One of the most noticeably unusual things about Sapperton's church before even setting foot in the village is its dedication. There are only eight Anglican churches dedicated to St. Kenelm in the country (a number which is only augmented to ten with the inclusion of Catholic churches), with Sapperton being one of them. Kenelm (or Cynehelm) was the son of King Coenwulf of Mercia, inheriting his father's throne in the early 9th century at the tender age of seven. However, his older sister Quendryda (or Cwenthryth) made a bid to seize power, persuading her lover Askobert, who acted as Kenelm's tutor, to murder the boy. While out hunting in the Clent Hills, Askobert beheaded Kenelm and hid his body in a thorn bush, but a dove arose from his body carrying a scroll, and took this scroll to Rome where it dropped it at the feet of the Pope. The scroll detailed the nature and location of Kenelm's murder, and through this, the body was found and carried to Winchcombe, where it was interred and venerated. As for the villains of the story, Quendryda's eyes fell out upon her psalter whilst in prayer, and she and Askobert died miserably and had their bodies thrown in a ditch. I cannot help but think that this tale may be on the taller side...

The church itself has its origins in the 1190s, though very little fabric from this original building remains, having been mostly wiped out by the subsequent remodellings of the church. Sapperton is a church very closely linked with the whims of the local manorial big cheeses, who have historically shaped the church to fit their own desires for opulent remembrance, and as such the 12th century foundation is scarcely detectable, save a few scant traces in the north transept. The earliest substantial fabric dates from the 14th century, with the chancel, crossing, and tower with its broach spire dating from this time. The north transept was substantially expanded in the 16th century to house the lavish tombs of the Poole family.

Unusually, the church owes a lot of its fabric to the early 18th century, generally a century very poor in church architecture in this country. The Atkyns family had purchased the nearby manor in the early 1660s and decided to make the congregation's portion of the church their own, embarking on a huge scheme of Classical style rebuilding from 1696 to 1708, involving rebuilding the entire nave, replacing many of the chancel windows (one of which retains its original glass), and constructing the large south transept-cum-porch which houses the family vault beneath.

Interestingly, very little work seems to have been carried out in the church after this period, with the building managing to almost entirely escape the trials and tribulations of the Victorian restoration. It is very refreshing to see a Historic England listing where the 19th century isn't mentioned even once! The church became redundant and came into the care of the Churches Conservation Trust in 2016.

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

Sapperton is located in some of the very best Cotswold countryside, having not fully escaped the hills and ridges of the Cotswold escarpment and still surrounded by the trees of the Frome valley, but benefitting from an unspoiled village landscape of gorgeous stone. The church itself is lower than much of the village, with the relatively humbly-proportioned spire attempting to reach out of this dip in the landscape and gain prominence. The churchyard is well-kept and extensive.

Entering the actual church is unlike any other. The south porch is flush and contiguous with the south transept for a start, feeling much more like a domestic front door than a church entrance. The domestic feeling continues when inside, with the curtains and wooden furnishings giving the appearance of somebody's entrance hall rather than the narthex to a holy space. Entering the main body of the church is to step into a world of airy light which is foreign to many historic churches. The clear glass of the extensive and large Classical windows is exceptionally welcome and transform the space into a pleasant interior. Looking beyond to the chancel is to enter an entirely separate world, with the familiar arches and tracery of the Gothic returning to remind you that this is in fact a medieval church. The transepts are crowded with monuments of the highest quality, but the extensive woodwork and panelling throughout the church lends them a warmth uncommon to many tombs.

The points of interest are quick to reveal themselves, but are seemingly never ending. This is a church whose experience benefits from careful scrutiny and detail seeking, as there will always be just one more point that you might have missed.

