----------------------------

I don't suppose I'll be here to see His day arrive
No.. He's still a lad at the moment..
But He's out there.. growing...waiting, getting ready..

Ha! You don't know who I'm talking about do you ?
No.. Well, let me start at the beginning then.

We'd just moved up from the south, as we did every year for the winter.
We'd pasture the sheep in the hill country, just South of Jerusalem.
Near Bethlehem actually .. you know ? where King David came from.

It always made us smile, there we were with sheep near the ancient home of our greatest King, he was a shepherd too - did you know that ? But not like us mind you. No. He had home, family, brothers 'n that. We seem to manage without them mostly..

In fact, it was always a trial for us - those winter months. For most of the year we worked way off on the edge of the wilderness. Just us and the sheep. A simple sort of existence really, with no-one to bother us. But up there near the city.. well thing always got more complicated.

We were.. well ARE never trusted by the folks who live there. They say we're light fingered 'n such, that we get mine and thine mixed up sometimes.... 'n I suppose there -is- some truth in that.. Mind you I always try to return what I borrow.....

And then folk up there are always say we cant be 'real Jews', because we can't get to the synagogue very often, or even to the feasts sometimes. That always stuck in my craw. My father used to tell me how YHWH was Lord of -all- His people, how he loved -all- of them, even when they were far away.... that His eye was always on them and that His great heart of compassion was always tuned towards them ..... I 'spose some have forgotten that... I've got used to being one where my occupation meant you must be irreligious, or whose word was 'a shepherds oath' and a by-word for 'untrustworthy', but for everyone, especially the Pharisees and the rest to say the YHWH couldn't be 'with us'.......well (mutters darkly)

But I'm getting off the point aren't I ?

Yes.. Where were we ?.. back outside Bethlehem. .. yes...
That year was worse than any we'd ever seen. For while we were never welcome in the town, we could at least buy bread, and a skin of wine, but that year we couldn't get anything from anyone ! And why ? Because there wasn't anything left !! The town was overrun with visitors, not just a few, but people from all over Israel. Hundreds of 'em. You couldn't buy bread, or flour, wine was unobtainable, hay or oats for animals was priced well out of our purses. You see, the Romans had organised one of their 'censuses'; anyone whose family was from those parts had returned to Bethlehem and the place was bursting at the seams because of it.

We went into town a couple of times, realised it was wasted effort, and stayed on the hills.

And that is where we were that night.

We'd lit a fire, much like every other night, and we sat around with our backs towards it, eyes towards the flock. I'd fallen asleep, but several others were awake, just in case a local tried to come and 'borrow' a sheep to feed the unexpected visitors. But we weren't expecting any trouble.

And then suddenly, the sky, it was full of light, and then the ground around us was alight too.... not like summer daytime, but like someone had lit all the candles in the world at the same time as was holding up in front of us.. I woke up, of course, we all turned and looked, someone jumped to his feet, but a second later sank down onto his knees. I remember starting to think 'what's the matter with him?...' when I found the same powerful urge come over me too. I was suddenly filled with acute shame, though I couldn't say what for, and a feeling of embarrassment and dirtiness cut right through me, just as though someone had read my minds most repulsive secrets but worse..... And as we lay there, it may have been for seconds or minutes, I felt every part of my body shaking in fear and remorse, if it were possible to feel both things so strongly at the same time.

But strange as it may seem, I kept looking towards the light, and there in front of us now stood a man, but not a man. The light was surrounding him, but not coming from him; it seemed the light was source of our acute discomfort. Then he spoke to us.

“Peace !, don't be afraid”, he said. “I am bringing you good news. News of great joy that will be for all the people. Today, in the town of David a Saviour has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”

Then he paused, as if awaiting a response from us. Well my tongue seemed like lead, and my mouth may have moved a bit, but I couldn't get a sound out, and neither did anyone else. I'm sure I saw the visitor's eye brow rise just a little at our complete lack of response, so He continued

"This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

Well if that sounds like a traumatic experience; to be greeted by an Angel on a dark hillside in winter, and to experience just a glimpse of what must have been the Glory of YHWH, ... well worse was to come !. For no sooner had he told us about the sign, than from out of nowhere he was joined by a vast army of what were plainly YHWH's angels. They were dressed as if for battle, but it wasn't their appearance that was the most striking thing, but their song...

