The story of St. Helen's begins all the way back in the 7th century, when a small nunnery named Helenstowe is thought to have existed on the site. Thought to have been founded by Lady Cilla in the 670s, it is possible that it acted as the nuns' portion of a double monastic foundation, with the corresponding monks living and worshipping at nearby Abingdon Abbey, founded around the same time. Whilst the abbey remained a formidably powerful Benedictine house right up until the Reformation, Helenstowe had by the late 10th century become removed from monastic function and became the town's parish church, dedicated to St. Helen, mother of Roman Emperor Constantine the Great.

Despite this strong Saxon heritage, nothing of the original building remains, the present structure having its origins in the 1180s. The surviving fabric dating to this time straddles the beginning of the 13th century, and includes the majority of the north aisle (or Jesus Aisle) and Lady Aisle, as well as the impressive Early English Gothic tower of four stages (originally without a spire). It is unknown quite how this original building was set up and ordered, but it is thought to be built more or less over the site of the Saxon church (possibly with the old chancel lying under the road to the east of the church). The plan of the current building is a baffling one, being rather wider than it is long, and owes its present shape to the multiple extensions it has received over the centuries, and as such it would be useful to explain the current layout of the church at this stage. The tower is at the northeast, over the eastern portion of the northernmost aisle, known as the Jesus aisle. Moving southwards, there are four additional aisles, known as the Lady Aisle, St. Helen's Aisle, the Katharine Aisle, and the Reade/Audlett Aisle. Let us proceed using these names!

The Jesus Aisle is thought to have been the nave and chancel of the original church, with the tower being unusually at the east. The Lady Aisle, then, would have been the south aisle of this original church. The Lady Chapel was added as an extension to the Lady Aisle in c.1247, thanks to the patronage of Abingdon's Guild of Our Lady, extending the aisle to be the same length as the remainder of the church. A frequent theme in the expansion of St. Helen's is that of civic pride; with the nearby abbey seeing it fit to take the majority of the parish church's revenue, strong local guilds began to emerge to counteract the abbey's influence and an excellent way in which to consolidate their civic independence was to be benefactors of the parish church and help make it the pride of the town. The Guild of Our Lady went the extra mile in the late 14th century, commissioning the wonderful painted ceiling which is discussed in the Treasures section below.

The other guild which played an indispensable role in transforming St. Helen's was the Fraternity of the Holy Cross. These powerful individuals saw to it that the town, which was wealthy enough in its own right due to the market and proximity to the Thames for trading, kept up with abbey in terms of influence, and the parish church was a key part of this power ploy. To demonstrate their civic pride, they expanded the church by a further two aisles in c.1420, these being the St. Helen's Aisle (plus its west porch) and the Katharine Aisle, borth equal in length to the rest of the church. The Katharine Aisle in particular was strongly linked to them, with the guild having their own altar here, and the west window of the aisle formerly displaying the names of every one of the guilds benefactors who had contributed to the building of Abingdon Bridge in 1416-17. They also built the fine octagonal spire and the two-storey north porch, with the upper floor being dubbed the Exchequer Room, which the guild used for meetings and as a place to keep their revenues.

However, these fortunes faded at the Reformation (though of course more so for the abbey!), and the way of worship in the city was changed forever. Abingdon Abbey was dissolved in 1538, with nothing of that great foundation's church remaining today, and St. Helen's remained as the city's parish church, but with major alterations. The guilds' altars and windows were destroyed, and the entire church was reordered, actually quite sensibly, to move the nave to the centre of the building, instead of having a northern nave with a ridiculous number of aisles and chapels which now served no purpose, the chantries having been abolished. Thus, the old nave (the Jesus Aisle) became the north aisle, the Lady Aisle became the inner north aisle, St. Helen's Aisle became the new nave, and the Katharine Aisle became the south aisle. One would think that this was rather enough aisles, but in 1539, the fifth and final segment of the building was added on by Katherine Audlett as a place to rebury her husband, John; John was the last steward of Abingdon Abbey and had been buried there in 1537, shortly before its destruction. It is also known as the Reade Aisle after Thomas Reade of Barton Court, who was Katherine's heir and who built the south porch and vestry in 1543. Thus, the Katharine Aisle became the inner south aisle and the Audlett Aisle became the south aisle, leaving the building with a plan which, while rather ridiculous, is an exceptional testament to the civic wealth of the town. (In fact, the church can lay claim to being the second widest parish church in England, behind that at Great Yarmouth.)

After these rather exhausting medieval ventures, less work was done to the church, to the great benefit of this article's word count. The spire was rebuilt to the original design in 1625, and the interior received a major reordering in the 18th century, from which several lovely furnishings still survive. The Victorians appear to have been kind to the building for the most part (although see the Treasures section for a notable exception), with Henry Woodyer restoring the church from 1869-73. This involved raising the nave roof and redesigning the tracery of both the west window and chancel east window, and reordering the whole church in a sumptuous high church style, which I would say is done rather well on the whole. Additionally, galleries of 1706-7, 1725, and 1796 were all removed, and the spire was rebuilt again in 1888

The information here has been taken variously from the church guide (leaflet available from the church and which can be found here) and the Historic England listing.

The church is sandwiched between the town centre and the River Thames, with the open meadows of the opposite bank and the brick cottages of the town acting as spectacularly complementary neighbours. Having said this, the church is actually situated rather awkwardly, with the east end fronting directly onto a road, and the other three sides of the churchyard being enclosed by rows of almshouses, which, while historic in their own right, make the church's exterior aspect difficult to navigate. Thank goodness for the proud tower and spire, rising indomitably above all.

