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St James
sits out on a limb, away from the other
Saints. It is the highest village in East
Suffolk. In the early days of my journey
around the county I once came here on a
bleak winter's day, cycling in one of
those High Visibility garments which
Health & Safety legislation had
popularised. I must confess that I
generally don't wear one nowadays,
prefering to take my chances, but in
those days I wore it so often that I
forgot I had it on. Arriving at St James,
I was slightly peeved to find the church
locked, but the man at the cottage next
door directed me to the churchwarden
across the road. I knocked on the door, and
asked for the key. "Why, what on
earth's the matter?" the good lady
cried anxiously. It took me a moment to
realise that her concern arose because of
my bright yellow jacket, and so I
hastened to assure her that I was not
from the emergency services. With
something like relief she gave me the
key. Today, such an exchange is
unnecessary, because like all the
churches in this friendly benefice St
James is open to visitors every day.
The graveyard is small and
pleasingly full of headstones. It
provides the setting for a late 13th century
tower, and some 13th century features in
the otherwise Decorated style walls, may
well indicate the true date of the
building as it is now. However, there is
a surprise inside, as we will see.
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You step into a
space which is clearly much loved and cared for.
It speaks of a busier life than this sparse,
remote village would suggest. The Victorian
restoration was at the hands of Diocesan
architect Richard
Phipson,
so it was a bit heavy handed. More recently, the
church has been beautified by its enthusiastic
parish. Local people in the 1920s and 1930s
carved reliefs which are set in the chancel wall.
I believe that the Rector himself was responsible
for the two massive owls which guard the lectern.
The whole thing is unusual and amusing, and there
is no church quite like this one for carvings.
The two brasses
which Mortlock found on the wall have
been reset in their indents on the floor. This is
good news, because if (heaven forfend) there is a
fire, brasses set in the floor do not melt - the
heat rises away from them. Brasses on the walls,
however, quickly become runny yellow rivers.
Turning to face
the west, there is the surprise of what appear to
be two Saxon round windows either side of the
royal arms. If that is really what they are, then
this would suggest that the west wall is that of
a pre-Conquest church, and when the tower was
built against it they simply punched the tower
arch through. In front of it, the Norman font
sits on a bold pedestal, and is crowned by an
extraordinary font cover which is probably 15th
century. It is as idiosyncratic as the rest of
the woodwork in the building.
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medieval woodwork stands at the west end
of the south aisle, whenre what was
probably the medieval rood screen now
cordons off a vestry. But the real
treasure of this church is the medieval
relief of St James in the chancel, above
the priest door. I'm not sure of its
origins; I was told that it had been
given to the church in the 19th century
by the vicar of neighbouring Rumburgh, but I don't know
where he got it from. It may even have
come from this church originally. Back in 1999, I had
chatted to the churchwarden, and asked
her what it was like to be in such a huge
benefice (there are 11 parishes). She
made it clear, as other churchwardens
had, that the benefice system had been
the salvation of tiny churches like this,
which might otherwise have ended in
redundancy. However, she added, there
were so many churches in the benefice
that, for the first time, St James hadn't
had a Christmas service at all the
previous year.
It was
only as I cycled off that I realised she
meant the first time for centuries.
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