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East Anglia
has plenty of churches which are more remote than St
Mary, Akenham, but can any of them be so lonely? Here we
are, just four miles from the Cornhill in the centre of
Ipswich, with the flats on Whitton within sight, but we are almost a mile from
the nearest proper road, and there are just two old
farmhouses for company.
Standing here on a narrow, muddy track through the
fields, I find myself easily transported back through
more than a century. I must turn my back on Whitton, one of Suffolk's biggest and most
deprived housing estates. Barely a mile from where I now
stand, I have seen children play in the wrecks of
burned-out vehicles; any weekend, police helicopters
light up the night as they track the course of joyriding
car thieves. I turn my back on the houses and the distant
traffic of the A14, on the little spire of Whitton's
pretty parish church. And all I hear is the skylark
invisible above me, the gentle rush of the wind in the
hedgerow, the sound of a dog from nearby Rise Hall.
In front of me stands St Mary, Akenham. Along with Rise
Hall, this little lost church was the scene of one of the
great ecclesiatical scandals of the 19th century, a
scandal that occupied the national press for a year or
more; a scandal that reached the highest courts in the
land, and ultimately led to a change in the law. It is
the story of a conspiracy, a tale of manipulation and
persecution. Even more than this, it was a watershed in
the controversy surrounding the Oxford Movement, and the
irresistible rise of Anglo-catholicism.
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To find out what
happened here, let us go back a little further,
to the 1850s. The minister in charge of this
parish was the Rector of Claydon, Father George Drury, one
of the new breed of ultra-ritualists. His
introduction of candles and a cross on to the
altar at Claydon, as well as vestments, daily
communion and even incense, scandalised the local
protestants, and led to his admonishment by the
Bishop of Norwich. For all these things were
quite illegal, of course; several priests had
been prosecuted, and a few of them imprisoned,
one for more than a year. Others were persecuted
into breakdown, early death and even suicide.
Priests like Drury were notorious at this time,
not least for calling themselves Priests, a
suspiciously papist word. It was not enough for a
Church of England minister to be a protestant, he
had to behave like one, too. And Drury's greatest
crime, in the eyes of his opponents, was the
establishment at Claydon of religious
communities, firstly of men, and then a convent
of sisters. We may well imagine the effect on a
Suffolk village of Father Ignatius, the exotic
monk who led the first community here, moving it
to Norwich and then to Wales, where it still
survives as a Catholic community on the island of
Caldy. |
What enraged
popular opinion, though, was the convent. Father Drury
was accused of keeping a harem, an outrageously offensive
slur in the mid-19th century. On one occasion, a local
mob broke into the convent and 'rescued' a nun; she was
conveyed to a lunatic asylum by order of her father, and
incarcerated there until his death. Anti-catholic slogans
were painted on Drury's rectory, and he built a nine foot
wall around it to protect it.
But Claydon is a big village, and we may presume that
he found as many enthusiasts as enemies there.
Supplemented by adherents from a wide area, his
Anglo-catholic services at Claydon were very popular,
despite constant interference from the Bishop of Norwich,
who on one occasion threatened him with suspension for
saying services in an unlicensed preaching house - that
is to say, he celebrated communion in the convent. He was
also accused of calling communion 'Mass'. This all seems
very amusing today, but we need to remember that burning
passions were inflamed; popular opinion, and at times the
Law, were not on the side of George Drury.
If Claydon was a busy church, then Akenham was quite
the opposite. As I say, Claydon was, and is, a large
village; now combined with Barham, it is virtually a
small town. But Akenham, in the 19th century, could
muster barely 70 souls (and a fraction that number
today). More than this, virtually all the inhabitants
were non-conformists, largely because the two major
landowners, Mr Gooding of Akenham Hall and Mr Smith of
Rise Hall, beside the church, were both members of Tacket
Street Congregational Church in Ipswich. Each Sunday,
they would load up their carts, and take their employees
off to chapel. Akenham sexton Henry Waterman could
rightly claim in 1878 that he was the only Anglican
churchman left in the village.
| Then, as now, it
was left to the people of the parish to elect a
churchwarden; unsurprisingly, it was usually a
local landowner, and the people here elected Mr
Smith of Rise Hall, despite the fact that he
wasn't an Anglican. Equally unsurprisingly,
Father Drury refused to recognise the appointment
(although it was recognised by the Bishop of
Norwich) and also refused to allow Smith to hold
the keys to Akenham church. Every Sunday, Father
Drury set off across the fields to hold a service
at Akenham church. It is still possible to walk
this journey between the two churches along a
bridleway - it is less than a mile. He would wait
by the gate; if anyone turned up, he would unlock
the church, go in with them, and a service would
be held. Otherwise, he turned back across the
fields to his rectory at Claydon. |
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Estimates
varied as to how often there was a service here; Drury
guessed once or twice a month, but locals claimed no more
than four times a year. It is important to remember that,
in Canon Law, Drury was not allowed to hold a service
without a congregation. The Sexton did not count.