The church is entered through the north porch, and the view that greets the visitor upon entering is second to none. Arcade pillars of the five aisles spring up out of the ground like shoots, interweaving to form a canopied forest of stone. The fittings dazzle, instilling the spirit of the Victorian high church straight into the heart, and fostering a most sanctified and powerful atmosphere within the building. This is meaningful enclosure of space at its best, with an unquenchable character thrumming in every inch. One could spend an eternity reflecting in this atmosphere if there weren't also so much to see. It is difficult at first to gain one's bearings in such a whimsically laid out building, but perambulation is most encouraged in this space and a host of treasures will reveal themselves to those who seek them.

Undoubtedly the church's crowning glory, the Lady Chapel's painted ceiling is a most remarkable survivor and an important piece of medieval art. Commissioned by the Guild of Our Lady in the 1390s, the decoration of the chapel was probably spurred on by Pope Boniface IX granting a 1391 indulgence, promising that all 'penitents giving alms to St. Mary's altar in St. Helen's church' would receive four years relief from Purgatory. In order to further instill a sense of devotion in the chapel, new decoration was added to encourage feelings of heavenly wonder in anyone worshipping there, and thus persuade them to donate. Whilst there are a number of reasons why this exploitation is rather wrong (95, in fact), it nonetheless leaves us with the fantastic sight we see today.

The ceiling consists of 52 painted panels depicting the Tree of Jesse, the lineage of Christ, showing figures of each of Christ's ancestors with prophets interspersed and culminating in a Lily Crucifix and the Virgin Mary. The figures are represented in contemporary dress, that being the fashion at King Richard II's court, with elegant, flowing robes, all connected with a winding vine, and the name of each figure is inscribed at their feet. There is also an inscription running along the top of the panels, on the south side a prayer, and on the north side detailing the patronage of William Cholsey and the chaplain Henry Bernyngton. The centre of the ceiling between the rows of panels is also richly decorated with traceried squares and floral bosses, some of which depict lions' heads. Each figure is flawlessly executed, effortlessly dynamic and expressive, and simply beautiful in detail, showing the incredible levels of care and expertise brought to the creation of this composition by skilled craftspeople of the day.

This spectacle of late 14th century art has not survived without its challenges over the years; the Reformation saw the easternmost three panels (the Lily Crucifix, the Virgin Mary, and the Archangel Gabriel) overpainted in red, which, to be honest, can be regarded as them getting off lightly, as one might expect far worse to have befallen this display of rather overt alleged idolatry. Further damage has been done to the panels over the centuries due to the effects of humidity and temperature changes, but, it is, of course, the Victorians who did the most lasting damage. In 1856, the vicar's daughter overpainted nine of the panels, and in 1872 a further 14 of them, including Jesse himself, were carelessly and arbitrarily discarded, with the remaining ones being pushed towards the east and nailed through with no regard for order. What could have possibly possessed them to allow this level of negligence and ignorance I will never know, but the damage was done.

However, in the years since, the panels have had a happier history, being cleaned for the first time in 1935, and from 1983-91, Anna Hulbert and Herbert Read Ltd. underwent a thorough and careful restoration of the panels, with the 38 survivors being reinforced, the overpainting and Victorian nails removed, and the proper, genealogical order of the panels restored. The missing 14 panels have been replaced with poignant ghostly outlines in order to make the composition once again unified and whole, and the chapel was partly enclosed with glass doors and screens in order to better control the temperature. Thanks to the work of these conservators, today we can appreciate a marvel of medieval art just as our ancestors did over 600 years ago.

Try as I might, I found it impossible to satisfactorily capture the entire ceiling at once, but this view from the centre of the chapel shows most of the composition and gives a good sense of its scale and majesty. | Taken 11/10/24

Funerary monuments in our churches are numerous enough that they can always be broadly classified into abounding categories, but no matter how arduous this effort, they will always continue to surprise. The memorial to William Lee in the Audlett Aisle is a singular example of this, being unlike any I have ever seen before. Lee was five times Mayor of Abingdon, and lived to the commendable age of 92. When he died in 1637, his longevity meant that at the time of his death his descendants totalled 197; 17 children, 78 grandchildren, and 102 great-grandchildren. Remarkably, every single one of these descendants is detailed on the memorial, which takes the form of an illustrious and fruitful family tree, painted painstakingly onto wooden boards measuring only approx. 60x80cm and mounted in a golden frame. A figure of Lee, the great progenitor himself, occupies the base of the tree, with its many branches extending skywards and bearing fruit-like circles containing each of the descendants' names, colour coded according to surname. Marriages are represented through a pair of reaching, clasping hands between the names of the couple, and an inscription on cartouches occupies the lower portion of the scene.

This is a memorial which is both innovative in its conception and immensely detailed in its execution. The names of the descendants are not always legible, and some dubious connections may be made between the branches, but the significance of the tree as a genealogical source is not to be understated. Among the descendants are notable figures such as Sir Robert Hanson, a grocer who rose to become Lord Mayor of London from 1672-73. Excitingly, my own family name appears in the bottom left corner of the tree, marrying into the second generation of descendants, so who knows? Perhaps I am looking at a map of my own ancestors here.

A closer look at some of the names on the tree. The remarkable detail put into both the penmanship and the visual elements such as the hands and leaves is astounding given its relatively small size. | Taken 11/10/24