Location: Bradford-on-Avon, Wiltshire
Dedication: Holy Trinity
Denomination: Church of England
Features of Interest: Fine collection of effigies, C16 rood loft panel, C14 wall painting
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The exterior of the church showing the tower and south porch. | Taken 18/07/24
The name of Bradford-on-Avon is one which every church enthusiast surely knows well. The historic Wiltshire town has garnered much attention due to the presence of its wholly Saxon church of St. Laurence, a rare example of an intact, well-preserved church of the pre-conquest 11th century. However, just over the other side of the road stands the town's parish church of the Holy Trinity, which, while often overshadowed by the presence of such an undisputed gem of early church architecture so nearby, contains multitudes in its own right. There is something to interest every church-crawler within these walls, whether you are looking for monuments, paintings, stained glass, or carvings, and it should not under any circumstances be overlooked.
Bradford-on-Avon's Saxon heritage runs strong in its churches, with St. Laurence's over the road clearly being the most tangible aspect of this, but Holy Trinity also boasts illustrious Saxon roots. It is thought to be built on the site of an ancient Saxon Minster founded by St. Aldhelm around the year 700, but nothing of this former building remains. The church was rebuilt c.1150, and the earliest surviving fabric of the building today dates from this time, with the nave and chancel's basic footprint following the plan of this period. This can most easily be seen in the chancel, which originally contained four round-arched Norman windows, the easternmost two of which remain, while the traces of the westernmost two can still be seen in the masonry of the wall. There is also a rebuilt Norman window in south wall of the nave. The chancel was extended at the beginning of the 14th century, and the Decorated style tracery in the east window dates from this time.
The north aisle has the strange origin story of being a composite of former chapels, with an early 14th century Lady Chapel which was converted to a chantry around 1500 and a later chantry dedicated to St. Nicholas from around 1420 merging together during the post-Reformation rebuilding to form the aisle, which is adorned with 16th century roof bosses. A ghostly remnant of these chantries can be seen set into the north wall: a late Perpendicular recess with its central panels arranged in the shape of a cross. This is thought to have been used as a reredos and stands as a rare survival of a pre-Reformation rood carving.
The tower, which is relatively diminutive for a church of these proportions, was built in the 15th century, and the church experienced a further spell of rebuilding in the late 15th/early 16th century, at which time the chancel and tower arches were both rebuilt. The tower's prosperity was short lived, however, with a lightning strike in 1612 destroying the clock frame and causing a large amount of damage to the structure. The final major alteration to the floorplan of the church was the c.1630-50 construction of the Kingston chantry chapel to the south, which now acts as the sacristy.
Now comes the make or break point in any medieval English church's history: the Victorian restoration. From 1864-66, the church's fabric was altered heavily by J. Elkington Gill (of Manners & Gill, Bath), with the south wall and roof of the nave, the nave arcade, the south porch, the chancel arch, and the Kingston chapel all being rebuilt, with the chancel roof being replaced later in 1881. Whilst not exactly a light touch, there are far more egregious restorations out there, and, all things considered, Holy Trinity can be said to have got off lightly. One unique feature of this restoration is that the westernmost two piers of the nave arcade were rebuilt with carved ribbons of text winding around them, in a surprising instance of a Victorian restoration actually adding a feature of interest rather than obliterating multiple. Much Saxon stonework was also discovered during this rebuilding, and has now been reassembled nearby at the altar of St. Laurence's.
The information here has been taken variously from the church guide (leaflet available from the church), the church website, and the Historic England listing.
The town's excellent scenic architecture and intact historic urban fabric cause it to be popular with tourists, but the liveability of the place is unfortunately marred by the fact that traffic engineers seem to have thought it unnecessary to bypass the town, and as a result the narrow streets in the town centre are constantly choked up with an endless stream of vehicular through traffic which inhibits walkability and creates constant noise. However, Church Street lies to the west of this busy area, and the settings of both Holy Trinity and the adjacent St. Laurence's church therefore preserve the complementary historic surroundings while managing to be relatively peaceful. In fact, the churches complement each other well, reflecting each other's antiquity from across the way.
