The artist responsible for the Driftwood Christ in St Mary's Church has died. Rachel Baker was 89 and she created the stunning artwork in the Memorial Chapel from wood collected at Winchelsea Beach. Roy Abel remembers her life, her work and a very special gift.
Rachel Baker: March 25 1936 - July 24 2025
We drop from view when we age. No longer a rival or a potential partner, we somehow grow indistinct, losing our shape as personalities in the eyes of others. Who we are becomes obscured, unclear what we are capable of.
When I first saw Rachel Baker she was shuffling into St Mary’s on the arm of her loyal partner Mike. In fact, not long after that she had a medical episode requiring attention from a medic in the congregation. Another statistic.
So it was some time before we cautiously began to interact with her in the coffee sessions after Sunday service. As she regained her strength, her character began to reveal itself. Perhaps it was simply that our own perception of her became less blinkered by her physical frailty. It was clear she had a keen mind and an undimmed interest in people. She also showed a sharp sense of humour that was not above poking fun at herself and others.
One Sunday she produced a little book of drawings, animals mostly, cats and horses. Accurate and expressive they were: we weren’t altogether surprised to learn that they were her work. We took her in the pick-up to visit our Highland cattle. She admired them from the cab, taking photos and getting almost within touching distance of their horns as they approached with friendly curiosity.
On the way back, as we passed the faded Mrs Smeaton’s sign on Winchelsea Road. she
announced that she had lived there, and had used the old shop as a studio.
“That’s where I made the Driftwood Christ.”
“What - at St Mary’s? You sculpted the Driftwood Christ?!”
A smile and a small nod.
“I spent six months gathering driftwood on Winchelsea beach. I would go back again and again until I had the perfect piece for each part.”
The figure of Christ on the cross was familiar to us from the Clare Chapel facilitating early communion, but has since gravitated across to the Memorial Chapel. Here He presides over tributes to departed loved ones and the candles lit in their memory.
He is sturdily built from multiple round sticks of varying sizes and shapes, painstakingly selected to match a particular plane or curve of the body. The individual elements writhe with power almost as if He has been flayed exposing muscle and tendon. He wears a spattered loincloth and a crown of local thorns. His head droops from the pinned arms, seaweed fronds serve as hair, his eyes are pits of deep shadow.
There is no part that says: “This is just a bunch of sticks collected on the beach and pinned together by an elderly lady.”
Some weeks later she told us that she had something to show us. On visiting her home in Tilling Green we were ushered towards a tiny light-filled annex at the back of the house. Here, carefully propped and presented, we found an image of our wonderful 900kg bull, Tomag, known affectionately as Mr T.
She said she was not happy with it and, true to say, it lacked something of the presence of the animal, and the background was a bit sludgy, but we were careful to say nothing.
It took her nearly six months to complete it to her satisfaction. Even as her health failed she worked on the delicate detailing of the animal, colouring and shading the background until she was content to present it to our delighted view.
She made one condition: “Please have him framed and bring him back for me to see."
The framer was on holiday, so it was going to take a few weeks. “That’s okay, we can wait.”
We had a delightful Sunday afternoon with her in the sun at the Rye Harbour joint churches picnic, listening to shanties at the William the Conqueror. She bantered with us but became very breathless.
Mike’s call with the news of her death came less than a week later. It was followed directly by the message from the framers that Mr T. was ready.
So sorry we didn’t fulfil our promise, Rachel, but you are with us whenever we look at your lovely picture, and all visitors to St Mary’s can appreciate your magnificent and tortured crucifixion.
Rest in peace gentle maker.
