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We came down out
of Norfolk, and at once the Lothingland
peninsula softened. We were escaping from
the awful orbit of Great Yarmouth, and
the lanes threaded through woods and
meadows. Ahead, the round tower of St
John the Baptist came into view above the
hedgerows. It's a plain, domesticated
tower in comparison with its primitive
neighbour at Blundeston, but people do
not generally come to Lound because of an
interest in early medieval architecture,
as we shall see. St John the Baptist sits
quietly in its trim churchyard on the
outskirts of its village. It is pleasant
and unassuming. But the interior of this
building is one of the glories of 20th
century English church architecture.
Booth Lynes, the Rector in the early
years of the 20th Century, commissioned
and paid for what can only be described
as a ritualist makeover. The great Sir
Ninian Comper designed and installed a
sumptuous Anglo-catholic vision of a
pre-Reformation liturgical space.
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In general, the
Anglo-catholic movement reached East Anglia
rather late. Perhaps this was a result of a
vestigal puritan suspicion of 'popery', or a
succession of low church Bishops of Norwich, or
even typical East Anglian resistance to change.
Where the teachings of the Oxford Movement did
result in early Anglo-catholic enthusiasm, as at
Barsham and particularly Claydon, there was great controversy. It
would not be until the 1930s that the tradition
would reach Walsingham, today seen as its
heartland and touchstone.
Comper's work here was
carried out between 1912 and 1914, and this makes
it a snapshot of the apotheosis of the ritualist
Church of England. On the eve of the First World
War, the Church was at its height as a national
and sacramental institution, a position so
powerful that it was able to offer both a
mystical legitimation of the War, and a focus and
ministry for its grief. But the Church of England
would never be the same again. The old
certainties had been destabilised by the War, and
the social structure of England was changed
forever. When Comper returned to Lound in 1920,
it was to design the war memorial set outside on
the south wall of the nave.
But that was all in the
future. I approached the porch with some
excitement, because it had been several years
since I had last visited Lound, and I was looking
forward to reaquainting myself with the interior.
The outside doors were open, and above the south
doorway was a large banner reading WELCOME. The
Anglo-catholic tradition that churches should
always be accessible for private prayer and
devotion in the presence of the sacrement is
remembered and re-enacted here daily.
On a sunny day, stepping
into the nave here can be like stepping into a
jewel. The four main features immediately obvious
from the doorway are the spectacular organ case,
the great font cover, the gilded rood screen, and
Suffolk's only modern wall painting of St
Christopher directly opposite. St Christopher is
a jolly bearded fellow, showing a fair amount of
leg. Fish swim in the water about the Saint's
feet. A water mill at the bottom has a man with a
Suffolk Punch standing outside, and Comper put in
a little portrait of himself driving his Rolls
Royce along the river bank. When the painting was
restored in 1964, a jet plane was added, flying
above the Christ child's head.

The 15th
Century font is one of the few medieval survivals
in the church, but even this became part of
Comper's grand plan, and the shields held by the
angels were repainted in a medieval style. Above
it towers a magnificent golden font cover
attempting to out-Salle Salle. In any other
church of this size the font cover would be
overwhelming, but here it acts as a link between
Comper's screen and the great organ case over the
west door. This is a curious mixture of Baroque
and High Gothic. Comper justified this with his
usual argument of 'unity by inclusion', which
must have always been a useful weapon when
dealing with doubtful churchwardens. The
inscription is from Psalm 150. The organ it
contains is a particularly fine instrument,
according to organs expert Basil Rollason. A two
manual by Harrison and Gibson, it has eighteen
stops, and was completely restored in 1996.
The simple
benches of the nave, the plain walls and clear
glass lead the eyes to the main focus of Lound
church. This is Comper's screen. The rood group
above is set on what look like Chinese dragons.
Comper interpreted the rood as a 'Tree of Glory',
and the cross is vine-like. Along the front of
the rood loft are angel musicians and heraldic
shields. These are a curious collection,
representations including Edward III, who had
been on the throne when much of the nave was
built, the Bishop of Norwich (although he was by
no means High Church), and the Lynes family. The
G and M above the entrance do not represent
Saints, but George V and Queen Mary, who were on
the throne at the time.
At the far
south end of the screen is a Lady Altar, in a
similar style to that at Ranworth. It depicts three
of the Holy Kinship - St Elizabeth with the young
St John the Baptist and St Mary Salome with the
young St John the Evangelist flanking the Blessed
Virgin and Christ child. The exhortation above is
for us to pray for the well-being of Father Lynes
- not for his soul, because of course he was
still alive at the time.