For they all began to sing, the most exquisite and beautiful sound I have ever heard. Like human voices, yes, but sweeter and richer, deeper and higher, with notes that pieced you with their perfection, and made you heart feel as if it should burst. But even more wonderful was what they sang, or almost 'proclaimed' defying anyone or anything to challenge its truth :

"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men on whom his favour rests.

The words echoed back and forth, and with each restatement, I was willing them to sing that again, and sing that again, tell me that again.

Then they stopped. The song faded to silence and the angelic army swiftly slipped away from sight; last of all to go was our original visitor who was now smiling at us.

Well, we all started talking at once. We had our tongues back, and our legs too ! We were all on our feet, "Let's go to Bethlehem" we said, "and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about". So we did just that, leaving the flock to care for itself, we were rushing and tumbling down the hillside towards the darkened town and the promised Christ. Looking back, I don't know how we thought we'd find him, or how many strangers we'd have to wake until we found 'the one', but it didn't happen like that. We ran to the little square in the centre of the town, paused for breath, and there we noticed a lamplight showing through a half open door. For some reason, we went straight over to the building, paused again for a moment, then swung the door wide a stepped inside.

There wasn't much to see inside. A couple of older ladies, a dog lying on the floor near the door, one or two bits of rough furniture, some sacks of something... and a man, and a young woman, and a feeding trough. They all turned and looked towards. Written over each face was 'what do you want ?', (and I expect we looked an odd sight !). But before anyone could speak from out of the trough came a little cry - that of tiny infant. Immediately, just as on the hillside, all our legs turned to water and we sank to the ground. As the eldest, I began to explain how we'd been visited by and Angel of the Lord, and how he'd told us how 'a saviour who is Christ the Lord' has been born here in this town, and how we were to find him.....

"Please tell us, when was he born ?" I asked,
"Tonight, In the first watch" replied the man.
"that was When the Angel appeared to us......and so What will you call him?"
Now the you girl spoke up. "forgive me for speaking, but, An angel appeared to me also, and to Joseph here", and she smiled at him.
"Yes", Joseph spoke again, "yes, I, ..we, .., We will be naming him Jesus"....

The word, the name, it seemed to hang in the air ...A saviour, A saviour, Jesus, the old name for YHWH saves !

Well to cut a long story short, the town got little rest that night, late though it was, we told everyone who'd listen what had happened, and what YHWH had revealed to us. So it was many hours later that we were back sitting on our hillside with a new dawn braking slowly in the east. Nobody spoke much, until eventually someone said, "You know, I think the world has just changed".

I'm tired of beating the Air

Beating the Air is a good picture of utterly pointless activity. It has the appearance of action and effort and of being something productive, yet nothing results. Recently, I've come to suspect that beating the air is a good picture of what we're doing when we pray. Or rather, that's what it seems like when we meet together to pray. Maybe your prayer gatherings are different, but in my neck of the woods we seem too ready to lower our sights to the minutiae of everyday life, to focus on problems and pitfalls, anticipated and imagined difficulties, while being somehow reluctant to raise our focus upwards to the one to whom and with whom we speak, and to grasp the higher themes of what we are about as God's people.

That being the case, I drew up a list of things I felt we could focus on in place of the endless detail or vague generalities. (Its not that I'm against detail or even generalities, but those are the easy targets, they are comfortable to our old sinful natures because they don't take us too close to God, His character and will, or make us take much notice of our own coldness and heart-failures)

It went like this :

Real Conversions - Ie. tangible heart-change, not merely statistically significant hovering around church people

Real Joy & Delight in the Gospel (in old and new believers) - Ie. either this is the word of life, a matter of life and death, or we're playing games

Deepening faith (confidence) in God (his character and heart) - evidenced in a change from 'maybe' thinking to 'expectant' thinking

Real Shoulders to the Work - evidenced in hands on deck when there is a real need

Real Compassion for our lost neighbours/friends/relatives/loved ones - manifested in prayers, intercession, even tears for the lost (why should there be only one person who's voice cracks when praying for those she loves ?)

