I've always been
very fond of this pretty little church, despite the fact
that it is of no great significance in architectural or
historical terms. There is something deeply attractive
about it, both the building and its setting. I like
Beyton too; a proper, working village, with real people's
houses, but also a gorgeous village green, with its
sleepy geese and mellow lime trees.
Here we are in the flat country to the east of Bury St
Edmunds, a land of narrow lanes and secretive villages.
When I was a boy, the main road between Cambridge and the
sea went through Beyton, and passing the side of the
green was always a marker of being halfway there, or
halfway home. Today, the A14 takes all that traffic to
the north of Bury, and the geese can sleep in peace. In
the 1930s, Arthur Mee found the church in the grounds of
Beyton Hall, but today the road up to it is lined with
modern houses, presuming that the church hasn't been
moved in the meantime, of course. This is one of those
round towered churches that has heavy buttresses,
creating an optical illusion about its true shape. So
Suffolk people say "Oh, Beyton, that's the one with
the oval tower!" But it isn't really - or, at least,
it as round as many of the others, given early medieval
techniques. The same is true of Ramsholt, the other
buttressed round tower. And this tower is an early one,
though the top is 18th century, and Mortlock thought it
might have replaced a late medieval bell stage like the
ones at Ashby, Gisleham, and elsewhere.
The rest of the church is almost entirely a Victorian
rebuilding, for this church was falling down by the early
1800s. A local architect, John Johnson of Bury, was
responsible for the rebuilding of the nave in the 1850s,
to which he added a north aisle. He is credited in some
books with the chancel as well, but Mortlock thought it
was later, and the work of the famous Sir Arthur
Blomfield, whose work can be found in several places in
Suffolk, most notably in his complete churches of
Felixstowe St John the Baptist and Ipswich St John the
Baptist. The quality and style of the work certainly
looks like Blomfield.
To the south of the church is a modern vestry and meeting
room, in typical 1970s style. Mortlock didn't like it,
but I thought it echoed the surviving medieval porch
rather well. You enter this porch, and step through into
the nave. The interior is of a neat, trim 19th century
village church, and I can't really explain why I like it
so much, except to say that it is so good at being this.
If asked to show someone a typical Victorian, rural, East
Anglian interior, this is the one I'd choose.
The light is suffused with colour from a couple of
notable windows in the north aisle. Both are modern and
both are notable. One is the uncharacteristically good
Goddard and Gibbs memorial of the 1960s to a local
farmer. It depicts the parable of the sower, the fate of
the differently cast seeds depicted in roundels, and the
inscription records that Frederick Hammond lived and
farmed for 48 happy years. That single adjective
makes all the difference, doesn't it. The other is rather
singular. It is the 1948 memorial to the parish dead of
the Second World War, and features, in a vaguely
expressionist style, a soldier kneeling before Christ,
who says Well done, thou good and faithful servant.
It is by Morris Meredith Williams, his only glass in East
Anglia to the best of my knowledge, and James Bettley
revising the Suffolk Pevsner thought it would have been
made by Lowndes & Drury at the Glass House in Fulham.
There are some
excellent 19th century bench end figures in the chancel,
perhaps the work of Henry Ringham, but the highlight of
Blomfield's chancel is the reredos, the work of Powell
& Sons. It shows the Last Supper with a rare
lightness of touch, and is a focus even from the back of
the church, which should be the intention of every
reredos. Blomfield obviously designed a space for
Anglo-catholic liturgical forms, and today this church is
more in the evangelical mould. But that doesn't matter,
because they do a splendid job looking after their
heritage.
The puritan iconoclast William Dowsing came this way on
March 1st, 1644, and ordered the levelling of the steps
which had been upraised by Laudian enthusiasts ten years
or so before. That is all academic now, of course, but it
is interesting to note that Dowsing's deputy in this area
was the scheming, illiterate Thomas Crow, who had a
reputation for sniffing out 'scandalous ministers' (that
is to say, theological liberals) and ensuring their
prosecution. So we may assume that the minister, at
least, at Beyton was not terribly sympathetic to the
Puritan cause. Dowsing himself was a rather conservative
and articulate chap, but some of his henchmen seem to
have had the qualities of fascist thugs.
Interestingly, Dowsing ordered the destruction of a gable
cross, and the stump on the eastern gable of the nave
looks as if it might be medieval. This would suggest that
Johnston's rebuilding reused the original eastern wall of
the nave, which would not be unusual. In his journal,
Dowsing names this village as 'Bayton Bull', presumably
after the posting inn up on the top road. He must have
been very familiar with it, as he shuttled along this
road regularly between the two counties that he had
responsibility for. The pub survived until relatively
recently, in rebuilt form, halfway between Cambridge and
the sea.
