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.
Image Credits: Roy Abel .
What a lovely tribute to Rachel Baker…
In deed that driftwood Christ was in the church in the transept on show ,may have been when there was a flower festival as well. And I can still see a very young boy with is father looking at the figure and saying very thoughtfully ‘we all have a gift ‘ how perceptive of him.. I told Rachel this comment . And earlier this year I re told her …
There was much more to Rachel of course … a life well lived.
She use to use tops of coffee jars as little pots to make up poses of flowers to take into hospital for patients as they were small enough to put on the bedside cabinets..
And we have hanging from a beam a ball decorated with artificial flowers . It’s there to help people see the beam and not to have a hurtful encounter.
Condolences to her family and friends.
Roy, thank you so much for such a thoughtful tribute. It took me many years to discover her many talents which were always a joy to behold. After such a shock at least one has many reminders of her approach to life and her wonderful way of representing it in many different forms, which helps one to cope with the inevitable grief of her loss. Rachel, you will always be in my memory now, Mike Wade
I too knew Rachel I live just down the road from Smeaton Stores. I frequently visited her when she lived there.
We would sit in her back garden discussing
horticulture and viewing her latest piece of artwork. I was sad when she moved but would catch up with her news when we met in Rye High Street.
I have a permanent reminder of her artistic talent. A print, Number 1 of 25 called
“ Stallion of the Wilderness”.
It hangs proudly on my wall I think of her each time I pass it.
I knew Rachael at Smeatons stores in the 1980s and I think I’m correct in remembering her husband was a retired vicar.
Chris McGrath you are correct that Rachel’s second husband was a retired vicar. She looked after him in his later years.