This
must have been a very plain and simpe church
before the Anglican revival, but in fact Lynes
and Comper were not the first to try to beautify
it. Lound screen is one of only a few East
Anglian screens which is kept locked, but by
looking through it you can see some exquisitely
beautiful windows by the great Henry Holiday, one
of the finest of the late 19th century stained
glass artists. They were installed at the behest
of Lynes' predecessor. The best of them is the
one on the north side depicting the Presentation
in the Temple: Mary and Joseph look on at the
rapt expression on Simeon's face as he
contemplates what his eyes have seen. Anna stands
beside him quietly.
At the east end is Comper's
English altar with its Sarum riddel. It is,
perhaps, an anti-climax after the splendours of
the screen, but it is lent gravitas by its
distance and untouchablity. I am not an Anglican,
but it is impossible not to get a sense of what
this focus must mean for a believer in
Anglo-catholic teaching. It is an appropriate end
to the journey from west to east, and there is a
harmony to the whole, a sense of Comper's vision
made real. In all Suffolk, only Kettlebaston can match it for its power. For the
medieval historian, there is very little evidence
left, but even that old traditionalist Munro
Cautley did little more than be grumpy at what
has happened to this church. And Betjeman loved
it.
I'd come here with my friend John,
and he told me a wonderful story. When he was
young, he watched a television programme that
Betjeman did about East Anglian churches. One of
them was Lound, and the way that Betjeman stuck
his head through the rood screen to gaze at
Comper's chancel made a deep impression on John.
The following day, John's
careers teacher asked him what he wanted to do
when he left school. "I want to do what John
Betjeman does", John told him. To his
eternal credit, the careers teacher suggested
that John write to Betjeman, which he did.
Betjeman replied, inviting John for tea at his
Chelsea flat, and they became friends. At the
time, Betjeman was involved in helping set up the
organisation Friends of Friendless Churches, and
after Betjeman's death John took his place on the
board.
Today John works for the
Churches Conservation Trust, as well as lecturing
on churches and church history, and leading
guided tours to medieval churches. And all thanks
to a television programme and a wise, patient
teacher. I suppose that it should not be
surprising that something extraordinary should
have happened as a result of a visit to this
place. St John the Baptist is often refered to as
the Golden Church, because of Comper's gilding,
but really there's more to it than that. There
was an earnestness to the strength of the faith
which caused this transformation, and this is a
place which feels hallowed by prayer, as all
churches should, but by no means all do.
The illusion of permanence
which the Anglo-catholic movement sought, the
desire to erase the wrongs of the Reformation by
creating a sense of continuity back to the early
church, is written physically in Comper's
furnishings. In those days, the Anglo-catholics
were in the ascendant, and they firmly believed
that, ultimately, the entire Church of England
would be like them. Then, by an inevitable
process, the 'Roman' Catholics of England and
most non-conformists would recognise the truth of
the Anglo-catholic position, see the error of
their own ways, and seek a home in the 'true'
English Mother Church.
But this, of course, did
not happen, and never will. I thought about what
Roger Scruton wrote about the Church of England
in his majestic England: An Elegy: 'The
English knew in their hearts that religion is a
human invention - the whole history of their
Church reminded them of this. The census of 1851
already showed that less than half of them were
regular worshippers - a figure which dropped
below a quarter in urban areas. Yet they
automatically put 'C of E' on any form inquiring
after their religion, and acknowledged the
necessity of religion in every ceremony in which
their loyalties as Englishmen were rehearsed.
Their religion was a conscious artefact. Like
good manners, it did not bear too close an
interrogation. It was a collective polishing of
the world, and veneered the ordinary life of
England in the way that a smile veneers a face.'
The veneer that
Comper put on Lound church is
breathtaking and unforgettable.This
church is a shrine, an uncompromising
Anglo-catholic statement about belief and
practice. Vatican II has moved the Roman
church on from all of this, and the CofE,
quietly embarassed, pushes it further and
further towards the margins. But even after Comper's
time, the sense of devotion here was
being enhanced. As recently as 1966, it
was still possible for a donor to give
new porch doors in thanks for her
devotion to the relic of the True Cross
at pre-Reformation Bromholm Priory. And
it is not every day that you hear
somebody say that, especially in
Suffolk.
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