Location: Sapperton, Gloucestershire
Dedication: St. Kenelm
Denomination: Church of England (CCT)
Features of Interest: C17 domestic woodwork, C15-C18 Poole & Atkyns tombs
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The church viewed from the southeast, showing the tower and south transept. | Taken 31/07/24
Experiencing Sapperton's gracious and eclectic church is almost beyond description. The church is a melting pot of styles and eras, seamlessly blending the medieval with the Classical, the opulent with the humble, the domestic with the sanctified. In the care of the Churches Conservation Trust, the building is an unusual and remarkably pleasant space, with endless peculiarities to uncover, all set within the most quintessential Cotswold landscape, and betrays its strong manorial links far more easily than some other churches.
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.
The treasures of Sapperton's church are extensive and pronounced. The most interesting points are of course the wealth of Jacobean woodwork throughout the church, as well as the grandiose and numerous memorials to the Poole and Atkyns families which adorn the transepts. All of these are essentially treasures of the manorial legacy, but that does not mean that the holy and the humble are not still present throughout this marvellous building.
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.
A selection of the pew ends, the first showing a bearded man clutching a strange arrow-like object to his chest, the second showing an androgynous figure with their hands crossed over their chest like an ancient burial, the third showing a woman with pronounced lips and a diamond pendant hanging between her bare breasts, and the fourth showing another androgynous figure with a similar pendant. I have very little to suggest regarding the symbolism, but they are certainly thought-provoking. | Taken 31/07/24
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 C16 oak cornice in the nave with its cutesy heraldry also comes from the manor house. | Taken 31/07/24
The south transept with its manorial panelling is distinctly non-church-like. | 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.
The relatively simple tomb in full. It suffers from anonymity amongst the clutter (especially with that magnificent chair in front!), and I can't help but wonder whether it was once decorated more richly with paint or gilding. | Taken 31/07/24
The pelican in her piety boss. A commonly depicted medieval scene, the alleged piety of the pelican arises from the mistaken belief that a mother pelican would peck at her own breast to feed her young. | Taken 31/07/24
The second memorial faces the first from the east wall of the transept. This is a far grander affair, with the recumbent martial effigy of a knight lying on a table tomb shielded beneath a pedimented Renaissance style canopy, complete with Classical motifs and heraldic insignia. However, it cannot be denied that it is a crude piece of work; the effigy itself is extremely awkward, being exceptionally rigid and ill-proportioned, and the symbols at the back of the recess are unsubtly arranged and rather graceless. The carving of the monument is attributed to Gildo(n) of Hereford, who does not appear to have been one of the more masterful artists of his day, although the canopy itself is far more finely executed. Again, the identity of the knight is unknown as there is no inscription, but the date of 1574 somewhat unceremoniously carved into the surface of the base strongly suggests that it may be intended to commemorate Sir Giles Poole, a courtier to Henry VIII. Sir Giles died in 1589, but it was not unusual for a tomb to be commissioned and executed long before the death of its patron, in the name of morbid quality control I suppose.
The second tomb in full. The transept is rather dark, and the potential light switches were far too close to the main electrical box for me to wish to risk flicking them! The monument has sustained some damage (note the missing pinnacle at the top left) but is overall in a condition where the detail is easy to pick out. | Taken 31/07/24
The coat of arms displayed at the back of the recess. The arms are rich in creatures, with three hogs facing upwards on the right with a lion standing atop what may either be another lion or a dog on the right. | Taken 31/07/24
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
The full set of insignia at the back of the recess, with a fleur-de-lys above the heraldic shield on the right and a small budding tree on the left. I am unsure of any of the symbolism here. | Taken 31/07/24
The underside of the canopy, showing the relative skill displayed in the more generic elements of this memorial. Like the older tomb opposite, this one likely would have once been richly painted. | Taken 31/07/24
The final Poole memorial is undoubtedly the most sumptuous. Attributed to Samuel Baldwin, it is a commanding and imposing affair, with its sparing use of colour being rather effective. This commemorates Sir Henry Poole and Anne (née Wroughton), as well as their four daughters and three sons kneeled in various positions around them. Sir Henry was the son of Sir Giles Poole who may be commemorated in the previous monument, and he sat as MP for Gloucestershire in 1593. Upon his death in 1616, he left the sum of £5 towards the repair of Sapperton's church, which is around £785 today. How generous! Of course, he did then leave £100 (now £15,700) to erect this huge tomb to himself and his family, which seems to have been finished by around 1630. Perhaps not so charitably minded after all!
