| |
|
At one time, and probably
not so long ago, the setting of this church must
have been quite something. It is situated at a
distance from its village, beside an old farm,
and away from the road. But today, the patchwork
of land around has been thoroughly domesticated
by its sale for ranch-style housing. The
churchyard itself is still wonderfully wild,
although one must cross private land by a
footpath to reach it. Externally, St Michael and
St Felix looks quite unlike any other Suffolk
church, especially as you approach it from the
west. The truncated tower is reminiscent, in
proportion, of the unfinished tower at nearby
Uggeshall, which was planned on the eve of the
Reformation, but never built.
This, however, is something much older. It is
13th century, and is complete. That it is so
different in style to other Suffolk churches is
probably due to the fact that this was the church
of a Benedictine priory. It was founded shortly
before the Norman conquest. It had chapels at
Wissett and Spexhall, both surviving as parish
churches. Within 50 years of its foundation,
Rumburgh Priory had passed into the ownership of
St Mary's Abbey, York, until Cardinal Wolsey
sequestrated it in 1528 for funds to build his
college at Ipswich.
As you approach the south porch, a small gate
leads off to the east. On my first visit, some
ten years ago,I went through this, hoping to get
a shot from the east. I found myself on trim
lawns, with glasshouses and cucumber frames. It
wasn't until I had walked around the church, and
came across a family eating their lunch under an
umbrella, that I realised I had strayed into a
private garden. They were very polite under the
circumstances.
A couple of correspondents have told me that they
have found this church locked, but I think it was
simply that it has a very stiff door handle. It
took me a couple of goes to get it open. Coming
back in 2008, I stepped inside to what I had
remembered as a cold, sober silence. The walls
are austere, the dark screen awesome. I think
that if I sat in this church every Sunday, it
would make me a very serious person. The screen
must have been a gorgeous one in its day. Now, it
is hidden under thick, brown varnish, but there
is still surviving gesso-work (moulded plaster
applied to wood before painting) underneath this.
There is still some
surviving evidence of the community life of this
building. The priory arms hang at the west end,
and an apparent priest door in the north wall of
the chancel was the door the monks used as they
came in and out of the priory buildings, which
were to the north of here. The windows in the
north wall, which seem to belong to no
architectural period, were probably punched
through in the 17th century after the demolition
of the other buildings. A squint and a blocked
window in the north chancel wall indicate that
once the altar could be watched from other rooms
in the complex.
A reminder of religious
enthusiasms of some four centuries later is a
label on the side of the organ, asking us to Pray
for the Soul of James Halliburton Young, Priest,
Rector of Shipmeadow 1894-1904. Such an
apparently un-Anglican sentiment was typical of
the enthusiasms of the early 20th Century
Anglo-Catholic movement within the Church of
England, of which the now-redundant church at
Shipmeadow was a hotspot. Presumably, the organ
was moved here when the church there became a
private house.
| Sam Mortlock
quotes in full the epitaph for Eliza
Davy, set in stone on the floor. So I
shall do the same: She once the
fairest flower in May, now turned to
lifeless clay; Good God, what can we say?
He calls, we must obey. It seemed a fitting memorial
for this rather sad place. Some
Suffolk churches have a timelessness
about them, a sense of continuity. But
here is a church in which a sense of the
past pervades all. To sit here is to be
surrounded by ghosts, by stone-cold age.
There is much to be impressed by here.
But it was rather a relief to step
outside, back into the sunshine, and the
birds singing in the graveyard. Back into
to the 21st century.
|
|
 |
|
|
|