| |
|
St
Andrew, Deopham The great tower of St Andrew faces across
the valley to the even more imposing tower of Hingham a
couple of miles off. Though clearly a work of the
Perpendicular period, there is a jauntiness, dare I say a
friendliness, about the Deopham tower that belies the
austerity of almost exactly contemporary work like
Cawston. Does this mean that the assumed date of 1450 is
a wrong one? Pevsner thought not, imagining rather that
the modernising enthusiasms of late medieval architects
cut no ice with the masons, who preferred to stick with
the detailing of a century earlier.
 |
|
The
corner buttresses are at angles to each other,
and rise in no less than six stages. I love the
way that this tapering makes the whole tower
appear as if it is intending to come to a point,
which then finishes short in the parapet stage. The most
singular and spectacular part of the detailing is
the triangular motif on each face of the parapet,
but don't miss the frieze of vines about ten feet
up on the walls of the tower. The western doors
are contemporary with the tower itself, but more
impressive is the battlemented south doorway,
contained by a porch which is at least rebuilt.
The doorway has niches carved on the tablet and
fleurons on the arch. Its the best of its kind in
the county, I think.
|
Deopham, pronounced Dee-ph'm, is a
scattered parish in the deceptively remote hills to the
south-west of Norwich. The great church is visible from
miles around. So often, a grand exterior of this kind
conceals a neutered, urban, unatmospheric interior. The
Victorians so often failed to resist the temptation to
make grand country churches into town ones. But that is
not the case here at all, and there is a nice contrast
between the splendour of the exterior and the homely
interior. Peter Stephens describes it as rough and ready,
and that is exactly right.
It is an interior that generations of
ordinary people have made their own. This is most obvious
in the furnishings, the rows of locally carved late 17th
century benches with their curious pagoda-like motif on
the bench ends. There are a couple of stabs at grandeur,
with solid oak choir pews crowned by elaborately carved
poppyheads depicting scenes with figures.
The soaring tower arch echoes the south
doorway, and above it in the nave there is a bit of a
puzzle. There is a lovely late medieval tie-beam roof -
but on the south side of the acade only there is a row of
stone corbels doing nothing, about two metres below the
wooden angel corbels of the roof. What are they there
for? Did they support the roof before the clerestory was
added? Or was there a more ambitious plan for a double
hammerbeam roof that was later abandoned for the cheaper
option of the tie beams? Whatever, it is odd that they
are only on the south side.
The overall feeling is of a light, open,
rural space which hasn't changed a great deal in the last
couple of centuries. There are a few medieval survivals -
the screen must have stretched across the church; part of
the dado is in the south aisle, screening a chapel. There
is a scattering of medieval glass at the east end of the
north aisle, mainly canopy work. A pretty pisicina
survives in the south wall of the sanctuary.
The Deopham bells are on
the floor in the north aisle. Four of them are
17th century, the other earlier, although I
couldn't find the date in the inscription. I
don't know much about bells, but the headstocks
seemed to be damaged on several of them, and what
remains of the wood is in poor condition, which
is presumably an indication of the state of the
bell frame. A stack of new steel girders behind
the bells promises a future, but it is hard to
see how such a tiny parish will ever find the
wherewithall to rehang them. How wonderful if
they could ring out from that great tower again!
Before leaving, wander down to the
east end of the graveyard and be surprised at the
life-sized effigy of Myrtle Sylvia Barnard, who
died at the age of eleven in May 1945, a few days
after Victory in Europe. What mixed emotions
there must have been then in this little parish.
|
|
 |
Simon Knott, January 2006
|
|
|