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St Mary,
West Somerton
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St
Mary is only a mile or so from the sea, and it
may seem perverse that one of the most easterly
parishes in the British Isles is called West
Somerton. In fact, there is an East Somerton as
well, although its parish was subsumed into that
of Winterton centuries ago, and its former church
is now a ruin in the woods surrounding Burnley
Hall. Seen from the top of Martham tower on a
crisp March morning, the woods and the sea form a
pleasing backdrop to St Mary, as you can see on
the left. The empty winter fields sprawl in
front, with just the Hall farm beside the church
to keep it company. What you can't see in the
photo, because it is just out of sight to the
right, is one of East Anglia's biggest wind
farms, a dozen or so wind generators standing
stately and proud between here and Winterton
church. |
Many
churches have what I have come to think of as a
churchcrawler trail. You discover it when you try to take
the best possible photograph of the outside. The place to
take it may be in some overgrown corner of the graveyard,
but when you get there you find a beaten track leading
exactly to the spot you require. Someone has been there
before you, and taken the same photograph already.
The
churchcrawler trail at West Somerton leads through an old
iron kissing gate in the south-east corner of the
graveyard into the field beyond. A silver-grey pony stood
there, watching me with a bored expression, as I pondered
the best shot. Perhaps I wasn't the first person that
day, but it would have been polite of him to show more
interest. I found what seemed the place to stand, and
asked the pony what he thought. Was this the spot? Or
would he suggest a little to the left? He wrinkled his
nostrils as if he really didn't care, so I dipped down,
trying to make the shot mine by getting in the gate as
well as the church. The pony shook his head sadly, and
snorted.
St
Mary is an open, welcoming church on the edge of
one of Norfolk's few areas of locked churches,
which is a blessing, because there is something
of great interest inside, as we shall see. The
church also attracts a fair number of tourists,
because the graveyard is the last resting place
of the Norfolk Giant, Robert Hales, who was seven
feet six inches tall, and weighed thirty stone.
He died, aged fifty, in 1856, and this memorial
was erected by his affectionate widow. His
tombchest is easily found on the northern side of
the graveyard, and there is even a little viewing
platform, with a path through from the Hall next
door, so spectators needn't get their feet muddy.
You can stand there and think to yourself my
goodness, how on earth did they ever get his body
inside it?
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Turning from the
graveyard to the church, St Mary has a rather curious
aspect because it is one of the few East Anglian churches
where the nave is early medieval but the chancel is late
medieval. It is a useful reminder that the period from
the Norman invasion to the Reformation lasted almost 500
years, as long as the difference between now and the
reign of Henry VIII. Perhaps 400 years separate the two
parts of the church here; the Norman tower and
contemporary rustic, thatched nave with its later Early
English windows seem very primitive beside the crispness
of the early 16th century Perpendicular chancel. If the
missing chancel of East Somerton's large late medieval
church had been lifted by a giant and placed at the end
of West Somerton's church instead, it would explain a
lot.
Stepping inside, the
interior of the nave is rather tunnel-like, and the
darkness is accentuated by the deep red of the walls.
This is probably fairly authentic, and you begin to see
the effects that Perpendicular architecture must have had
on the imaginations of parishioners. They must have
always thought of churches as dark places, and suddenly
new architecture flooded them with light like a new
theology.
The windows are late
13th century, and contemporary with them was the scheme
of wall paintings that still survive, in part. There is
much more still hidden by plaster, but the best on show
is part of a Last Judgement scene, with angels sounding
the last trump on each side. This is on the south wall,
and to the north of it is part of a St Christopher, with
vivid blue for his clothes.
There's a
pretty little rood screen, and you step through it into a
chancel that is wholly different in character. In fact,
its very crispness led me to think at first that it was a
Victorian rebuilding. The Victorians are responsible for
the tiling of the sanctuary, of course, and they restored
its integrity to its medieval forms, but this is still a
late medieval space, and a world away from the nave you
have just left. It is as if they were constructed by two
different cultures, which in itself is correct, of
course.
The
view from the south chancel windows is a bit
surreal, because among the trees are the vast
wind turbines. The air felt still outside, but
somehow they still managed to catch a breeze
enough to whirl their mighty arms. People moan
about wind farms, but I have never seen a wind
turbine that was not beautiful. And they are
completely silent as well, so it's a bit daft
that people object to them on the grounds of
noise. Norfolk seems to have taken to them with
more enthusiasm than neighbouring counties, and
at Swaffham there are two giants in the heart of
the town. Wind turbines are dramatic and
singular, mighty landmarks that enhance the
landscape. We should have as many of them as we
need.
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Simon Knott, April 2006
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