The origins of the church are a little murky; the oldest parts of the present structure date only to c.1280, but the late Norman font implies the existence of a Norman church, none of which now remains. The aforementioned oldest portion of the present building is the three bay north nave arcade, with attractive, thick clustered piers, which sets out the plan of this early building as a single cell structure with a north aisle. Major alterations were carried out in the 15th century, the first of these c.1420 being the addition of the handsome three stage tower and the porch, which was originally located at the west entrance but at some point seems to have been moved to the south. In c.1470, virtually the entire building was rebuilt, with the north aisle being extended eastwards to match the chancel, a new east window being inserted, and the south wall removed and replaced by a four bay arcade opening onto a south aisle. At this time, the north nave arcade's easternmost pier was altered in order to support a new rood screen, now long since vanished. There is evidence of a chantry chapel in the south aisle in the form of a truncated piscina, and it is known that the Guild of St. Denys founded in 1520 made use of this aisle, but this chantry would of course have been surpressed at the Reformation.

The church has always been closely associated with the nearby manor, housing the legacy of each family who came into possession of the estate. The estate passed from Pershore Abbey to Thurstin FitzRolf at the time of the Norman conquest, Thurstin being one of the few proven companions of William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings. In 1216, the male line of his family died out and the estate passed into the hands of the Russell family who had married in, remaining in their ownership until 1416 and the death of Sir Maurice Russell (more details about whom can be found in the corresponding Treasures section), at which the estate passed into the hands of the Denys family, who again had married in. The first manor house at Dyrham dates from the Russells' ownership, being first referenced in 1311, but the Denys line expanded the manor and gardens in 1466 and again in 1511. However, Sir Walter Denys' declining health forced him to sell the manor in 1571 to the Wynter family, specifically brothers William and George (again with more detail in the relevant Treasures section).

Yet again, the direct male line of the Wynters died out and the estate passed into the hands of William Blathwayt, who had married in. Blathwayt is hailed as the creator of the Dyrham Park we see today, a grand manor house built between 1691 and 1704, and now in the care of the National Trust. The house encroaches massively on the church's environs, actually directly joining onto the church with a private door at the east end of the south aisle allowing direct access between the two, meaning that the manorial holders didn't even have to leave their house in order to attend church, and forcing the citizens of the village to circumnavigate the whole estate in order to reach the building. Blathwayt actually had the entire south aisle restored around 1688 in order to house monuments to his dynastic line and provide a setting for their own personal attendance. It is worth noting that the house and estate are directly the product of ill-gotten gains, owing to the Wynters' and Blathwayts' heavy involvement in colonial affairs, including exploitative governance and the slave trade, so whilst the house and grounds are a spectacle, they must be contextualised in the narrative of the brutal profiteering at the expense of colonised peoples in order to fuel European excess. Additionally, the church being more or less totally coopted by the manor is a show of enclosure of the public service of worship thanks to the entitlement of the rich.

With the less cheerful part aside, little work has actually been done to the church since the medieval era, excepting Blathwayt's alterations in the 17th century, which makes for an exceptionally well preserved space. A clock was installed in the tower sometime before 1723 and the interior was sympathetically restored in 1878, although many of the medieval encaustic tiles in the south aisle floor were relaid totally out of order. The church was again redecorated in 1964 by E. F. Tew, leaving a fantastic space full of artistic treasures, which, despite the heavy manorial legacy hanging over its head, still manages to communicate its eternal message: I was here first, and I served the people.

The information here has been taken variously from the church's information boards, the National Trust website and the Historic England listing.

The setting of the church is one of the finest in the county, with the rolling hills of the estate, landscaped gardens, and the house itself all serving to place the church in the very best scenery that this country has to offer. The church is located on an embankment which makes it significantly higher than the manor house, almost entirely above its top floor in fact. This serves to make the church prominent from almost any angle on the estate; if you are to look back at the house, you cannot avoid seeing the church, although when closer to it the inverse is true, as various elements of the house get in the way. Whilst this setting seems idyllic, I cannot help but feel a disconnect from the church and the people it serves, and this is entirely the fault of the manor house; one would be forgiven for thinking that the church was a private chapel to the manor thanks to how thoroughly it has been coopted by the local bigwigs. One must also balance the fact that the manorial environs of the church are pretty much entirely a product of wealth gained from the exploitation of colonised people, and with that fact in mind, it suddenly does not seem quite as beautiful.

However, moving onto the church itself, which I am more than happy to divorce from its unwilling situation, it is entered through the moved south porch and the interior displays a notable continuity with the exterior; cold, slightly bleak, but unbelievably characterful. The space feels wide thanks to the openness of the aisles on either side of the central nave, and the lack of a chancel arch additionally serves to open up the interior. The mostly clear window glass helps it to feel light and it is all in all a most comfortable space, though I cannot decide whether the pinkish limewashing is faintly unsettling or homely. No matter; it certainly lends personality to the building. The church is not particularly large and is very easily traversable, so the highlights can be enjoyed without fear of being missed.

