A Church Like Ones Great-Aunt

Yesterday I took the opportunity to pay a visit to a village church that's just a few miles down the road from me, but one which I've never introduced you to before. Whittlesford church is not especially grand but has bags of personality.

And that personality is that of a much loved great-aunt, showing many signs of age but still vigorous and charming. She carries the remains of ancient finery, though now rather faded and tattered. And the longer you spend in her company the more of her long and interesting life is revealed. Lets go and meet her.

She welcomes you with a lop-sided smile in the form of a seemingly tumbledown porch, but one which has served her well since the fourteenth century.

There have clearly been some hard times along the way! You could spend a lot of time becoming acquainted with this doddering delight, but we want to go inside. At the last minute, just as we're about to lift the latch, the old girl has a sudden change of mind and instructs us, via a small printed sign, to go around the back instead. OK, Auntie.

We do as instructed and enter through a modern annex, built in the last few years and showing that the old girl is keeping up with the times, and then through another door in a wall that must be at least nine-hundred years older. There are bits and pieces scattered about, collected since at least the Norman period and some things that may date from even earlier times, relics from a possible Saxon church on this site, or even pagan survivals.

In this niche there's a strong suggestion of bright colours, fashionable during the time when this dear old church had matured into perhaps her finest incarnation, in medieval times. The wealthy had contributed to a stylish building, grander perhaps than was necessary for the humble farmers hereabouts. These were the glory days of colourful frescos, and traces are still visible, though we can now only guess at the former grace and refinement.

Layer upon layer of grandeur has been added over the centuries.....

….though here and there the cracks are starting to appear. I can't help but admire the shabby dignity that has survived the centuries.

The passing years haven't always been kind, but they've certainly added character and charm, like a lifetime of smiles and frowns lends lively interest to the human face.

This rough, honest flooring does nothing to hide the fact that changes have been wrought here, though keeps the precise details to itself.

A craftsman laboured to construct a door that might last forever, and it's still sound centuries later, despite the rough handling it's received.

Whatever these small recesses once sheltered has been lost forever.

Centuries after the event, old tales are still remembered, tales of the young men who went off to fight in battle - the Battle of Crecy in 1346.

Graffiti, some of which are very old indeed, scar the columns that divide the nave and the south aisle. The top right shows another brave archer remembered less formally.

Generations of village folk must have gathered, some more willingly than others, every Sunday of every year, to mark the passing seasons or the passage through life itself. They sang, lustily or timidly; mumbled or chanted prayers and psalms; gathered for weddings; celebrated Christenings or wept at funerals: lit the candles and decorated the church for Christmas or Harvest Festivals. 

This old building works its charms on me far more successfully than any parson or preacher that I've ever encountered. I could linger here in this hushed silence all afternoon, listening as the very stones try to tell me their long history. For since I've been here, lost in my own thoughts, absorbing this cherished great-aunt's wisdom, not another soul has entered. 

Outside, in the windy churchyard, you can spend more time trying to untangle the clues of this enigmatic old building. Why would someone block half a window? Why would they build a door within a door, then block both? What kind of side-chapel might that old roof-line indicate?

If you know, you're not telling are you? 

Then finally, high up on the tower, just beneath the clock, you spot something totally unexpected. It's as if you suddenly found out that your venerable great aunt had a risqué tattoo on her withered buttocks.....

Yes, it's a Sheelagh na Gig. On the left is a representation of a woman sitting crouched with legs apart, displaying herself most immodestly to every passer-by. She is approached by a man, rather long in body, displaying an impressive erection. These carvings are found on several churches and are generally thought to be very ancient and quite possibly pagan, having been originally part of older buildings. Not what you'd expect to find on a church - especially one you've been likening to a great aunt.

Take care.