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If it were not
for something that happened in this little
church, it is possible that there would be no
medieval parish churches in England worth
visiting today. For here it was that Earl Bigod
surrendered his loyalty to King Henry II in 1174,
giving up his castles at Bungay and Framlingham as part of the price. The
crown later awarded Framlingham to the Dukes of
Norfolk, who championed the cause of Mary I in
the 1550s, sheltering her at Framlingham until it
was possible for her to become Queen. Thus, Lady
Jane Grey did not achieve the throne and finish
off the destruction of churches begun by the
vileadvisors to her cousin Edward VI. If this had
happened, there would be no rood screens, no wall
paintings, no stained glass; more to the point,
probably no Church of England. A cross memorial
up by the road reminds us of that important
event. It is
hard to imagine anything dramatic happening here
now in this exquisitely pretty little spot. You
go down a track from the quiet village road, and
the church sits beside the River Waveney, a field
of cows separating it from water and Norfolk. The
larger village of Brockdish is across an old
bridge from here, but the only sound was of bird
song, and the light wind in the trees, and the
occasional restless moo from a cow. It was just
about perfect.
Although we were a
little way from the river itself, the ground felt
boggy underfoot, and the church must actually be
built in the Waveney's flood plain. The little
graveyard has a number of interesting headstones
from down the centuries. The round tower of the
church is much restored, but very pretty with its
flushwork and brick battlements. The most
striking thing about the exterior is how much
higher the chancel is than the nave, an awkwardness which is
most dramatic, and not a little pleasing.
| Syleham's is perhaps not the
most exciting of church interiors, but it
is pleasant and peaceful, quite in
keeping with the setting outside. Inside,
the church is essentially Victorian, but
a surviving curiosity is the rather
extraordinary font. It appears to be a
rustic 14th Centry piece on the base of
an earlier Norman one. Topped off with a
charming and presumably local late 17th
century cover, it is an enchanting and
idiosyncratic feature. Two later brass
inscriptions survive, and the chancel is
watched over by a sombre early 20th
Century Christ Crucified. This is rather
good, and would probably be lost in a
larger place. Similarly, the early 19th
century memorials either side of the east
window seem much grander and more
imposing than they might elsewhere. Early
readers of this site might be forgiven
for thinking that this church was an
unwelcoming place, but now nothing could
be further from the truth. St Margaret is
militantly open everyday to pilgrims and
strangers, the wooden outer door removed
and the inner door wedged open. And,
aside from the historical significance of
the place, it's lovely.
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