The tomb itself is an illustrious display of Renaissance craftsmanship. Evidently able to employ a far more accomplished craftsperson than his father had, this generation of Pooles are depicted kneeling under a huge canopy supported by Corinthian columns and surmounted by a glorious coat of arms flanked by obelisks. Two strange creatures are also present on top of the canopy, one being a gryphon poking its head through a coronet and the other being a bizarre chimera, perhaps a combination between a boar, a lion, and a stag, these being the three animals which appear on the crest on the central spandrel behind the effigies. The couple face each other in prayer, separated by an inscribed plinth upon which is placed a decorated helm.
The memorial in full; well worth the £100 I reckon! | Taken 31/07/24
The richly coloured crest which crowns the monument. | 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
Two of the Poole sons acting as weepers to the left of the tomb. The kneeling foreground figure is likely to represent Sir Devereux Poole, who died young in 1590 fighting in France. There is a separate inscription to him higher up on the wall detailing the circumstances of his knighthood. The background son is likely Gyles Poole. | Taken 31/07/24
One of the four Poole daughters who are represented far more anonymously and nearly identically along the bottom of the tomb, as clearly women did not have relevant lives or personalities compared to their brothers, of course. Their names were Eleanor, Frances, Dorothy, and Anne. | Taken 31/07/24
The weepers to the right, with the son in the foreground certainly having inherited his father's countenance and his poor wife behind being blinded by the light of the eastern window. These two are thought to be Henry Poole Junior (also an MP) and his wife Beatrix Brydges. | Taken 31/07/24
The unidentifiable creature at the top left of the tomb. Your guess is as good as mine! It is at times like this where I wish my camera had a better zoom function. I also wish I had turned on the light! However, I would rather have a grainy picture than have unwittingly blown up the building. | Taken 31/07/24
The second of the creatures, this one being more overtly a gryphon encircled by a coronet. Animals gorged by a crown in this way usually represent subservience to royalty, perhaps reflecting the Poole's hamartia-esque royalist tendencies. | Taken 31/07/24
A final conundrum; this floating head on the wall to the right of the tomb appears to belong to a man of African descent. Whether the Pooles owned slave plantations in the West Indies it is not known, but clearly this man was important to them and may represent a faithful retainer. | 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.
Sir Robert Atkyns II was the son of (you guessed it) Sir Robert Atkyns I, who had purchased Sapperton's manor in 1661 when the Pooles were forced to sell up. Robert Senior was a successful lawyer and Whig politician, but his son (who contrastingly became a leading Tory) is of note for authoring the very first printed history of the county: The Ancient and Present State of Gloucestershire. Robert Junior appears to have led a life of privilege and luxury, wanting for nothing (except maybe Sky TV), with Sapperton being only one of four manors which the family owned (the others being Tuffley, Nether Swell, and Pinbury Park). He was knighted in 1663 at the age of 16 thanks to his father's connections, and lived at Pinbury Park later in his life, although he also owned property in Westminster where he died of dysentery in 1711. His history of Gloucestershire was published a year after his death and he was interred in the family vault underneath the transept, with the memorial being erected at the behest of his wife, Louise.
