Long Melford...

Back in November I went to Lavenham to a spa hotel. Before the era of Covid I was wont to go away somewhere for a few days before the mad rush of Western Christmas; the last time was to Rye in 2019. Naturally I used Lavenham as a base to visit some of the magnificent mediaeval churches in East Anglia. The furthest I think I went was to Binham Priory (more on that in another post).

Just a few miles from Lavenham is Long Melford, an ancient wool town in Suffolk renowned for its magnificent parish church. I'd visited the church on a previous occasion, in September 2017 en-route to Norfolk, and I was so impressed by it that I had to see it again. In 2017 it was a Sunday morning and the church was halfway through its Eucharistic service. I parked the car and noticed that there was a couple loitering outside the narthex. They thought I was a parishioner and it was clear from their accents that they were American. After exchanging pleasantries I opened the door. "Oh so that's how it works!" exclaimed the woman, a portly, homely sort of person (not unlike many lady vicars I've met!) who it turns out had never pulled an old door handle and turned. The Rector was preaching as we sat down at the back. He had no server to speak of but there was a modest vested choir of, I think, twelve people. When he finished his sermon he came up to us and invited the three of us to Communion. I politely declined, saying that I was just there to observe. He carried on the said service, which was soon over. As I watched and listened I couldn't help but contrast the magnificence of the architecture, and the knowledge of what the church was built for, and how meagre the principal (or indeed only) service of the week was. O tempora!

In 2017 there was no glass in the benefactor's arch. Now there is but I'm not sure why. But what a rare honour to be buried here! Here was the epicentre of Sarum piety.

Afterwards I had a brief chat with the Rector, and asked him some informed questions about the church. His response was that I probably knew more about the church than he did and he pointed me to a history of the church entitled "Five Centuries of an English Parish Church." It also turned out that the American woman was (or claimed to be) a descendant of William Clopton, for whom the chantry chapel is named.

The lily crucifix.

On 30th November 2022 I went again. This time I opened the door and there were lots of old ladies busy about the church, decking the aisles with boughs of holly, and the organ was being tuned. One of the ladies, who was decorating the Christmas tree, told me that they were preparing for a carol service. This ruined it for me because I like to be alone in a place like that and I felt as though I was under everyone's feet and people were watching me. Nonetheless I had a good look at the stained glass in the north aisle, sat for some time in the Clopton Chantry, and looked at the sanctuary with its 19th century reredos, based, I imagine, on the accounts of Roger Martin, a former churchwarden and recusant, who left a very poignant and vivid description of what the layout and liturgy of the church was like before the Reformation. If you have Five Centuries, &c you can read the accounts on pp.61-65. He says of the old reredos:

"Memorandum. At the back of the high altar in the said church, there was a goodly mount made of one great tree, and set up to the foot of the window there, carved very artificially with the story of Christ's Passion, representing the horsemen with their spears, and the footmen, &c, as they used Christ on the mount of Calvary, all being fair gilt, & lively and beautifully set forth."

He also describes a gilt tabernacle at the north end, reaching up to the ceiling, with an image of the Trinity, being patron of the church, and other images of the Saints. Elsewhere in his account, Martin describes the processions of Palm Sunday and Corpus Christi, which in the Sarum Rite would have been very similar. This is what such a grand church was built for, not a said service! On my way back to the porch I looked at the font, with its grand carved lid, raised upon steps and a woman was placing lots of tea lights around it. For a split second I thought the choir, vested in surplices (perhaps with four rulers in copes), might process into the church preceeded by a tunicled crucifer and acolytes, carrying the tea lights whilst singing O lux beata Trinitas or O Gladsome Light, but no they were being put there because it looked pretty. I thought of Roger Martin and many others during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, concealing church property in their homes and hoping for a change of days that never came. At this point I walked out.

They make it look nice! I imagine they do, but what's the underlying significance? Is "niceness" one of the ancient tokens of the faith? Where does it come from? What does it mean? I think that crude sentimentality is offputting for most people.

Have you been to Long Melford?