Embracing the folly of the Gospel - evidenced in our willingness to be 'fools' for Christ as we invite folks to hear the message

Embracing "Ourselves as your servants for Jesus's sake" - evidenced as we give ourselves to those coming to faith that they might grow in the knowledge of Christ, Ie, no fly in fly out speaking the gospel into peoples lives

Wrestling - evidenced as we square up to the enemy's grip on the unsaved, the world's darkness, and the necessity of God sovereignly shedding light and giving new birth

Forgiveness, mutual love & respect - evidenced as we refuse to let our sin, folly, daft ideas, mistakes and misunderstandings muddy our relationships or mar our fellowship (horizontally or vertically!)


As soon as I'd finished the list, an esteemed colleague reminded me that I'd forgotten one or two of the most important things. God's Glory, and Paul's frequent prayer that we might know Christ better. It was obvious really - they should have been 1st and 2nd. So much for my spirituality and insight !

Funny how the really important often drowns under one's own well meaning ideas.

Point of Ayr

From time to time you stumble upon hidden gems, places where you expected nothing, but found great beauty. Such a place is the North West most corner of Wales. The Point of Ayr. Vast beaches, empty space, acres of sky, dunes, and sighing grasses.

Ah yes, and did I mention, Kites ....

Space to FLY !

The 1st Century in the 21st Century.

The speaker stood on a makeshift platform barely twelve inches above his roaring, boisterous audience. "Who is a Prophet ?" he called out. Back came the reply : "Mohamed !, Jesus !, Marx !" . "Well I'll tell you", he continued, "Only Someone who knows the name of God can be a prophet of God", "Liar !" they shouted back in response. "Look, see, the Muslim's are afraid of hearing who is a prophet. That's why they want to drown me out". The crowed roared "Yes" and "No!", and "Jesus" with gusto. "Look, nowhere in the Q'ran does Mohamed use the real personal name of God", "Liar" they shouted again, followed by "Allah, Allah, Allah". "No Allah is not God's name, it simply means 'the God', that's not Gods personal name. Only in the Bible do we read prophets using God's personal name". "Liar!" they shouted again. Then he turned to crowd and called "What is God's real name ?" "Yahweh! Yahweh! Yahweh!" they chanted back.

And so it went on, with claim and assertion, banter, interruption, questions, chanting, good humour. Suddenly from in the crowd a woman in a headscarf reached out and touched the speaker. He stoped, looked directly at her. "Don't touch me, I am a Christian. You, a Muslim woman, you cannot touch me" Her Face fell. "Hey, don't look angry, relax, you don't have to be angry, we can relax here. Smile.. yeah that's better, you look much prettier when you smile" She turned away confused, disarmed by the speakers manner.

Speaker's Corner, Hyde Park, London. A unique place.

They noted that these men had been with Jesus.

Not long after Pentecost the Apostles were hauled up before the authorities of their day to account for their preaching in the name of Jesus and the emergence of the early Christian Church in Jerusalem.  They had just healed a man, and had been speaking to the crowds explaining how it was through Jesus that they had performed the miracle. Having been imprisoned overnight, and having had opportunity to make a defence of their actions, their accusers were led to the following observation "When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realised that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus...".

So they recognised that these men had been with Jesus. What did that signify and what did they mean by that statement of the obvious ?  Were they referring to the fact that Peter and John had come up to the capital with Jesus ?  That was true.  Or that they were among the vast numbers who had followed him around Galilee ?  That was true as well.  Or maybe that they had been around Jesus just before his arrest and subsequent trial ?  That also was correct.  But none of those was what the Sanhedrin were referring to.

Unschooled, ordinary men had been transformed by three years of following their Rabbi, the Rabbi, day and night, 24x7.

Now, they behaved remarkably like him.  They did what he did.  They spoke about what he spoke about.  They went where he went.  They were opposed as he was opposed.  His mission was now their mission.

Today, when we interpret and apply this passage, we usually 'spiritualise' it. Since we can't spend time with a physically present Jesus, we say something along the lines of ah ! we too must spend time with Jesus, therefore we must pray more, dwell in him more, commune with him more and so on, and in that way we will be 'transformed' as were Peter and John.  Now all those are good and right, and we should indeed spend more time with our saviour.  But is it reasonable to make that application from this passage, even as a secondary point ?   Possibly, but it depends on whether we place the emphasis on 'communion', or on 'transformation', or both.  If we focus on transformation we will need to pull in the wider NT teaching on holiness or growth in godliness, otherwise we sell our hearers/readers short.

