St. Mary, Walkern.
Witch trials and dark knights.
Although close to Stevenage, the setting of this church beside a ford across the river Beane looks to be one of timeless peace. Yet this was the scene of two allegations of witchcraft, one of which brought the village some fame. In 1712 one of the last witch trials was held where feisty local crone Jane Wenham stirred up enough enmity to cause Sir Henry Chauncy, the famous local historian, to warrant her arrest. She was accused by no less than three local clergymen of many crimes including flying, which the judge - Sir John Powell- ruled legal in England, but being forced to find her guilty of talking to her cat (the devil in disguise), he suspended the death sentence whilst seeking her pardon from Queen Anne. The trial caused an outcry, at least amongst townies, and she was freed to eventually find asylum on the estates of William Cowper, a Whig politician who had been the first Lord Chancellor. As a result of the case such trials became illegal in 1736, yet witches continued to be murdered by mobs in the county until the middle of the eighteenth century.
Witch trials and dark knights.
Although close to Stevenage, the setting of this church beside a ford across the river Beane looks to be one of timeless peace. Yet this was the scene of two allegations of witchcraft, one of which brought the village some fame. In 1712 one of the last witch trials was held where feisty local crone Jane Wenham stirred up enough enmity to cause Sir Henry Chauncy, the famous local historian, to warrant her arrest. She was accused by no less than three local clergymen of many crimes including flying, which the judge - Sir John Powell- ruled legal in England, but being forced to find her guilty of talking to her cat (the devil in disguise), he suspended the death sentence whilst seeking her pardon from Queen Anne. The trial caused an outcry, at least amongst townies, and she was freed to eventually find asylum on the estates of William Cowper, a Whig politician who had been the first Lord Chancellor. As a result of the case such trials became illegal in 1736, yet witches continued to be murdered by mobs in the county until the middle of the eighteenth century.
Set in the forgotten rural north east of the county, the road to the church lies through a duck infested ford which couldn’t be more picturesque. Beyond the river Beane lies a chunky church that doesn’t immediately proclaim its great age, the western half a mass of interlocked cubes, all topped by battlements, whilst the east end is dominated by its cat slide roofs, and walking around the outside much looks Victorian; Roumieu Gough was here, and he rebuilt the chancel adding a private pew to its north. In the churchyard stands the unusual monument to Susannah Lewis of 1765, looking like a Rajput spacecraft on the launchpad or a candlestick on acid. On a cubical base bearing a big coat of arms stand four volutes that curl inwards to fly up and form a table. On this stands an ogee shaped salt cellar with its own scrolled feet. A flame shaped vase perches on its point. The whole of this prodigy is carved with scales and stands as high as the aisle. The pert two storey porch is Perpendicular, with a spiral stair turret leading to the parvis over, a multi-purpose room where the priest might live or a school be held. There’s a scratch dial on the south east corner of the porch; it wouldn’t exactly tell the time, but divided the daylight hours for masses, marking the main services of the day.
Unusually for Hertfordshire, the porch is vaulted. The entrance arch bears mouldings similar to those used at Westminster in common with Sandon, Weston and Caldecote, the probable link being through Thomas Wolvey, mason to St. Alban’s Abbey. The unbuttressed tower is Decorated, with a reticulated window and the chancel was Early English until the Victorians tried to make it more so. The south doorway is Norman and there is more Norman work inside. This is not the earliest work here; two simple round arches are cut through earlier walls, and that takes us back to the Anglo-Saxon period, making this one of the oldest churches in the county. The western archway has one Saxon respond and one Norman, and was the external door into the church enlarged by the Normans for their south arcade. Over what would have been its centre line is that rarest of features, the remains of a sculpted Saxon rood, with a robed Christ over four foot tall. His arms have gone, sacrificed to a later roof support, but his incised robes stand out in flat relief, and his head fully sculpted in the round wears a moustache and a crown. Near the door stands the fourteenth century font. The north aisle has an Early English arcade, though the window tracery is Perpendicular. Grinning cheerfully down from the roof are two robed figures with mops of curly hair who hold long scrolls, and in the nave there is a delicate rood screen also of the fifteenth century, and a Tudor pulpit with simple lines.