Ironically, this legislation was often used against
Anglo-catholics like Drury, to stop them saying private
Masses.
It was, and is, the responsibility of the churchwarden to
ensure the upkeep of the church. But, since Drury refused
to recognise Smith as warden, and denied him access, the
inside of Akenham church was in a dreadful state - dirt,
decay and dead birds. This state of affairs suited both
parties; from Drury's point of view, it reinforced the
impression that there was no warden. From Smith's point
of view, it showed the results of Drury's stubbornness
and High Church fundamentalism. On top of all this, a
further pointed inflamed Akenham feeling against Drury.
Although Claydon was by ten times or more the larger
parish, Drury received a stipend of just £240 a year for
his vicarship there. By contrast, he received £266 a
year for fulfilling the same role at Akenham. This
anomaly was not unusual in the 19th century, and was the
responsibility of the patron who presented to the living.
In the case of Claydon and Akenham, this was the Drury
family themselves.
The whole thing, then, was a powderkeg waiting to
explode. The fuse was lit in a quite unexpected manner.
Shortly before 5pm on Friday 23rd August 1878, Drury set
off along the bridleway towards Akenham church to bury a
two year old boy, Joseph Ramsey, son of an employee of
the non-conformist Mr Gooding of Akenham Hall. Drury had
been told during the week that the boy's parents were
Baptists, and he was therefore unbaptised (Baptists
practicing adult baptism).
The only difference this would make to Drury would be
that, in Canon Law, he was not allowed to read the Book
of Common Prayer burial service over the coffin of an
unbaptised person. It is important to note that it would
actually be an offence for Drury to read the service even
if he had wanted to; moreover, he was already in a lot of
trouble with his Bishop. However, Drury would still
expect to accompany the coffin from church gate to burial
site, and be present at the interment.
Unbaptised infants were traditionally buried on the north
side of the churchyard. This tradition was maintained
here by Henry Waterman, the sexton, who seems to have
taken a dark pleasure in informing the Ramseys of this
arrangement, allegedly telling them that their son would
be buried 'like a dog'. In most churchyards, the north
side of the church is not as severely cut off as it is
here. However, contrary to popular belief, this was not
unconsecrated ground. That many people believed the
ground to be unconsecrated emerged at the later trial.
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What happened
when Drury arrived at the church is unclear, and
depends on whose evidence you read. What all
agree on, however, is that the little coffin
arrived accompanied by an Ipswich
Congregationalist minister, the Reverend Wickham
Tozer of St Nicholas Street Chapel. Also present
were the two main landowners of the parish, Mr
Smith and Mr Gooding, and a crowd of 20 or 30
farmhands, mostly members of one or other of the
Ipswich non-conformist chapels. Rev. Tozer tried
to hold a service at the edge of the field across
the track from the churchyard gate (a field owned
by Mr Smith of Rise Hall). Drury approached the group.
He claimed that this was to take charge of the
coffin and accompany it to the grave. They
claimed that he attempted to break up the
service. Whatever, both sides agreed that firm
words were spoken, the Rev. Tozer waving his fist
in Father Drury's face. Both sides agreed that
Drury gestured towards the coffin with his
umbrella, and that the parents implored Rev.
Tozer to ignore Father Drury. Both sides agree
that Drury eventually stormed off without burying
poor Joseph Ramsey, unwisely locking the
churchyard gate before he left.
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The others
then conveyed the coffin through the hedge and buried it,
but made it clear that they had not held any form of
service in the churchyard. For the Canon Law that
prevented Drury reading the burial service over an
unbaptised infant contained another, even harsher clause.
This was that it was an offence in the eyes of the law
for a clergyman from another denomination to read a
burial service of any kind in a Church of England parish
churchyard. Now, given that 95% of burials at this time
(and almost all outside the great cities) took place in
CofE graveyards, this was an increasingly harsh piece of
legislation. At that time, there was a great lobbying of
parliament for a change in the law; after all, if an
Englishman abroad could be buried in a Catholic or
Orthodox graveyard with the service of the Church of
England, why could not a Catholic, Orthodox or
non-conformist corpse receive the rites of its own
tradition in this country? A Burials Reform Bill was
talked up in all parts of the land, as a way of putting
right this injustice.
