![]() ![]() They are monuments to the belief, now fast waning, that believing was best explored in a community under one church roofĪs a society, we want them to be there, as a link with a golden age, a reassurance, a landmark, or just somewhere to shelter from the rain. Why have these four been kept going, when there is no prospect of them ever being used again? Well, for much the same reason that so many of the beautiful and historically significant old churches that sit in the middle of non-military areas of the countryside continue in operation long after their congregations have dwindled to a handful, resigned to their fate as the last of a long line of worshippers on that spot. Today, however, it gathers dust and bat droppings in lonely silence, its prime purpose – to inspire awe and reverence – lost. Given a gothic makeover in the late-19th century by Augustus Welby Pugin, St Mary’s boasts a rood screen so spectacular that it was temporarily removed in 1994 to star in an exhibition at the V&A in London. While the Stanford church, as well as St Andrew at Tottington, appeared to be in the early stages of rewilding – at the latter a barn owl has made its home in the porch and ivy is creeping in through the broken or missing windows – St Mary’s, West Tofts, is in surprisingly fine fettle thanks to grants from heritage bodies, and the heroic efforts of conservators such as the architect Ruth Blackman, who was our guide. It has not been just the MoD footing the bill for this commitment to preserving a lost age of faith. However, even the MoD has noticed the marginalisation of religion in society, and so last year repented of its good works, handing the churches to the cash-strapped diocese of Norwich, which can have no earthly use for them and has many other calls on its coffers. Their unlikely survival is down to an unlikely saviour – the Ministry of Defence, which since 1942 has done routine maintenance on the basis that there would be a public outcry if it let them collapse. But on the positive side, all four are still (some just about) standing, unlike the homes that once clustered around them but are now disappearing under melting mounds of Norfolk clunch. One of the four, All Saints in Stanford, the disappeared village that shares my surname, is stripped bare, its roof replaced by panels, its windows shattered and its central arch held up only by scaffolding. Or, as TS Eliot puts it in Little Gidding, “where prayer has been valid”. ![]() It was a gloomy conclusion reached during the tour, made all the more poignant by the sense that our group was stepping on what was once sacred ground. Photograph: Ian LonsdaleĪnd so they provide a rare glimpse of future Easters when unused but historic church buildings will slowly but surely be falling apart in plain sight because no one believes it is their job to look after them. The church is in remarkably good condition thanks to the ‘heroic’ efforts of conservators. Stained glass window at St Mary, West Tofts. ![]()
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