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This church is among many
people's favourites in Suffolk, and so it
is with some embarrassment that I must
admit that I had never been inside until
the summer of 2011. On my two previous
visits I had found substantial building
work in progress, on one occasion the
replacement of All Saints's vast thatched
roof. Now in the care of the Churches
Conservation Trust, it is hard to imagine
that all that care could have been
afforded by the parish, especially as
they had another church up the road at St
James, and so in the
1970s All Saints was declared redundant. This
is an ancient place. The Iceni, for whom
the village is named, were a Celtic
tribe, whose Queen Boudicca has become a
national heroine. She it was who, in the
1st century AD, led the only successful
rebellion against the Roman occupation.
It is likely that the Iceni later
embraced Christianity, but no trace of
their worship survives; after the Romans
finally left Britain after AD400, the
Iceni were driven out of their homeland
by the Saxons, who, of course, remain in
Suffolk to this day. The Saxons were
themselves later Christianised by St
Felix, and this was probably the most
densely populated area of England by
AD700. An excavated Saxon village has
been reconstructed nearby at West
Stow.
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All
Saints is one of Suffolk's great village
churches, and is in a splendid condition now,
thanks to the loving attention lavished on it by
the Churches Conservation Trust. The hilltop site
suggests that this may have been where the
converted Saxons built their church, but nothing
here is older than the 12th century work in the
nave walls. Most of this church was rebuilt on a
grand scale in the 14th and 15th centuries, but
it still retains a rustic charm which seems to
speak of that earlier age, although this may well
be the CCT's clever sleight of hand.
The
church is usually open during the day, and if not
there is a key available across the road at the
pub. You let yourself in through a door on the
north side, with a pretty handle made by some
19th Century blacksmith to represnt the virtues
of Faith, Hope and Charity. You step into a space
which is full of light thanks to the clear glass
in most of the windows, looking across to a south
aisle which is as wide as the nave and makes the
interior appear square. Turning east, the chancel
contains the largest expanse of medieval tiles in
East Anglia. Geometric patterns are punctuated by
lion faces and evangelistic symbols.
The
15th Century benches in the nave are rather
precarious, and it is hard to think that the bods
from Health & Safety would be terribly happy
about them being used for sitting on, but they do
look lovely. The 19th Century benches across from
them have a similarly rustic feel, quite a
contrast with the urbanised clutter up the road
at St James.
The rood screen dado is 15th
Century, though it was obviously altered
to accomodate a pretty Jacobean gate two
centuries later, at which date the pulpit
was also installed. The font is 14th
Century, and contemporary with the tiles
and the glass reset in the south aisle.
The figures appear to be Old Testament
prophets, with perhaps two disciples
looking out of the window-like arcading
of their panes. It is rare to find quite
such an assemblage of 14th Century
fittings in East Anglia, and one can only
presume that they date form the original
rebuilding of this church. This
is such a super church that you can't
help thinking the parish missed a trick
allowing it to be declared redundant.
This wide open space cries out for oil
lamp and candle-lit evensong, for
Christmas carols and Easter morning, and
for that most characteristic of 19th
Century Anglican inventions, the harvest
festival. Instead, your footsteps echo in
the silence as you step through the
emptiness.
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