Some non-conformist chapels had their own burial grounds
(as at Tacket Street, for instance), but there was none
in Akenham; none in Claydon, where there wasn't even a
non-conformist minister. In normal circumstances, the
free church dead would receive a service in their own
chapel before being conveyed to the grave. In a place
like Akenham, where there was no chapel, that service
might take place at a cottage. But the service in the
field over the corpse of Joseph Ramsey was quite
unprecedented. Although there was no law against it, it
was a wholly unusual situation - as unusual, in fact, as
such a great crowd being at the funeral of an infant from
a working class family.
One presumes that Drury went back to his comfortable
rectory, seethed for a while, and then forgot about what
had happened. However, on the Monday Morning, he received
a nasty surprise. A detailed account of the incident
appeared in the East Anglian Daily Times, the local
newspaper that had the largest circulation. This seemed
to have been written by a witness. Had one of the crowd
been a reporter? How did he come to be there?
The report accused Drury, amongst much else, of trying to
prevent a Christian burial, and of saying in response to
Tozer's entreaties that "religious convictions...
and feelings have nothing to do with it - your
proceedings are altogether wrong and I must teach my
parishioners that I cannot sanction them". It
accused him of saying that the child was not a Christian,
and of storming off, locking the gate, when Tozer refused
to cut short his service. Tozer had told Drury to go to
Heaven, the report continued, but instead he had gone to
Claydon, which "as far as the rectory and adjoining
nunnery are concerned, is a very different place".
It concluded with the editorial comment: "We leave
the facts to tell their own tale, reminding our readers
that this staunch upholder of ecclesiastical law is
already under admonition from his own bishop for lawless
proceedings in his own church.." Late 19th century
readers would have immediately understood this to mean
that Drury was guilty of High Church practices.
This report brought down an avalanche of brickbats upon
Drury's head. Letters poured into the newspapers, both
locally and nationally. He was accused of being an
unfeeling monster, the embodiment of unfair and unjust
laws. It was not long before lurid accounts were being
published of his liturgical practices and lifestyle, as
well as innuendo about the convent, and his run-ins with
the law. Strangely, it soon emerged that the original
report had been written by none other than the Reverend
Wickham Tozer himself. Several of the letters attacking
Drury and increasing the ferment had been written by
people directly involved in the case. For instance,
letters signed 'A Protestant Churchwarden' had come from
Mr Smith of Rise Hall
| The report seemed
carefully calculated to provoke some sort of
response from Drury. Whatever, Frederick Wilson,
the editor of the East Anglian Daily Times, seems
to have thought legal action likely. Wilson wrote
letters to several people concerned with burial
law reform, suggesting that they might finance
his costs in any court case. "Such an action
would do more to further the burials bill than
any step I can imagine", he wrote to Tozer.
"I trust the friends of religious liberty,
now so thick around you, will come forward to
help us. I want to form a guarantee fund of £500
to defend this action, and if he brings it, to
attack him simultaneously under the Public
Worship Act." This was the legislation that
prevented Anglo-catholic priests from introducing
ritual into their churches, on penalty of
imprisonment. "If there is any bottom in
this talk about the Burials Bill, there should be
no difficulty in getting plenty of money to fight
such a cause." Well, Drury had the courage to sue,
and sue successfully, Frederick Wilson for libel.
(In English law, it is the publisher rather than
the author of a piece who is liable). However,
the jury only awarded Drury damages of 40
shillings plus costs, thus presenting a moral
victory to Wilson, and, by extension, to Reverend
Tozer, Smith and Gooding.
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During the
trial, a number of curious facts emerged. Firstly, Tozer
was not the Ramseys' minister. In point of fact, he had
never met them before. He had been asked to conduct the
'impromptu' service by Smith and Gooding, who had known
that Tozer was an experienced journalist. Furthermore,
Smith and Gooding were both related to the editor of the
Christian World magazine, which would quickly pick up the
story as though from an authoritative source, and
gleefully run with it.
Tozer would surely have thought it odd when he arrived to
find a group of 20 to 30 farmworkers present, as well as
the two leading landowners of the parish. An infant
burial, after all, was a wearily common occurence. Tozer
himself stated that he had buried ten of his own
children. But it also emerged that the two landowners,
Smith and Gooding, had asked Tozer to compile the written
account of the proceedings, a request with which he
complied. He had incorporated their contributions, and
allowed them to correct the final draft.
Was this a conspiracy, intended to discredit Drury's High
Church practices? Or was it simply hoped to provoke a
change in the law? Popular opinion remained against
Drury. A national fund was set up to pay Wilson's costs,
raising over £1000 (almost a quarter of a million in
today's money). A small amount of this went to provide a
proper headstone for the little boy.
