Great St. Mary, Sawbridgeworth.
Death and the dandy.
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The little town set around an inner square of streets is full of timber framed buildings, some weatherboarded, some staggering upwards on lime plastered jetties, and some given false fronts of Queen Anne brickwork during a modernising makeover no doubt once meant to impress. Down the hill towards the Essex border and the station beside the river Lea are little bits of inter-war heaven, houses of the 1930s set around greens, safe homes for the Ovalteenies whose fathers went off by train to do something in the City, somewhere to pretend Merrie England had a future and all was really right with the world. What’s left of the maltings and mills by the river is made into housing, and houseboats on barges fill the old mill ponds. The simple life and the past are still available here at a price, and the big antique warehouses will provide a backdrop for your dreams, whether retro or real.
Coming up from the station, the fat Hertfordshire spike on the church tower still tops the skyline, and the horrors of Harlow seem far, far away. Not that the middle ages hid from reality as we often do: go into the church and one of the first things you’ll see at the west end of the nave is the brass of John Leventhorpe and his wife Joan, who both died in 1488. They are depicted wrapped in their shrouds with their hearts in their hands, and underneath the inscription reads:
Death and the dandy.
.
The little town set around an inner square of streets is full of timber framed buildings, some weatherboarded, some staggering upwards on lime plastered jetties, and some given false fronts of Queen Anne brickwork during a modernising makeover no doubt once meant to impress. Down the hill towards the Essex border and the station beside the river Lea are little bits of inter-war heaven, houses of the 1930s set around greens, safe homes for the Ovalteenies whose fathers went off by train to do something in the City, somewhere to pretend Merrie England had a future and all was really right with the world. What’s left of the maltings and mills by the river is made into housing, and houseboats on barges fill the old mill ponds. The simple life and the past are still available here at a price, and the big antique warehouses will provide a backdrop for your dreams, whether retro or real.
Coming up from the station, the fat Hertfordshire spike on the church tower still tops the skyline, and the horrors of Harlow seem far, far away. Not that the middle ages hid from reality as we often do: go into the church and one of the first things you’ll see at the west end of the nave is the brass of John Leventhorpe and his wife Joan, who both died in 1488. They are depicted wrapped in their shrouds with their hearts in their hands, and underneath the inscription reads:
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“Beneath lie dust, decay and gnawing worm:
Death’s lackey now he is, as life is his no more; He nothing knows, nor has, nor are his virtues seen. Look-meaner than the mire, the terror, horror, stench, Disgrace of all the world, and common refuse he. Here, brother, see thyself and breathe a prayer for me." |
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There are loads of tombs here, lots of Leventhorpes, and their depiction on their memorials varies widely. Lifting the mats in the south aisle reveals a full size brass of John Leventhorpe in armour with an elegant hunting dog at his feet and his shapely wife Katherine beside him with her lapdog. More of a fixer and administrator than a soldier, he rose from being the second son of a Yorkshire squire to become esquire to both Henry IV and V, executor of both kings’ wills, and receiver of the income gathered from the Duchy of Lancaster for the crown. He helped Henry Bolingbroke to the throne, and was one of the few kept on by his son. Like most such figures, the amounts he was able to cream off the top were enormous; servants of the people rarely live in the servants’ quarters, and this John was able to set his branch of the family up very comfortably indeed in Hertfordshire, taking on the farm of much royal property, becoming M.P. for the county several times and aiding two of his sons to do likewise before he died in 1435. Most of the family memorials were originally in the south aisle, and one of the grandest in the church remains there, the Jacobean alabaster tomb of Sir John Leventhorpe and wife Joan. He died in 1625, having gained a knighthood and the title of Baronet, and is shown lying in armour next to his wife, with their fourteen children kneeling below and Victories flying on the spandrels of the renaissance arch above.
 John and Katherine Leventhorpe, 1435
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 Sir John Leventhorpe, 1625
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 1640 Sir William Hewyt and wife
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The connection of a royal employee with the church here was not unique; this being one of the richest livings in the diocese of London it was reserved pretty much as a gift of the king, and used as a means of supporting royal civil servants. Until the tithes were given to the abbey at Westminster in 1356, they supported a long list of chancellors of England, treasurers, bishops, archbishops and deans, all of whom were rectors here, though most will have farmed the tithes from a distance. The church is basically Thirteenth century, with fourteenth century arcades and aisles, the clerestory, porch and tower top being fifteenth century. All is flint except for a small stair turret of brick added to the tower in Tudor times, and all has been heavily restored, particularly during the nineteenth century. The fat quatrefoil piers of the arcade are good solid early Fourteenth century work, and the old roofs rest on carved corbels which repay study, including not only kings and queens and symbols of the Apostles, but also genre scenes: in the nave a bearded huntsman blows his horn and holds two dogs on a leash, whilst in the aisle two men wrestle with a bull, one holding it by the horns whilst putting his fingers into its nose to lead it.
