It is a strange sort of recycling: pieces that were once carefully shaped to frame glazed openings in a much older building, now mortared together in a wall that has no real architectural logic. The assembly is, by any measure, crude, and that crudeness is part of what makes these fragments worth pausing over.

The stones are chamfered and rebated, meaning their edges have been cut at angles and stepped to receive a frame or glazing, the kind of precise stonework that takes skill and intention. Several are also dressed with diagonal tooling, a technique in which a mason works a chisel across the stone face in parallel diagonal strokes, leaving a distinctive hatched texture. This is not rough-hewn work; these were finished architectural elements. They originated in the convent grounds nearby, which occupy the site of a Franciscan friary, a medieval religious house whose physical fabric has been absorbed, demolished, and scattered across the town over the centuries. The fragments made their way to the Folk Museum yard at some point after the friary fell out of use, stripped of their original context but preserving, in the geometry of their cuts and the marks of their makers' tools, something of the building they once belonged to.