There are several Elizabethan brasses which are palimpsest; that is, they are second hand, having been turned over and reused. Plenty of brasses came out of monasteries on their dissolution, ripped from their tombs as spoil, and this led to the price of such a memorial dropping to become affordable by the middle class. Here several have been cut from one large Flemish sheet brass, that to John Lovekyn, stockfishmonger and four times Lord Mayor of London, who died in 1368 and was buried in the church he had rebuilt, St. Michael’s Crooked Lane, in London. The brasses came from his second tomb there, the first having alabaster effigies, so why they were replaced with brasses, and so quickly too by the style, is one mystery. The other is how these brasses came to be removed from a parish church which stood until the Great Fire, when it was replaced by a Wren church. Queen Elizabeth herself railed against the destruction of tombs in parish churches, so this must have been a problem, particularly when Puritans were angered by papist epitaphs. The craftsmanship of the earlier Lovekyn brass is much higher than that on the other side; as is often the case with brasses, whose engravers declined in skill with time.
There are several Elizabethan brasses which are palimpsest; that is, they are second hand, having been turned over and reused. Plenty of brasses came out of monasteries on their dissolution, ripped from their tombs as spoil, and this led to the price of such a memorial dropping to become affordable by the middle class. Here several have been cut from one large Flemish sheet brass, that to John Lovekyn, stockfishmonger and four times Lord Mayor of London, who died in 1368 and was buried in the church he had rebuilt, St. Michael’s Crooked Lane, in London. The brasses came from his second tomb there, the first having alabaster effigies, so why they were replaced with brasses, and so quickly too by the style, is one mystery. The other is how these brasses came to be removed from a parish church which stood until the Great Fire, when it was replaced by a Wren church. Queen Elizabeth herself railed against the destruction of tombs in parish churches, so this must have been a problem, particularly when Puritans were angered by papist epitaphs. The craftsmanship of the earlier Lovekyn brass is much higher than that on the other side; as is often the case with brasses, whose engravers declined in skill with time.
Between the chancel and the new north chapel are two vigorously Victorian arches built with great gusto by Roumieu Gough; on the south wall opposite is a Jacobean memorial to Daniel and Alice Gorsuch. He was a mercer, a London merchant, and paid for new glass in the church, though this was lost in the nineteenth century restoration. This memorial of 1638 copies far grander tombs in miniature, with the husband and wife kneeling at prayer in arches beneath a broken pediment containing their arms. It was designed to give as much colour and show as possible without any superlative skill at sculpture, and fulfils that brief by piling plentiful detail onto a small monument. A similar but simpler memorial to Giles Humberstone and wife in the nave shows that less can indeed sometimes be more. The best known tomb here is an armoured effigy, a Golem-like figure squeezed into a recess close by the door. This recumbent knight draws his sword and carries a long shield which curves around his mail-clad frame. Thus defended, with his heavy iron helmet completely covering his face, he looks like an inhuman nightmare, an unstoppable Cyberman. Carved in London circa 1230 from black Purbeck marble with the polish and detail that this limestone allowed, he may be William de Lanvalei III, local lord and governor of Colchester castle, who died in 1217. His legs are crossed, a fashion to give movement and interest to the figure, not because he was a crusader. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times people are told that these effigies often post-date crusades, that women and merchants have been shown with crossed legs whilst real crusaders often lie straight; people like a good story, and don’t want the facts to interfere. So if you want to pretend he’s a Templar, go ahead, I doubt that he cares.
This church is down Church End, at the north end of the High Street, and is generally locked. The website gives a phone number to ring in advance; though this isn’t really a satisfactory solution. It is 01438 861183.
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 is down Church End, at the north end of the High Street, and is generally locked. The website gives a phone number to ring in advance; though this isn’t really a satisfactory solution. It is 01438 861183.
All rights reserved for this entire site. Copyright reserved to stiffleaf for all text and images, which may not be reproduced without my permission.