The churchyard is well-kept and full of picturesque and weathered table tombs. Following the path parallel to the south wall of the church will lead to the south porch, and entering it through a set of modern glass doors will take you into the main body of the church. The church's interior feels expansive, with the delicate grace of the ribbon-wound nave arcade opening up the north aisle as part of this feeling. While the windows are mostly clear, the church is not as bright as one might expect, and the lack of a clerestory can definitely be felt. The bare stone walls warm the interior considerably, and still seem spacious despite being packed with memorials. The modern benches are sensitive and do not detract from the space's ancient qualities, though the neat cleanliness of the substantially Victorian building fabric does make this sense less powerful.
Much of what is immediately visible will not inspire confidence in most church-crawlers; the fittings are mostly modern, and the wall memorials are overwhelmingly Classical 18th century. However, despite a large amount of obvious Victorian interference, the church will quickly reveal its many treasures upon the most perfunctory of perambulations.
Holy Trinity has an example of just about every kind of church artifact you can think of. The most exciting examples in my opinion are the two monumental brasses (one dating from the early 16th century and the other from the turn of the 17th century), several medieval stone effigies, and a surviving fragment of the 16th century painted rood screen. Also of note is an early 14th century wall painting featuring the Virgin Mary, and a window in the south wall containing many roundels of Flemish painted glass.
This memorial is hidden rather awkwardly on the north wall behind the organ, and proves that churches often need to be explored thoroughly in order to come away having discovered the most fascinating parts. The brass commemorates Thomas and Mary Horton, with Thomas being a clothier who re-endowed a chantry chapel in this part of the building. The church guide gives Thomas' date of death as 1530, but the inscription on the monument itself seems only to read 1500 for both him and Mary, with space left for filling in the remainder of the year at a later stage. The dates on the inscription are therefore perhaps not ideal bases of knowledge, as the actual calendar dates of both of their deaths have been also left blank (showing that the monument was commissioned before their deaths and the blanks never filled in), and I am no expert at deciphering Black Letter text, so I will take the guide's word for it in this case.
The overall composition of the memorial is sparse; the ledger stone itself is enormous compared to the size of the figures. This is nothing out of the ordinary for a brass memorial of its date, but still leaves the whole monument with an unbalanced and bare feel to it. There are seven individual engraved components to the memorial, the central one being of course the figures of Thomas and Mary themselves with the adjoining inscription below their feet and scrolls extending from their mouths. Of the outer four small scrolls, only the bottom two survive, with these being generic prayerful expressions, and the former location of the upper two (which presumably once contained similar content to the others) consisting of nothing but bare matrices. The small badge underneath the figures is a merchant's mark, but the final component located near the top of the stone is undoubtedly the most noteworthy. This is a fine portrayal of the Holy Trinity, with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit all suitably enthroned and crowned with nimbuses.
