St Andrew, Bramfield |
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www.suffolkchurches.co.uk - a journey through the churches of Suffolk |
Follow these journeys as they happen at Last Of England Twitter. Some churches are simply beautiful - maybe I
am getting sentimental in my old age, but I'd come to
Bramfield as often as I could even if it had nothing of
any interest inside it. The exterior is so gorgeous that
it wouldn't bother me if the inside was now a furniture
storeroom smelling of gas. The view eastwards over the
pub down into the village is lovely. This is a church
where you'll be as pleased as punch if you find it on a
sunny day. Bramfield was the site of a significant
medieval pilgrimage shrine, and the painted recess for it
survives in the north wall of the nave. This was the
Shrine of the Good Rood, and in 1507 one Edmund Clarke of
Walberswick bequeathed 10s to the amending of the
Good Rood and his angels in Bramfield church. You can still make out the outline of the
crucifix, presumably that paid for by Edmund Clarke and
which once stood against the back of it, and there are
faint surviving paintings of Angels of the Precious Blood
around it. As if this wasn't enough, Bramfield is home
to another one of Suffolk's more singular memorials. This
is the ledger stone to Bridgett Applethwaite, formerly
Bridgett Nelson, who after the fatigues of a married
life bravely born by her with Incredible Patience for
four years and three quarters bating three weeks; and
after the Enjoiment of the Glorious Freedom of an Easy
and Unblemish't widowhood, for four years and upwards,
She resolved to run the risk of a second Marriage-bed.
But DEATH forbade the banns, and having with an
Apopleptick dart (the same instrument with which he had
formerly dispatch't her Mother) Touch't the most vital
part of her brain. She must have fallen Directly to the
ground (as one Thunder-strook) if she had not been
catch't and supported by her Intended Husband. Of which
invisible bruise, after a Struggle for above sixty hours,
with that Grand Enemy of Life (but the certain and
MercifulFriend to Helpless Old Age) In Terrible
Convulsions, Plaintive Groans or Stupefying Sleep,
without recovery of her speech or senses, She dyed on ye
12th day of September in ye year of Our Lord 1737 and of
her own Age 44. Simon Knott, May 2019 Follow these journeys as they happen at Last Of England Twitter. |
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