Drury soldiered on at Claydon until his death in 1895. In
the 1970s, the writer Ronald Fletcher discovered a
scrapbook of press-cuttings about the incident in a
Southwold junkshop, and put together an excellent account
of the scandal in his book The Akenham Burial Case. He
also wrote about it in In A Country Churchyard. His books
show that the incident led directly to the passing of the
Burial Law Reform Act of 1880. There's no question that
this popular change in the law was bought at the expense
of George Drury's reputation. As recently as 1980, the
Redundant Churches Fund guide to Akenham church stated
that 'this churchyard was the site of a famous incident
in which the rector, George Drury, refused to allow the
burial of a child of non-conformist parents'. Mortlock's
guide also repeats this charge; but Drury was not at the
time accused by Tozer of this, and certainly strongly
refuted any suggestion at the trial that he might have
considered such a course of action. Perhaps the confusion
arises from a misreading of Fletcher's books, since I
have not found it in any guide in the intervening years.
| And so, we stand
outside the gate, at the very spot where Joseph
Ramsey's coffin rested. On the other side of the
track is a gate into the field where the incident
took place. Beyond, Rise Hall sits in a dip. We
open the gate, renewed since the unfortunate
afternoon that Drury, in his anger, locked it
against the burial party; but the gateposts are
the very same ones. The church, on rising ground,
presents a slightly curious aspect. The 14th
century tower is a south one, common enough in
the Ipswich area, but a 17th century brick
mausoleum has been built to the east of it, today
forming a south aisle. From the east end of the
aisle, two modern steel joists protrude, a
reminder of another unhappy day in the life of
this church. |
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In 1940, a
German bomber, returning from a foray over a Midlands
city, dumped the rest of its load here before the
hazardous crossing of the North Sea. A mine hit St Mary
directly, wrecking the building. It remained derelict
until the 1960s, when the energy and enthusiasm of the
local people, and the resources of the Friends of
Friendless Churches, rescued the little building and
restored to use, as part of the benefice of Whitton and
Thurleston. In 1976, the Anglican Diocese declared it
redundant; not, perhaps, unreasonably. It was vested in
the care of the Redundant Churches Fund, now the Churches
Conservation Trust.
The Tower is rather a bare one, but the whole thing
together is so pretty that one can forgive this. The
interior is bare in the CCT manner, and neater than in
Drury's day. He probably designed and made the pews with
his own hands. As if the sense of melancholy has infected
the building, there are two other moving features not
associated with the burial case.
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One
is the war memorial. It bears just three names,
but they are all members of the same family,
Purkiss. The other is a ledger stone for
Elizabeth Fynn, who died in 1683. The inscription
reads:
For
nineteen Yeares I liv'd a Virgin life
For seveanteen more beeing marriid liv'd a wife.
At thirty six Pale Death my life Assaild,
And as I liv'd, I dy'd, belov'd, bewail'd.
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There are a
couple of curiosities. In the chapel, which is clearly
post-Reformation, there is a medieval piscina. Was it
placed there, as seems likely, by Firm Father George? Or
was it there already, the the aisle built on the site of
an earlier one? Just inside the door, there is a medieval
brass inscription, asking for prayers of the soul of It
seems an unlikely survival in puritan Ipswich - was it
another of Drury's aquisitions?
Like all CCT
churches, Akenham is admirably cared for. The great irony
is that the main custodian and keyholder is at Rise Hall,
the farm where Drury's 'protestant churchwarden' Mr Smith
lived, who was not allowed a key. The path between hall
and church cannot have changed at all in the years since.
Before
leaving, there is one last thing to do. We walk round to
the north side. A disconcerting corrugated iron fence
separates the churchyard from a neighbouring farm. Here,
there is just one gravestone, of the dozen or so that
were here in the 1870s. It is Joseph Ramsey's, of course;
the name is still decipherable. In 1978, Ronald Fletcher
found this stone leaning against the wall; so it has been
reset since then, perhaps not quite in its original
place. On a cold winters day, with the wind furrowing the
grass, it would be easily overlooked. It is very moving.
| I stood outside
the gate, where this whole thing began, looking
out towards the Whitton estate. The tower block
of Thurleston High School dominates the horizon;
this school, which serves the estate, is named
after the vanished village of Thurleston, which
was in the valley below. The ruined church of
Thurleston was demolished in the 1860s to provide
materials for the rebuilding of Whitton church.
It is said that Drury used some of the masonry to
construct a grotto in Claydon rectory garden.
Electricity pylons criss-cross all the land round
here. If Joseph Ramsey had lived, he might have
seen them go up when he was in his eighties. I
thought about how all of this happened more than
a century ago, but that a century was not a very
long time. When you are visiting, talking and
writing about medieval churches, a century is a
very short time indeed. |
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I'd like
to acknowledge my debt to Ronald Fletcher, and in
particular his two magnificent books on the subject, In a Country
Churchyard and
The Akenham
Burial Case.
Simon
Knott, 2000, updated 2007
   
   
  
   
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