The central figures of Thomas and Mary Horton, the inscription below bearing conspicuous gaps when giving the dates of death for both of the couple. | Taken 18/07/24
The merchant's mark near the bottom of the stone. | Taken 18/07/24
The engraving of the Holy Trinity at the top of the stone. Here, God is seated benevolently on an ornate throne, hand raised in benediction, with a crucified Jesus occupying the foreground and the Holy Spirit taking the form of a bird perched on the cross. The detailing is somewhat cartoonish, but it is still a fine piece of work for this medium at this date. | Taken 18/07/24
The awkwardly close proximity of the body of the organ makes it impossible to capture a satisfactory full shot of the memorial. This is the closest I could get, but a sense of the sparsity of the composition can still be appreciated. The matrices of the missing scrolls at the top can also be seen. | Taken 18/07/24
A closer shot of the figure of Thomas; he is finely dressed in the garb of a wealthy clothier of his day, a clothier simply being a maker or seller of cloth. The town's prosperity has its roots firmly in the woollen cloth trade, in which Thomas was a prominent purveyor. He is recorded in the late 15th century as having re-endowed the chantry chapel in which the brass is still located, which itself was originally the Lady Chapel. Presumably this brass was originally laid into the floor of this chapel before the installation of the organ necessitated it being moved to stand against the north wall. | Taken 18/07/24
A closer shot of the figure of Mary; her belt sash is finely decorated and her headdress characteristically peaked in contemporary fashion. The church guide does not so much as mention her as part of the memorial, and the Historic England listing refers to her only as Thomas' wife, and considering that her name is actually written on the memorial, I consider this to be an oversight which unfortunately contributes to the culture of writing women and their identities out of the historical record. | Taken 18/07/24
The bottom left scroll, reading 'Jhesu Mercy.' | Taken 18/07/24
The bottom right scroll, reading 'Lady Helpe.' | Taken 18/07/24
Whilst the Horton brass above is undoubtedly a fine and precious piece of work, it is fairly typical of its period and will likely warrant little attention from people who aren't quite as obsessed with brass memorials as I am. However, the church's other brass is nothing short of excellent, and is a commendable memorial which substantially departs from the artistic standards of its time regarding brass engraving. The monument, located in the floor of the chancel, is dedicated to Anne Long(e) (née Yewe) who died in 1601, and shows her standing in prayer, clothed in splendid and fashionable Elizabethan dress.
This is an exceptional memorial for its date, as by the turn of the 17th century, the art of monumental brass engraving in England was a dying one, with the wealthy commissioners of funerary monuments beginning to favour other forms of memorialisation. That isn't to say that there aren't many examples from this era, as this period in brass production boasts one of the higher numbers of surviving examples, but the figures produced around this time were generally very small and poorly proportioned, spoiled by an excess of shading and shallow engraving, as well as being produced using lower quality latten brass. Plate brasses were often favoured, which showed the deceased in miniature within a rectangular scene, and those brasses which remained in production tended to be used less on sepulchral slabs and more as a form of wall monument.
However, almost none of this is true of Anne's memorial, which, while not life-sized, is far larger than the vast majority of the brasses produced in the last century. Her figure is well-proportioned and elegantly executed, and the shading, whilst high in volume, does not in any way detract from the detailing of the figure. The patterning on the lower portion of her dress is exquisite, and the composition of the memorial as a whole is satisfying and accomplished, unlike the Horton brass. This is undoubtedly the highest quality brass of this period I have come across (perhaps rivalled only by that of Archbishop Samuel Harsnett (1631) in Chigwell, Essex, which doesn't count as I have never visited!), and is thankfully located in an open position where it is easy to appreciate.
The grave slab of Anne Longe. The large proportions of the central figure of Anne can be appreciated when seen in relation to the full composition, which consists of an inscription below the main figure, four identical shields in the corners, and a small depiction of Anne's two daughters beneath her. The plain English inscription is a welcome relief (no pun intended) after the inscrutable Black Letter of the Horton brass. | Taken 18/07/24
A closer look at the figure of Anne. The brass has something of an orangey-brown, rich clay-like hue, probably stemming from a higher than usual proportion of copper in its alloy composition. The detail is remarkable and carefully executed down to the last fingernail, while still maintaining the bold simplicity of countenance common to monumental brasses. | Taken 18/07/24
The detail of Anne's dress, showing the beautiful and refined latticed floral pattern. Each of the flowers is whimsically unique and enables this lower portion of the dress to act as a verdant encyclopedia of 17th century flora in brass. | Taken 18/07/24
The small plate depicting Anne's daughters, Anne and Catheryn, is the area in which the decline of the art is best seen; despite the splendour of their mother's effigy above, these figures are more of the ilk of other contemporary brass memorials when given independent consideration. The engraving is thin and has suffered from substantial weathering, and the dark brass has warped slightly. | Taken 18/07/24
One of the shields from the corner of the monument. The shield depicts a lion surmounted by a band of three floriated crosses. I can't identify the cause of the damage to the engraving, but each shield has experienced similar disfiguration. | Taken 18/07/24
Another of the shields, this one from the top of the monument. The cross hatching in this case is rather brutal and crude in comparison to the other example, and seems rushed. The reason for this disparity is anyone's guess, but I like to think of the 17th century engraver being a procrastinator with a rapidly approaching deadline! | Taken 18/07/24
Along with the two fine brasses discussed above, the church is also home to number of medieval stone effigies, all of which are unfortunately highly damaged and ex-situ. Despite their condition, the effigies are still worth inspection and emanate a potent sense of antiquity, perhaps made even more potent by wearing the weight of the centuries in their battered figures.