The Sanhedrin were pointing to men transformed by three years of 24x7 following.  So we need to ask, what is the NT equivalent for the generation who had not personally met Jesus, how did they become like Peter and John ? How did Paul and Luke, Apollos and Epahroditus become like the Jesus they had never physically met ?  And as we answer that question we may be able to answer what or where is the 2009 equivalent of 24x7 following and transformation ?

At cost, subsidised, or 'with profits' ?

At the weekend, we got to see this. The Logos Hope. Having heard about the Logos ships down the decades, and having been told that morning that one was in town (or more correctly in the harbour), I found myself driving to the Cardiff waterfront with no little anticipation. To see, in the flesh so to speak, an item of evangelistic legend, would be an opportunity not to be missed - after all they don't visit the UK very often, preferring instead to take the good news of Jesus to places with less 'chance' of hearing about Him, or so I imagine.

The ship was in the inner basin, just by the lightship restaurant. Big signs on the superstructure welcomed all aboard for no cost, and thus encouraged, we too mounted the gangplank to see what lay inside. On the main visitor deck, we found a large bookshop, a cafe, an excellent exhibition about the ship and its recent visits, and a briefing area for those who wanted the full tour (cost 2 (or 3) pounds), which alas we didn't have time for. But it was the bookshop that surprised me. It was billed by the smiling crew members as 'educational', which when translated meant it comprised about 60% christian books, 10% christian music CDs, 20% kids stuff, and the balance being general interest. There was nothing from UK publishers that I spotted, and UK authors were only represented via US publishers. The CDs were American, and the general interest stuff was anodyne in the extreme, and also American. But none of that was particularly noteworthy in itself, Logos has, after all, O.M. behind it, and that is American. No, what stuck me was the cost. Or rather, the lack of it. Bibles on sale for a few pounds, books that cost nine or twelve pounds in the UK on sale for 2.50 or 3.50. And those were not odd 'bargains', everything was priced at the same level.

So I asked myself, and I ask you gentle reader, is the UK Christian book buying public being ripped off ? Or was it all heavily subsidised ?

Whatever the answer, next time you see a Logos ship in your harbour, if you need a good book or three, step on board.

Q. What came before the font and the baptismal pool ?

Answer : One of these.  Its a 4th century Romano-British font-pool-baptistry thing.  Over a thousand miles to the North-West of Rome, a christian church situated in the port settlement of Richborough in Kent built this baptistry in their church located inside the walls of the Roman Fort.  It is big enough for one person to stand in, but not two.  It is floor or ground standing, and its shape and construction suggests that it was not much taller than this when complete, thus an adult standing in it would be thigh-deep in water were it to be completely filled.  However, it has no drain or signs of plumbing of the types associated with Roman buildings.  Which would suggest that it was either left filled, filled when needed, or not filled but used as a basin or recepticle for poured water.

Wall paintings from elsewhere in the empire show baptismal candidates having water poured over them while standing in a large bowl or hollow structure, and given its modest size and dimensions,  that would be a plausible way of using the Richborough Baptistry.  If that is the way it was used, it would add weight to the suggestion that mandating full immersion is a later innovation added to the basic act of baptism, and not an idea felt necessary by those nearer to the New Testament than we.

Rome in Wiltshire

The design of Bowood House in Wiltshire is based on the 4th century Palace of Diocletian in modern Split, Croatia. Robert Adam, the architect of Bowood, had surveyed and publicised the Roman Emperor's 'retirement' palace, which during the centuries before his survey had effectively become lost. Adam recorded the survey in his book "Ruins of the palace of the Emperor Diocletian at Spalatro in Dalmatia", published in 1764. Today, inside the public entrance, one of Adam's elevations is on display to illustrate how closely he followed the original.

Of course, the modern Bowood House is considerably smaller than Diocletian's huge complex with its accommodation for a small garrison, its numerous servants and private access to the sea. Nevertheless, Bowood still give one a feeling for the elegance of Classical Architecture, albeit mediated through 18th century eyes.