I generally try not to concern myself too much with the exploits of the local landed gentry when discussing a church; after all, the work of ordinary tradespeople is often where the primary interest of a church is to be found, but in Sapperton's case, the story of the church and the manorial holders are inextricable. Sapperton Manor experienced turbulent changes in ownership through the 17th and 18th centuries, transferring from the hands of the Poole family to the Atkyns family in 1661 (see below), and in 1730 it was sold again to the Bathursts who acquired it using their ill-gotten gains from the transatlantic slave trade. Allen Bathurst, 1st Earl Bathurst, a zealous Tory politician and ever picky, decided that despite having purchased this manor house, he would rather design a brand new and illustrious country home at Cirencester Park (which he had inherited from his slave-trading father, Sir Benjamin Bathurst) in which to live. As such, Bathurst made the batty (sorry) decision to demolish Sapperton manor, a building in which King Charles I had slept, and with it went hundreds of years of history on the whim of a fickle aristocrat.

Scarcely a trace remains of the former manor house, but Bathurst gifted some of the fittings from the manor to the church, primarily the extensive early 17th century wooden panelling from the banqueting hall, which now adorns the pew ends and the gallery space above the porch, as well as the walls of the south transept and the cornice of the nave. As such, Sapperton's church has a distinct air of a domestic environment in places, with the secular manor and sanctified church melding into one unique product of space.

The pew ends themselves show strange and rustic figures supporting various styles of Classical column capitals on their heads (though they are primarily Corinthian), and are, as the church guide exclaims, 'positively pagan' in style. Most of these pew ends show moustachioed male figures, although there are still significant female figures as well as a few androgynous ones. The lower halves of their bodies are obscured behind scrolls decorated with lush vegetation and lions' heads, but it is probably safe to assume that they are intended to appear as naked. These figures are also to be found on the gallery pew to the south of the nave, known as the Bathurst pew, not only for its patronage but also for its private use by the family.

The spectacular gallery pew, not only sporting five more of these mysterious figures, but also with delightful and intricate blind arcading and attractive cornice work. | Taken 31/07/24

The Poole family gained prominence quickly in local history, but fortune's fickle hand did not let them remain on top for long. Richard Poole bought the estate at Sapperton in 1487 and it remained in the hands of his descendants for almost 200 years, but the family suffered a fall from grace during the civil war; as staunch royalists, they suffered heavy fines under the Commonwealth and their fortunes never recovered even after the Restoration, forcing them to sell the manor in 1661. However, in the time during which they did hold the estate, the family managed to commandeer the entire north transept as a personal museum of their wealthiest kin, so much so that they had to extend the space in the 16th century. The transept contains three large memorials to various members of the Poole family, but which family members exactly they commemorate is unknown in two of the three cases.

The earliest dates from the late 15th century and is located in the west wall of the transept. It is the least opulent of the three, comprising only a low table with traceried panels surmounted by a shallow, canopied recess and no effigy or inscription. Aside from the simple quatrefoil and shield designs on the base and the plain roll mouldings and cusped spandrels of the recess, the only other decoration present is a small boss at the top of the monument depicting the pelican in her piety. While it is not known for sure who this commemorates, it is generally thought to be the aforementioned Richard Poole, the first Poole to own the Sapperton estate.

A closer look at the effigy. He is recumbent, but certainly does not look comfortable! The legs are unnaturally raised and supported by the much perturbed looking lap dog at his feet, while the twin-forked beard mirrors the same rigidity and in doing so utterly defies the will of gravity. I would also wager that by the time the Last Judgement comes around he will have built up a serious crick in his neck! The sculpture does, however, benefit from a boldness and simplicity of decorative incision which allows it to preserve much intelligible detail, including the blunt dating inscription. | Taken 31/07/24

A closer look at the couple. Sir Henry sports a marvellous moustache and is bedecked in the finest dress which appears to combine the armour of a knight with the robes of a statesman. Anne has similarly spectacular hair, with her ruff dominating her outfit which is gilded in several places. | Taken 31/07/24

I am generally one to look down upon 18th century memorials with the most perfunctory ambivalence, but occasionally the swollen ego of an aristocrat of this time will spur the erection of a memorial so lavishly sumptuous and profusive that even I cannot pass it by, and Sapperton's 1711 memorial to Sir Robert Atkyns II is certainly of that nature. The memorial (attributed to Edward Stanton of Southwark) is executed on a simply huge scale, almost fully occupying the south transept with the most supercilious swagger and dwarfing the fittings around it.