The first of these memorials is located in the north aisle, beneath the equally interesting late Perpendicular recess. The figure of an unknown date commemorates an unknown woman and has evidently been roughly truncated along its top face at some point in its history. The woman's head rests on a large pillow, with the bottom end of the effigy being too damaged to make out what she rests her feet on. Her face is completely erased, as is almost all detail of her dress, save a few shallow folds in the fabric over her legs. The monument tapers towards the lower end of her body and the overall figure is somewhat flat (even without the upper face truncation), which perhaps stylistically indicates that it is of a more advanced age than the other effigies held in the church, but neither the church nor Historic England hazard a guess at its precise period.
The unknown north aisle effigy. The severe damage can be clearly seen. | Taken 18/07/24
The next two effigies are located on either side of the chancel, opposite each other in canopied recesses, and are in only slightly better condition than the one in the north aisle. The first, on the north side adjacent to the Longe brass, depicts another unknown lady, probably of a slightly later date. Whilst her features are worn almost completely smooth, the general integrity of her garments is intact, and the creature at her feet is, while unidentifiable, at the very least still present. The scant remains of a canopy above her head can be made out, and a large rectangular chunk has been removed from her right side at some stage.
The other on the south side depicts yet another unknown figure, this time an armoured knight. His limbs are all completely missing and his face suffers from a dearth of identifiable features. The legs were clearly originally crossed, and if one were to follow the dubious and disputed idea that this invariably represents involvement in the Crusades, then one may be inclined to attribute an air of heroism to this anonymous figure, but whether they are crossed at the ankles (representing participation in one crusade) or at the knees (representing two) is not quite clear. I am inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, because who doesn't love a good story? What the crossed legs do communicate from a less fanciful perspective though, is that the figure likely dates from some time between the mid-13th and mid-14th centuries.
The unknown lady in the chancel. Again, the damage is obvious but not quite as severe. | Taken 18/07/24
The unknown knight in the chancel. The canopied recess in which the knight rests is a fine piece of early C14 Decorated work in its own right, but I unfortunately overlooked it when photographing the area. | Taken 18/07/24
The final effigy can perhaps no longer be accurately described as such, and in fact depicts only the head and upper chest area of a lady, and is mounted on the north wall of the chancel beyond the altar rails. The church guide gives the effigial fragment the title of 'the Lady with a Wimple,' and dates it to the 13th century. It is a rather elegant piece of sculpture and retains a surprising amount of detail considering the enormous damage which has robbed the lady of the rest of her figure.
Her detailed face is benign and peaceful, with the slight angle at which the sculpture is mounted giving her a gently inquisitive look. The shape and texture of the wimple itself is testament to the graceful skill of the hand which produced this memorial, achieving a light flow and delicacy of texture which transcends the rigidity of the medium. This anonymous sculptor may never receive appropriate credit, but while their name and identity has been lost, their work has survived into the 21st century and can still be praised and admired, which may be the most that any of us can possibly hope for.
