In the summer of 1985, a phenomenon struck Ireland.
Statues of saints were moving spontaneously.
In over thirty locations across the small island, holy statues swayed, prayed or wept.
Hundreds of thousands of people flocked to witness the miracle. 24hr vigils were kept.
Recently, a similar phenomenon seems to be striking our churches. Porches are getting restless, towers are getting twitchy, foundations are getting itchy feet. One way or another, our churches are on the move.
Though it’s less of a miracle and more of a nightmare…
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The tower at Papworth St Agnes church in Cambs has decided that it no longer wants to be attached to the nave and, in its desperate bid for independence, has started to wrench some of the nave masonry with it. It has split open the window, cracked the cill, torn the tiles…
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Papworth sits on clay soil. The volume of clay can change considerably with moisture content. It’s known as ‘shrink-swell’: when wet, the clay swells, when dry it shrinks. As the clay shrinks and swells, the building moves. Weather and tree roots are the main causes for this.
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We undertook significant repairs in 2017, but the church doesn’t want to sit still. The cracking has been swift and severe. Extreme weather events – which are becoming more frequent – don’t help maintain a stable clay substrate.
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This week, we return to start a new round of repairs: carefully stitching the nave and tower back together, filling the cracks, and laying a new, robust drainage system to channel water as far away from the building as possible.
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The work will take about 12 weeks, and will hopefully help us to manage the movement at Papworth St Agnes church.
At the bottom of a dead-end, tucked down a steep slope is St Jerome’s, Llangwm Uchaf. It’s a quirky-looking church with a 15th-century octagonal turret tacked onto an off-centre, defensive-looking tower. Turning the door handle, you really wouldn’t expect to see… this
Despite dating from 1128, the chief glory of St Jerome’s is the late 15th-century screen, one of the finest in south Wales. It fills the entrance to the chancel and is “superabundantly encrusted with carved decoration”.
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The screen is embellished with fleshy vines with small, tight bunches of grapes, a garden of floral bosses, and delicate architectural tracery.
We thought we knew the church at Caldecote, Hertfordshire like the back of our hand. But on a recent visit, we took a closer look at the 15th-century benches. We shone a torch into every corner and crevice... And gradually revealed a complete set of carpenters’ marks.
The marks are Roman numerals and were gouged into the timber to identify different elements of the structure. The elements would have been carved in the carpenters’ workshop and assembled at the church according to the numbering system. A sort of medieval flat pack.
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The eagle-eyed will spot that the number four is denoted by IIII and not IV, as you might expect. That’s because the IV numbering convention (and nine as IX) was only introduced in the 16th century, and of course, took time to be adopted throughout the country.
As day broke on 3rd May 1882, morning showers threatened the bazaar... but soon the azure sky appeared, and the sun shone out in warmth and glory. As two brass bands played, some more adventurous spirits attempted to dance on the wet ground under a goodly display of bunting.
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Laugharne's ladies were out in force to support the cause. The local newspaper reported the day in detail: Mrs Norton of Laugharne Castle had Stall 1, which boasted terracotta, medallions of stuffed birds, rare vases and a beautiful model of a ship full-rigged.
Nestling on the edge of the Thames is this little bargees’ church. To reach it, you must cross the vast Dorney Common, dodging cattle and catching glimpses of Windsor Castle.
The setting of Boveney church couldn’t be more bucolic...
This church was founded in the 12th century – and still has its massive tub font from that date. Originally, a wharf ran just outside the south door and was used for transporting goods. The church was built to serve the bargemen.
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The quay is long gone, but we do know that barges were loaded here with timber from the Windsor Forest for shipment downriver. A 14th-century brass at the nearby church in Taplow holds another clue to the wharf. This brass remembers Nichole de Aumberdene...
In 1746 in West Africa, a child is playing on the banks of a stream. He's trying to catch a moorhen. It sounds picturesque, but within seconds this little boy will be abducted. He will be shipped across the globe to North Wales. This is the story of John Ystumllyn.
He is taken far from his home, far from everything and everyone he knows. Eventually, he arrives in Ynyscynhaiarn, Gwynedd to work for the Wynne family. We don’t know what name his parents had given him, but the Wynnes named him ‘John Ystumllyn’ after their estate.
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If you’ve been watching #AHouseThroughTime you'll have seen the story of Thomas, a black boy who was a 'servant' of a family in Bristol until he ran away in 1759. Boys like Thomas often appeared in portraits and still-life paintings in this period.
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England has about 3,000 'lost' or deserted medieval villages. We have churches in a fair few of them. Like St Mary Magdalene, Caldecote: a weather-beaten majesty with embattled parapets, cinquefoil tracery and a rather regal porch.
Entering through the south porch visitors are met by an extraordinary, floor-to-(almost) ceiling stoup. Dated to the 15th century, the shaft is carved with rows of quatrefoils, while acanthus clambers up the canopy. The proportions are so great, it feels very out of place.
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Step beyond this to see the font: an octagonal affair from the same century encrusted with cusped panels, heraldry and foliage. The simple moulded pews also date to the 1400s, as do the glittering fragments of stained glass...