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My first visit to this
church was, in its way, an act of lunacy.
I was taking part in the Historic
Churches bike ride in 1998, trying to
raise money for charity by visiting as
many churches as possible in one day.
1998 will be remembered by veteran
Historic cyclists as The Year It Rained,
almost an inch of the stuff falling
during the course of the day. It was now
nearly four o'clock, and this was church
number 63; by now, they had all begun to
blur somewhat. This was exactly the right
word, actually, because I was soaked to
the skin; no, beyond that. Parts of me
I'd only read about in books were wet. The
kind lady on duty was a mite concerned.
"You're very wet, dear", she
observed.
"Yes", I said,
surveying the church dimly through
bedraggled eyelashes. She
stamped my form, which was rapidly
dissolving across her table, and I headed
on in grim determination to the pleasures
of Wickham
Market and Framlingham.
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It
was a pleasure to come back on a bright, sunny
day in 2011, albeit towards the end of November.
St Peter and St Paul sits in fine juxtaposition
to the village pub; a very sensible arrangement
on the part of our medieval forebears, I always
think. From across the wide graveyard you look to
the south side of the church with its good 15th
century tower, and the curiously high nave walls.
For some reason, a clerestory was built
and then filled in. Perhaps they changed their
minds, or possibly it was blocked to keep the
heat in.
| The chancel arch is
stencilled with a text in the manner of
that at All Saints at nearby Wickham
Market, and a number of medieval features
survived the extensive Victorianisation
here. In the south side of the nave,
there are the remains of an image niche
in the jamb of a window, with the very
top of what appears to be a piscina
arch surviving to the east of it.
Curiously, there are two more piscinas
either side of the chancel arch. Up in
the entirely 19th century chancel, a
super 14th century angle piscina
was rescued, and reset. There is a Table
of Fees similar to the one at nearby
Rendlesham. What
I haven't seen, but find fascinating, are
the Pettistree bells. There are six of
them, and three of them are medieval. The
story goes that, having remained silent
throughout the Second World War, they
were rung in celebration of victory on
May 8th 1945, and appeared to make cracks
in the tower. And so they remained
silent, until everything was restored in
the late 1980s. Two of the medieval bells
bear Latin inscriptions invoking the help
of St Nicholas and St John, but the third
says Me Clamante Ihesu Maneat
Bethleem Sine Lectu. This seems to
mean 'While I ring out, let there
remain a bed in Bethlehem for Jesus'.
Perhaps the donor of the bell was the
keeper of the adjacent inn. Rather
lovely, that.
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Simon Knott, January 2012
 
   
 
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