I am, admittedly, being somewhat presumptuous in including her among these other effigies, as this fragment is never explicitly stated in any source to be taken from an effigy. However, the figure's prayerful pose, size, and the presence of a pillow-like object behind her head all suggest to me that the sculpture was once the upper part of a recumbent effigy, the rest of which is now lost. I cannot imagine the circumstances by which this would have happened, but as always there will be a long forgotten story behind this woman, her life, her death, and the death after death that comes with her identity fading from the minds of the living.
The 'Lady with a Wimple.' The figure is mounted at a gratifyingly easy to access height. | Taken 18/07/24
The presence of all of these long-suffering effigies is a stark and romantic reminder of the transience of memory. All of these people would have been wealthy, high-profile individuals who commissioned these once grand and carefully crafted monuments as ways of being remembered by future generations who might spare a prayer for their souls, cementing themselves in history as great figures worthy of eternal commemoration in stone. Now, all we have left of them are fragments, cracked and worn smooth by centuries of neglect and decay, nothing but ghosts of ghosts telling us of their existence. All of their names are unknown, every detail of their lives forgotten and lost to time, and frankly we are lucky to have even these battered and broken figures to remember them by, as there have of course been many others who lived as part of the story of this Earth whose monuments have been lost, and countless more who never had monuments made at all. From every broad shape hewn and every little detail painstakingly etched, every last mark of the chisel cries out across the ages: forget me not. And like sand carried by the wind, they were forgotten.
The English Reformation and Civil Wars combined are probably the two greatest acts of cultural vandalism in the country's history (although the World Wars and subsequent town planning decisions contest this spot). Particularly out of favour with both reformers and Puritans was religious iconography of any kind, and the rich tradition of painted rood screens and lofts was a fatally affected victim of this. Often, these were adorned with rows of figures of various saints, as was obviously the case here in Bradford-on-Avon, and these depictions were almost invariably defaced or destroyed during the reigns of Henry VIII and Edward VI, and during the Commonwealth period. A further blow came as a result of the Civil Wars; churches were often used as garrisons, stables, or temporary prisons during the conflict, and many medieval wooden fittings suffered from a new and ignominious purpose as firewood being thrust upon them. As a result, painfully few examples of these once ubiquitous works of art survive to the present day. There are concentrations in Norfolk and Wales (i.e. out of the way places that reformers didn't seem to bothered to reach!), but outside of these regions, anything other than the most fragmentary iota of a rood screen is a precious rarity.
So imagine my delight when, upon passing the altar rails of the chancel, I was met with the painted figures of two Fathers of the Church drawn onto a wooden rood screen panel, studiously writing away. The panel is thought to depict St. Augustine and (half of) St. Jerome, and dates from c. 1500-1520, on the eve of the Reformation. Both figures are seated at desks, lost deeply in their writings, with their flanking mullions being decorated with faded floral patterns. The extent of the survival of colour and detail is very impressive, but must be reconciled with the loss of the figures' heads.
It is worth noting that I am not certain who to trust when deciding whether the panel comes from the dado of the rood screen or the front of the rood loft; the plaque on the panel itself claims it is from the loft, but the Historic England listing asserts it as being part of the lower screen, and I have opted for screen for consistency. No matter - it is still a remarkable survival capable of celebration.
The rood screen panel mounted on the south wall of the chancel. One can imagine the former continuation of the panels to have included depictions of the two remaining Fathers of the Latin Church, St. Gregory and St. Ambrose. | Taken 18/07/24
A closer look at the left hand figure. I have assumed this to be St. Augustine simply because this is the order in which the church guide lists them, but the coloured garb of the other figure leads me to believe that that one is in fact St. Jerome, who is often depicted in red cardinal's dress. Whilst the upper portion of the head is missing, the face doesn't seem to have suffered from any iconoclastic vandalism. | Taken 18/07/24
A closer look at St. Jerome's book. I have enhanced the colours slightly, but even without digital editing it is possible to imagine the impact of the world of colour which once adorned our medieval churches. It is staggering to think that almost every parish church in the country surely must have had a similar complete screen, and to think of just quite how much of this incredible artistry has been lost at the hands of cultural vandals. | Taken 18/07/24
The detail of the pattern on the left hand mullion. | Taken 18/07/24
The detail of the pattern on the dividing mullion. | Taken 18/07/24
The feast of medieval fragments in Holy Trinity's chancel certainly does not end with its effigies. High up on the east wall, to the left of the east window is an impressive survival; an early 14th century wall painting depicting an apocryphal scene of the Virgin Mary being taught to read by her mother, St. Anne. The faded painting, while only fragmentary, still retains a degree of clarity and detail which cannot be ascribed to many other such examples elsewhere.
