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St Peter
and St Paul, Honing Like a child pleading for just one
more story before bedtime, I persuaded Tom that we should
visit Honing church at the end of a long day when we
should have been heading back to Norwich station.
Actually, Tom didn't take much convincing. St Peter and
St Paul is big, but it is not one of the most remarkable
of Norfolk churches, so we knew it wouldn't take long.
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The
approach here from the north is spectacular; we
had come from ancient Crostwight in the rolling
agricultural area south-west of Happisburgh. But
Honing is quite different, an old Park with its
Hall, and a long straight carriage drive now
forming the public highway. For more than a mile
it was lined with daffodils, which looked very
cheery in early April, but I couldn't help
wondering what they'll look like in a month's
time, and again I pondered the wisdom of planting
so many cultivated flowers in Norfolk hedgerows. That there
is something not quite right about this building
is obvious the moment you step into the beautiful
graveyard from the east. The chancel has been
almost entirely truncated, leaving barely eight
feet like a lean-to against the nave wall.
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This makes
the nave seem bigger than it is, and also creates a happy
proportion with the fine tower. Something has happened
here.
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into the wide, light nave, the curiosity
continues. The aisles beyond the arcades seem so
narrow as to be unlikely, and the walls beyond
are obviously rebuilt. And then, look up - the
roof extends from outer wall to outer wall, the
arcades finishing uselessly up there in the
gloom. Obviously, this church underwent a
fairly complete rebuilding at a time when
churches were considered as preaching houses, and
sacramental spaces were not a high priority - in
fact, it was during the 18th century. Pevsner and
Mortlock both thought it likely that the aisles
were originally this narrow, and the new walls
were built in the same places as the old -
Pevsner points out that the medieval porch would
have needed to be moved if the rebuilt walls had
been drawn in.
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But I
think that this is exactly what did happen, and
I don't find the argument compelling at all. This was
once a much wider church with arcades and aisles, and
separate roofs to nave and aisles. Churches like this
were often repaired by demolishing the aisles and
infilling the arcades to make new walls. The fact that
this is a Hall church makes me think that the local Lord
was some sort of antiquarian, and enjoyed recreating what
was still essentially a medieval space. He moved the
walls in to make it possible to span the whole building
in one roof, but left the arcades because, well, they are
pretty.
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the external structure still echoes what was
there before, albeit not in an articulate 19th
century way. He probably wanted a View as much as
anything else. It isn't all successful - the
filling in of the lower part of the west door to
create a window is clumsy and ugly. But otherwise
it is a fascinating result, unlike any other
church I've visited in Norfolk. There are
hatchments, and a few medieval survivals - the
font, a pretty figure brass in the choir. And
this church is militantly open, bless it. But
best of all is the setting - the graveyard drops
away to the west, and across the fields a lonely,
ancient pathway leads down to the village in the
valley below. As it was, so it is.
Simon Knott, April 2005
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