It is worth noting that the church is busier than most owing to its location on the National Trust site, and so the feeling of ancient sanctity that the church would otherwise preserve is reduced slightly. Nevertheless, Dyrham's is a most rewarding church to visit and a must see if viewing the house and garden.

Despite the lavish flourishes of the Wynter tomb further down the aisle, I believe this brass set into the floor of the south aisle to be the church's finest memorial. Simon Jenkins rather uncharitably calls this memorial 'of limited quality,' but in this case I could not disagree with St. Jenkins more. The 1416 brass commemorates Sir Maurice Russel and Lady Isabel (née Childrey), and consists of two figures of the couple, which may well be life size, recumbent and in prayer under a formerly illustrious canopy. The brass is set lower than the present floor level and surrounded by medieval encaustic tiles, but it does not lie in its original ledger stone, with the surviving elements having been translated rather messily into some kind of concrete slab.

Sir Maurice was a very prominent member of the local gentry and acted twice as Knight of the Shire and four times as Sheriff of Gloucestershire. The Russell family owned the manor of Kingston Russell in Dorset (as the name would imply) in addition to that at Dyrham (and in fact many others), and the family mostly elected to live at the former, but Maurice eventually became the first and only Russell to actually live at this manor which they owned. Oh, the agony of choice! He and Isabel were married in 1369, with Maurice being only 13 at the time (yikes), and had two daughters, the eldest of whom, Margaret, would go on to marry Sir Gilbert Denys, who would inherit Dyrham. It is often neglected to mention that Maurice married again after Isabel's death (in 1401 I believe?), Maurice being 56, and his new wife, Joan Dauntsey, being 17. Yikes again.

The brass is commendable for its scale and the state of preservation of the figures, even if the more delicate canopy has suffered over the centuries, as well as the fact that brasses of this scale and quality are rarely found in the West Country. The details of their costume are not numerous, but nonetheless executed especially successfully. It is a most attractive piece of work, and in my opinion better communicates the legacy of the engraver than of those commemorated.

There's nothing that says Manorial Owner quite like commandeering your parish's church as a personal mausoleum. The Wynter tomb, commemorating George and Anna Wynter, is a fine example of that, taking up a considerable amount of space at the east end of the south aisle with their enormous canopied chest tomb of 1581.

Brothers George and Sir William Wynter bought the estate at Dyrham in 1571 for £1,800, which remained in Wynter hands until 1688. The brothers were active in the colonial navy, with William being an active commander against the Spanish Armada in 1588 and George putting £400 towards Sir Francis Drake's circumnavigation of the globe in 1577. However, this naval involvement also included investment in the slave trade, with the brothers being significant investors in the slave voyages of Sir John Hawkins, and it is doubtless that money gained from this horrific venture contributed to the commissioning of this tomb. The artistic merit of the tomb is commendable, everything it stands for is not.

The tomb consists of effigies of George and Anna recumbent underneath an incredibly solid and heavy canopy which is richly decorated with Corinthian columns, cornice moulding, floral motifs, and heraldry. Not a single inch of space is wasted, with roses and acanthus filling the spandrels and courses of interweaving stone threads decorating any space which might otherwise be left blank. It is hard to know where to look first, with this spectacular canopy undoubtedly being the most artistically excelling aspect of the tomb. Beneath the canopy are slightly clumsier figures of George and Anna, with their children unusually represented as weepers above them at the back of the tomb rather than on its base. A plate inscription is placed at their feet, while further inscriptions run round the side of the slab on which the effigies lie and the base of the tomb. This is the style of the English Renaissance in all its glory, and is again best seen as a testament to the skill of its creator rather than a testament to the memory of a rather unsavoury character.

The south aisle is richly decorated in many respects, but the richest decoration of all is to be found in its floor tiles. These probably date from the 15th century and may have been either manufactured at Hailes Abbey or taken from there upon its dissolution and reused here at Dyrham. Either way, they are an excellent example of encaustic tiles manufactured in their heyday from the 13th century up until the Reformation.

There is some confusion over exactly what 'encaustic' tiles entail, and from what I can gather they seem to have been produced either through stamping out a design in a base of red clay and filling the depressions with yellow clay before firing this polychrome clay construction, or by colouring over the top of red clay with a beeswax-based paint which was then fixed by heat. Victorian encaustic tiles (sometimes known as Minton tiles after the primary company which produced them) were designed in imitation of these medieval ones using the first method and are the source of the confusion over the nomenclature. However, these particular tiles appear to have been produced largely using the second method, as the yellow paint has worn away in many places.

Some of the tiles were relaid in totally random positions during the Victorian restoration of 1878, but many of the multi-tile designs still survive, depicting richly ornamented roundels with foliage and checkerboard decoration, as well as fleurs-de-lys and small animals. These are beautiful and careful pieces of craftsmanship, and a testament to the level and longevity of their creators' skill.

A selected slice of floor, with the tiles betraying their age and centuries of footfall. | Taken 30/12/24

These lovely figures at the top of the east window date from the late C15 and depict 4 saints: St. John the Baptist on the left, then the Virgin Mary, then a female saint who is variously identified as St. Mary Magdalene or St. Anne, and finally St. John the Evangelist, whose head was replaced in the C19. | Taken 30/12/24