St. Anne is shown as a fluid figure, who almost envelops Mary with the curvature of her arms. She hands her a book, which Mary accepts with a slightly suspicious look. The faces of both figures are solemn and are impressively decipherable given the condition of the painting. The cusped arch under which they stand and the grid of quatrefoils which fills the background are both fairly imprecisely executed from a geometric perspective, but nonetheless decorate the scene in an attractive manner.
An awkward and heavily zoomed in photo of the wall painting (it was in a difficult place ok!). The painting has certainly suffered over the centuries, but even in its faded and fragmentary form can be taken in as an intriguing work of art. | Taken 18/07/24
The painting in context, showing its high situation and inadequate lighting, and providing ample excuse for the lacking quality of my photography. The stained glass visible in the east window is Victorian and in poor taste, and does not complement the ancient painting at all. | Taken 18/07/24
There is not a particularly large amount of stained glass in this church. Often the Victorians would rush to install some dreadful, darkening panes at any given opportunity, but the majority of Holy Trinity's windows remain blissfully clear of these often tasteless additions. Where stained glass is present in the church, it is well executed and sparingly applied (save the awful east window!), and the most interesting example of this can be found in the easternmost window of the south wall of the nave. This gorgeous window is home to 25 roundels of early 16th century Flemish painted glass, collected around 1760-70 and donated to the church by a local benefactor, John Ferrett. The glass medallions, depicting Biblical scenes and various saints, are delicately stained and painted with characteristic yellow and orange hues and are set within larger lights filled with clear glass. The composition is excellently balanced, and the window still lets in a large amount of light through the clear glass, perhaps with a golden tinge from the medallions.
There are five individual artists credited with producing the roundels in this collection, those being Pieter Coecke van Aelst, Jacob Cornelisz van Oostsanen, Jan Swart van Groningen, Aert Ortkens (Arnold of Nijmegen), and Dirck Vellert, many of whom were notable Renaissance artists working across Belgium and the Netherlands in the first half of the 16th century.
The glorious and attractive window with its 25 Flemish roundels. Just barely visible in the upper two panes either side of the crowning trefoil are two further roundels showing a crown and a rose, both of which are fragments of English glass from the 15th century. | Taken 18/07/24
The lower left medallion, depicting the descent from the cross. Whilst the panel has suffered more damage than the rest, the delicate linework showing the solemn faces of the mourners and the emaciated figure of Christ can still be made out as exquisite. | Taken 18/07/24
The lower central medallion, depicting the supper at Emmaus. Graininess aside, this example is in near perfect condition and is imbued with a deep orange hue which dominates the composition. The slightly disturbingly human-like face of the dog at the bottom is possibly my favourite detail. | Taken 18/07/24
The lower right medallion, depicting the breakfast on the shore. All three of these examples are noticeably stylistically different and clearly by different artists. This one favours a sense of dynamism in the figures and uses colour masterfully and subtly. This is the final close up shot I managed to take, as the other roundels are all set too high. | Taken 18/07/24
The exterior of the church as viewed from the south. The vast majority of the actual stonework in the picture is Victorian, with the exception of the tower. It is not really possible to get a full shot of the church as getting the required vantage point would require standing in the adjacent River Avon. | Taken 18/07/24
The interior south wall of the nave, crowded with a catalogue of C18 memorial tablets. Tablets of this kind are often decried for clogging up the walls with unnecessary and conceited monuments to mediocrity, but in this case, they transform an otherwise bare space into one with an interesting visual composition. | Taken 18/07/24
