There has been a church on this site since at least the 9th century, with the initial Saxon church building being a small wooden chapel where Æthelswith of Wessex (the sister of King Alfred the Great) was wed to King Burgred of Mercia. It is known that the building had been replaced in stone by around 1120, from which time the oldest surviving fabric of the church dates. Admittedly, said fabric has been greatly chopped and changed by the Victorians, but what remains is still indomitably Norman Romanesque. Firstly, the round arch which leads to the vestry to the left of the chancel was originally the chancel arch before its rebuilding in the 1870s, at which point the arch was moved to its present position. Secondly, there is a Norman window to the right of this arch which was moved from the original north wall during the same period of rebuilding, and contains the church's only surviving medieval glass.

Of course, the church could not escape the hands of the Victorian restorers and underwent a major period of rebuilding and reordering from 1875 to 1878 by R. Darley, including the rebuilding of the nave and chancel, and the addition of a north aisle in a sympathetic Perpendicular style, in keeping with the remainder of the building. The organ was moved to its present position from the west gallery which was removed at this time, and many memorials were also moved. The clerestory in the nave was inserted in this period, and the chancel was extended by some 6m to the east, as well as the aforementioned repositioning of the chancel arch and Norman window.

The south side of the main body of the church contains much Perpendicular architecture, including the Lady Chapel (rebuilt in 1442 by the Hungerford family), the south aisle, and the St. Katherine's chapel. The latter was built in the late 15th century by the Fraternity of St. Katherine, a cloth workers' guild local to the area, and consisted of a guild meeting room on the ground floor with a still extant spiral staircase giving access to a chapel on the since removed floor above. The area is now used as the baptistery and as such contains the font (I am not sure of the date, but it looks to be late 15th/early 16th century). The former St. Andrew's chantry chapel (which now houses the organ) dating from 1322 does not seem to have been rebuilt in the Victorian restoration but is sandwiched between later material in such a way that there is little to separate it from this 19th century reconstruction.

The tower is currently in its third iteration, which is often surprising for a church; needless to say, building a tower has always been something of a large undertaking, and as a general principle it can be taken for granted that no matter how often the rest of the church is rebuilt and extended, the church's first tower will usually remain its tower throughout due to the excessive and unnecessary difficulty involved with any potential rebuilding and can often be the oldest surviving part of the building. However, at St. Andrew's, the first tower was built in the 14th century and rebuilt after a relatively short period in the 15th century, at which point the spire was added. The third, Gothic Survival style rebuilding dates from 1633 and involved lowering the height by fifteen feet (perhaps for safety reasons, as the oversized clasping buttresses seem to date from this period too). The lower stage was not rebuilt in either case and as such retains its 14th century lancet windows.

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 church's setting is a relatively pleasant one - much of the architecture on the historic market square which adjoins the church precinct is wholly complimentary and imbues the building with a sense of integration into the built environment and historic fabric of the town, which is more than can be said for many urban churches in the modern era. Despite the sensitivity of its setting, the aspect is not one of the more picture-perfect in the country, with it being difficult to achieve an unbroken line of sight which encapsulates the effect of the building as a whole, and, as such, the aesthetic impact of the church is not as powerful as it might otherwise be. No matter - the spire is visible from afar, and the main attractions of this church lie within its walls anyway.

The church is entered from the west end through the tower's lower stage which acts as a porch. Passing through some glass doors will take you into the main body of the church, which gives the impression of being wider than it is long, despite this not being the case. This is mainly down to the relative daintiness of the nave arcade pillars which have the effect of opening up the aisles which join with the nave to form a large, lateral unit, and combining this with the strongly articulated chancel screen, the layout is transformed into a space with almost hall church-like proportions. The congregation's side of the building therefore feels spacious and open, with the chancel almost situated like another world beyond. 

As a whole, the building is relatively dark, despite the Victorian clerestory windows battling against the gloom. The area surrounding the organ is especially dim, but the contrast between this area and the baptistery, lit by multiple large windows with clear glass, is enormous. Nevertheless, the church mostly maintains unity and sanctity in its feel, and aptly encloses the space in an atmospheric manner. The modern fittings, including the toilet and kitchen area of 2012, the moveable chairs, and the wooden areas of the floor, prevent the space from having the ancient and hallowed ambience common to many medieval churches, but show that the church is active and well-used.

Upon entering the Lady Chapel, one is greeted with an excellent collection of memorial stonework at the back wall. Of note are the unique chain of 17th century memorial tablets commemorating past worshippers and the 1570 table tomb of Andrew and his son Sir Edward Baynton, but the single piece which inevitably caught my eye and immediately superseded these other memorials (which are all fine memorials in their own right) is an incised effigial slab mounted on the wall above the Baynton tomb, a somewhat severe and mournful figure which is rather evocative in its crudeness. The effigy, which is thought to date from the 13th or 14th century depicts a recumbent lady with her hands linked in prayer (in a manner which is, in all honesty, anatomically improbable at best), is life-size and carved in light relief into the slab, with a canopy above her head and the remnants of a Norman French inscription running down the left hand side.