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 1662 Hewyt memorial in the tower.
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There’s a massively strong south door, with a big wooden lock box on the back which takes a key almost a foot long; a Jacobean alms box and a church chest, with an unusual padlock opened from one of its triangular wedge shaped sides. Many of the pews are from Tudor times, with linen-fold bench ends: the rood screen is late mediaeval, with a big wooden traceried window opening either side of the doors. The pulpit is Jacobean, with the motto and date “Christ is all in all 1632“ in a cartouche on the front. But it’s the monuments above all that are the draw here, with a splendid group of brasses from the middle ages through Elizabethan times to the Jacobean period looking like a collection of fashion plates. By the tower are more Leventhorpe ladies engraved in full fig, their farthingales an excuse for intricate patterns imported from India, ancestors wearing heraldic mantles, progeny in ruffs and hose. In the chancel are two rather battered monuments, that on the south a canopied chest tomb in Purbeck marble, dating from the mid sixteenth century, one of many made in this style in workshops beside St. Paul’s in London. The pillars on this one are carved with a honeycomb pattern, putting it just into the renaissance. The brasses have been robbed, but probably were to members of the Jocelin family, many of whom were buried here. The tomb with the smashed up effigies on the north side opposite was to John Jocelin who died in 1525 and his wife; there are brasses to other family members and hatchments in the church.
 C15th south door
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 C16th Leventhorpe lady
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 C15th rood screen
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Behind the pulpit, half hidden is a beauty by John Bacon, white marble with a bust of Viscount Jocelyn. He died in 1756, was Lord Chancellor of Ireland for 17 years and so is carved surrounded by his mace and great seal, his chancellor’s bag and scroll, and wearing full bottomed wig, gown and bands, looking very pleased with himself indeed. Beneath the plinth is a weeping figure of Justice, though whether she weeps for his death or for Ireland isn’t clear any more. The forgotten famine of 1740-1 killed 38% of the population, caused by freezing weather but exacerbated by speculators hoarding grain, and not helped by lackadaisical governance. The monument is one of Bacon’s best works, and must have been erected some time after the Viscount’s demise. Opposite it, on the south side of the chancel arch is another interesting memorial, this time of the 1640s, showing Sir William Hewyt with his wife, the perfect cavalier in armour and ruff, one hand holding hers, the other his sword. They’re carved in white marble in a black oval niche supported by lion corbels and decorated with their arms, all under a swooping concave pediment like a Chinese temple roof. The unusual design is good, though the figures are still a bit stilted, like dolls in lace.
 Justice by Bacon
 Detail of Jocelyn memorial
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 Bacon's bust of Viscount Jocelyn
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Sir William’s grandson has what is the most swaggering monument in the church on the north wall of the chancel. The family have gone up in the world: this tomb is to George, Viscount Hewit, and he stands like some conquering hero in armour between two big columns supporting a curly broken pediment. To each side is a trophy of arms, and above him is his full heraldic achievement, arms, crest and supporting beasts below carved marble curtains. At his feet two weeping putti hold a cloth bearing his epitaph, with a well carved winged cherub’s head below the plinth. Renowned for his fine clothes and fancy cravats, during his life he was known as Beau Hewitt, or Sir Amorous La Fool, a famous fop who ended up fighting pointless duels over whores at which little blood was spilt. He did however lead a regiment of horse against James II in Ireland, and was made Baron of Jamestown and Viscount of Gowran by King William, who wanted him as a Groom of the Stool for Prince George of Denmark, but he died soon after, his line with him. As so often the case, the most martial monument marks the mildest of men. Two career soldiers have memorials nearby, Henry Lumley fought at every siege and battle through twenty nine campaigns in Ireland, Flanders and Germany, whilst Corporal Joseph Vick had his horse killed under him and was wounded in the head at the Charge of the Light Brigade during the Crimean War. Their humble monuments make little show amongst the vainglorious displays of inflated pride, though it must be admitted that the latter are generally much more fun.
This church feels central to the little town in every way and is always open.
All rights reserved for this entire site. Copyright reserved to stiffleaf for all text and images, which may not be reproduced without my permission.
This church feels central to the little town in every way and is always open.
All rights reserved for this entire site. Copyright reserved to stiffleaf for all text and images, which may not be reproduced without my permission.