One of the fluted ribbon piers of the nave arcade. The winding scroll and delicate foliage capitals are a creative addition and have been gracefully carved. | Taken 18/07/24
This attractive oak screen lies under the tower arch and separates the choir vestry from the nave. It was given to the church in 1929 in memory of Dr. John Adye. | Taken 18/07/24
The late Perpendicular style former chantry reredos sent into the wall of the north aisle, with one of the unknown effigies beneath it. Whilst the tracery itself is not especially notable, the very presence of such an item having survived the brutality of the Reformation is to be commended. | Taken 18/07/24
The octagonal C15 font, located midway up the north aisle. Its panels contain boldly carved, simple motifs, and may have been recut sometime in the C17. | Taken 18/07/24
The chancel, with the two early C14 tomb recesses visible either side. The Victorian stained glass in the east window is gaudy and aesthetically unforgivable in relation to the ancient artifacts around it. The tracery is well-designed though, dating from c.1300-10. | Taken 18/07/24
This vainglorious monument sculpted by John van Nost is affixed to the north wall of the chancel and commemorates Charles Steward (d.1698), with his wife Mary (d.1701) hastily tacked onto the bottom of the inscription and devoid of sculptural commemoration. The pomp and circumstance of the Classical regalia and Latin inscription suggest to me that this was a man who fancied himself a little too much! | Taken 18/07/24
The fine reredos of 1856, with relief panels depicting the pelican in her piety and the Lamb of God under illustriously carved canopies (again with that dreadful glass in the shot though!). I would normally gloss over Victorian replacements of liturgical items such as this, but this example is beautifully carved and a true feast for the eyes. | Taken 18/07/24
Situated in a shady corner of the north aisle almost behind the organ, this rustic late C17 memorial's inscriptions are mostly lost, save the 3rd panel which commemorates William Baily (d.1712). The spandrels of each panel arch are filled with memento mori; skulls, crossbones, and hourglasses which remind the casual onlooker of their mortal transience. The coat of arms in the oval at the top belongs to the Mercers' Company, and was formerly flanked by a broken pediment, now missing. | Taken 18/07/24
The organ dates from 1926, having originally been built by Henry Willis III before being moved forward and restored by Harrison & Harrison in 2016-17. It almost entirely occupies Thomas Horton's former chantry chapel in the north aisle. | Taken 18/07/24
The pulpit is of heavy constitution, and sits quite low to the ground, but the light intricacy of the carving removes some weight from its presence. It dates from the 1864-66 restoration of the church, and the floor appears to have been raised around it at some point. | Taken 18/07/24
This bizarre squint runs from the north aisle to the chancel and is almost 20 feet long, with a strong claim to being England's longest. I'm not sure why I took this photo from the chancel facing the north aisle though, as of course the entire point of it was to be used the other way round! | Taken 18/07/24
A remarkably old looking chest tomb in the churchyard which surely must be stylistically medieval, before chest tombs became common. This panel contains cusped blind tracery and a large quatrefoil surrounding what appears to be a very worn depiction of the crucifixion. | Taken 18/07/24
The exterior north wall of the chancel. The point at which the early C14 extension to the chancel meets the original C12 chancel can be clearly delineated, with the ghost of one of the blocked Norman windows visible on the right. | Taken 18/07/24
A shot taken from the churchyard of St. Laurence's, showing both the former on the left and Holy Trinity on the right, demonstrating the incredibly close proximity of the two churches. | Taken 18/07/24
The east window from the outside; this exterior shot allows you to appreciate the early C14 tracery without having the sight spoiled by that garish Victorian glass! | Taken 18/07/24
An exterior shot showing the chancel to the right and the rebuilt Kingston chantry chapel (now the sacristy) to the left, with the tower rising from behind. | Taken 18/07/24