The woman's face is solemn and doleful, and despite the centuries of wear and damage, manages to express a kind of soulful penitence, with her glassy-eyed (stony-eyed?) stare being both chilling and communicating the warmth of her humanity across the centuries; a stare from the mortal realm into the transient. The way in which this monument captures both the spirits of the carver and the commemorated piqued my curiosity, especially as the monument's situation raises a lot of questions about its identity and story. The information board in the Lady Chapel does not so much as mention the slab, and there is little in the church guide to shed any light on the situation. Even the Historic England listing glosses over it, going only so far as to mention the 'repositioned medieval relief carving of [a] figure (origin unknown).' The church website has a more satisfying account, but many uncertainties still remain.

This notable piece of heritage is not exactly displayed in pride of place; the toilet and kitchen area installed in 2012 tightly flanks the chest and many of my photos are awkward and involved me moving several information boards and crouching half under a table in order to properly see the detail. At any rate, the contortionist efforts are worth it for any visitor as this 13th century parish chest is a beautiful and rare example of medieval woodwork, adorned with unique carvings which combine geometric patterns with allegorical scenes lifted from the medieval bestiary.

The remarkable front panel of the chest in all its glory, complete with obtrusive table leg. The main body of the chest and its pin hinges are all original, whilst the lid is a replacement. (As a side note, one would think that placing it directly in front of a radiator wouldn't be the best idea for its physical conservation!) | Taken 16/07/24

This wall-mounted memorial to Sir Gilbert Prynne and his family dates from 1628 and is mounted on the wall of the south aisle. The memorial depicts Sir Gilbert and his wife, Mary (née Davies) kneeling in prayer under an illustrious canopy, with their seven children lined up beneath them. The two central daughters are larger and project forward on a pedestal, while the remaining five flank them at the wall and hold skulls. This composition indicates that the central two were the only ones to survive to adulthood; a grim reminder of the child mortality rate of their day, and how no family, no matter how wealthy, could reliably shield themselves from tragedy. However, their inclusion in the memorial in itself signifies an enduring hope that the family would be reunited in heaven, a bittersweet belief which the family must have held on to throughout their lives. The monument was originally installed in the Lady Chapel where it blocked the westernmost window, but was moved to its present position during the Victorian restoration of 1875-78 and the window reopened. The inscription at the base of the monument would probably have been legible for the most part had I the time to pore over it, but as it is, the text is in too poor a condition to be interpreted casually.

The organ is located in what used to be St. Andrew's chantry chapel prior to the Reformation, and is remarkably dimly lit, its lurking presence evoking the dark and ancient sounds of church organ music established in the public mind. Once your eyes have adjusted to the gloom, however, you will be able to see that the organ case is in fact a finely crafted piece of work, harmonious and well-proportioned. The case dates from the original building of the organ in 1752 by Bryce (or Brice) Seede of Bristol, regarded as one of the finest West Country organ builders of his time, and is one of only two such examples by Seede to survive to the present day, the other being a chamber organ of 1769 located at Powderham Castle in Devon. Originally located in the now vanished west gallery, the inauguration of the organ was celebrated by a ball at the nearby Angel Hotel. By 1860 it had fallen into disrepair, and during the 1870s restoration it was moved to its present location when the west gallery was removed, and rebuilt by Gray & Davidson in 1879 with three manuals, reusing much of the original pipework. It was rebuilt again by Percy Daniel & Co. of Cleveden in 1965 and the console is now located in the Lady Chapel.

The finely crafted case itself is carved in the Baroque style from oak, richly decorated with Corinthian capitals and ornamented cornice moulding, and is crowned by two angels with golden trumpets.

It is somewhat astounding, the disparity in craftsmanship which can be found within church buildings. Some of the more... rustic contributions which can be found are reminders that bodgers, incompetents, and simply average people have always existed and worked in our towns and villages, which is perhaps a reassuring thought. In particular, a field in which the work of these people survive is the execution of funerary monuments and grave slabs. The less eminent and the more rural you were, the less likely you were to be able to employ a master mason to produce a beautiful monument to you or a loved one, and so many examples from the oeuvres of less than masterful local craftspeople survive, especially from around the end of the 17th century and the beginning of the 18th when gravestones and memorials began to become more universal. A popular motif in memorials at this time was that of a skull, a powerful and explicit memento mori, designed to remind the onlooker of their own mortal transience, but it is evident that many local engravers had a less than fully accurate grasp of the actual anatomy of a skull. One can usually find one or two such examples in your average town or country church, but here at Chippenham there are no fewer than ten instances of a laughably executed skull motif on a memorial, and there may be yet more which I missed when exploring the building. Many of these commemorate members of the Scott family, and one can infer that they were not exactly poor, and not the most rural either, but still the craftsmanship provides ample hilarity to modern eyes.

The church seems to be well-resourced and home to an active community; the very fact that it is kept open is testimoney to this. Generally in a town of Chippenham's size, the parish church will be kept locked as a rule in order to prevent heritage crime, but St. Andrews is regularly open from 8am till 5:30pm which adds so much to the ability of the town to be experienced as a historical and cultural location. The fabric of a settlement's history and the story of its people are invariably found within the walls of its church, and the access to St. Andrew's is a welcome asset of Chippenham. The fittings in the church also belie an active congregation and community, with a recently installed toilet and kitchen area (2012) and moveable seating ensuring the flexibility of the space, and a dedicated children's area in the south aisle being a nice touch in terms of engagement, if not in terms of aesthetics. The church clearly values this involvement of young people, and this attitude is aptly summed up on the information board for the parish chest: 'Chests of this period were used to store vestments and other valuables... It is now home to far more precious things - toys for our children's clubs.'