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.

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.

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.

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 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 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

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.

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.