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St Mary,
Howe
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This
is a delightful setting, the church set among a
group of old houses, at a meeting of narrow lanes
through fields that are starting to roll and fold
as Norfolk spreads westwards away from the
marshes and the rivers. An old postbox set in the
wall of the graveyard completes the scene. The
round tower is unmistakeably Saxon, with its
round windows and coursing with darker stone.
There is a little conical cap, presumably the
work of the 17th or 18th century, a bit like the
one across the county at Little Snoring. The windows
of the nave and chancel are mostly in the
Decorated style, but I think that they are all
Victorian replacements; indeed, at least one
seems to be set in the ghost of a once much
larger window, probably Perpendicular. Even then,
there is little to disguise that this was once a
typical, homely Norman church, on the site of one
which was even older.
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Despite
its rustic setting, St Mary has the misfortune to have
been drawn into the Poringland group of Parishes, all of
which keep their churches locked without keyholders. This
is a crying shame, and a great anomaly in this part of
Norfolk where the huge majority of churches have open
doors everyday, including most of Howe's similarly remote
neighbours. However, there are ways and means, and so we
were able to step into the clean, tidy interior of St
Mary.
The most
striking thing at first site is the primitive tower arch,
echoed by an even earlier blocked doorway, now an alcove,
on the western side of the tower. The 19th century font
in front of the tower arch is fashioned in a Norman
style, but pretty much everything here, in common with
many of the churches round about, is unashamedly
Victorian or later. Sometimes these churches can be
charming, or have a air of local character. But here at
Howe I thought there was a slightly weary anonymity, a
sense of communal life which is lacking here.
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St
Mary has one of the most elaborate war memorials
in this part of Norfolk, which I immediately
recognised from seeing similar ones in French
churches. I wondered if it had been bought from a
French supplier, because this kind of overtly
lush sentimentalism is relatively rare in
England. It is in dark wood with enamelled panels
in the Gothic style like a Flemish altarpiece. The
memorial opens as a triptych, a grieving woman
resting her head against a shield at the centre
which reads To the Memory of the Brave Sons
of the Empire who Fell on the Battlefields of
Europe. "They Have Fought the Good
Fight", Dying in the Cause of Humanity that
Honour might Live. Interestingly, the
circumstances of the death of all six named on
the monument is included as well as the dates and
their ages. An enamelled medallion below updates
the list with those killed in the second great
conflict of the century.
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Another
touch in the French style is the beautiful lectern, an
angel poised and balancing the reading desk. Behind it,
the stairway to the rood loft climbs through the wall
space, and their is a pretty glazed image of the Blessed
Virgin and Child.
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the greatest curiosity about Howe is the brass
plaque on the wall of the chancel. At first, it
appears as if it might be a memorial, but in fact
it records the instructions of Lady Elizabeth
Hastings, the patron of the living, to any Rector
that she chose for this church. It makes
interesting reading, and so I have included a
large format image of it that you can access from
the thumbnail on the right. There is a
sadness to the interior of Howe. Perhaps it comes
from the war memorial, or perhaps simply from the
church being locked away from pilgrims who might
fill it with prayer. Whatever, it seems to have
rubbed off on the faces of Faith, Hope and
Charity, who look very glum indeed in the east
window. So does the figure in a window on the
north side of the chancel: God Be Merciful To
Me, A Sinner, it reads beneath him. How
miserable he looks! In this silent space, I
contemplated him, and became conscious of the
sound of my own breathing.
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Simon Knott, March 2006
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