His memorial is a sight to behold, but it is in fact rather difficult to actually behold it, as it is so large and crammed into so small a space that one cannot easily view all of it at once. Central to the composition is the effigy of Atkyns himself, reclining on one elbow in his luxurious dress with the ringlets of his wig cascading down either side of his face. He rests his hand on a book, presumably intended to represent his history of Gloucestershire, his magnum opus and life's work. The intricate frieze above him is supported by eight Ionic columns and is decorated with floral motifs of honeysuckle and acanthus and many layers of patterned cornice moulding. Surmounting the entire affair is a huge broken pediment flanked by urns, containing a gloriously painted and gilded coat of arms at its centre with statues of Justice and Prudence to either side. The vaingloriousness is scarcely imaginable - but there is no need to imagine. I think that Mr. Look-Upon-My-Works-Ye-Mighty-And-Despair needs to be reminded that two of the Poole monuments have lost their identities to time already, and that even he must be forgotten one day.
The Atkyns tomb in all its glory, using every inch of space of the transept's east wall. The foreboding railings lend it a further air of grandiosity with a dash of pretentiousness. | Taken 31/07/24
Sir Robert reclines. His wife Louise is barely allowed a word in, with the indifferent and brief little line at the base of the inscription being the extent of her memorialisation. Also, I don't think it was entirely necessary to include the dysentery on the inscription! | Taken 31/07/24
The pediment, with its Classical statues, memento mori, and bright arms. The sword of Justice is missing save its hilt, but this appears to be the only substantial damage to the whole tomb, which is fairly impressive on a memorial this detailed. | Taken 31/07/24
Strange heads adorning the plinth below the effigy. Robert and Louise had no children, so these are probably fanciful figures rather than depictions of real mourners. | Taken 31/07/24
The ceiling above the tomb shows that perhaps Sir Robert could have done with financing the upkeep of the church as well as this memorial! | Taken 31/07/24
The church from the southeast, with the C18 chancel windows being especially conspicuous. | Taken 31/07/24
The view when entering through the porch is extremely atypical, and does not at all scream 'church.' | Taken 31/07/24
The interior facing east, with the presence of the crossing serving to further divorce the chancel from the nave. | Taken 31/07/24
The interior facing west. These two images next to one another should clearly put the distinction between medieval and Classical on show. | Taken 31/07/24
This exceptionally faded wall painting on the south wall of the nave appears to be a prayer painted in the C18. | Taken 31/07/24
Another slightly concerning lack of ceiling in the crossing. I am told there are bats living in the rafters. | Taken 31/07/24
An empty C14 tomb recess in the crossing, complete with a smart but simple ogee-headed canopy. | Taken 31/07/24
An engraving of the ill-fated manor house before, well, its ill fate, with the church visible to the right. | Taken 31/07/24
There are many finely carved chairs dotted around the church, not least this one in the chancel. I wouldn't be surprised if this shared its provenance with the rest of the Jacobean manor house woodwork, but I am not certain. | Taken 31/07/24
The inoffensive and cutesy organ is located at the west end of the chancel, hidden from the nave by the crossing arches. It was installed here in 1888. | Taken 31/07/24
The relatively small east window (at least in relation to the huge openings of the C18 windows) is a pleasingly unobtrusive thing, with C14 tracery in harmony with C20 war memorial glass. | Taken 31/07/24
A memorial tablet in the chancel dated 1584, also attributed to Gildo(n) of Hereford (note the distinctively odd curl of the number 5 also present on the Poole tomb). Not the most skilled, was he... | Taken 31/07/24
The C15 font just inside the porch, with eight identical faces sporting this unusual circle design. | Taken 31/07/24
The plainly panelled pulpit is put to shame by the wealth of secular woodwork elsewhere in the church. | Taken 31/07/24
The unique south doorway with its Classical pill-shaped course of decoration. | Taken 31/07/24
The gravestone of Rebekah Mason, wife of Charles Mason of Mason-Dixon Line fame. | Taken 31/07/24
The C14 tower; towers of this date are usually to be found at the west, but this one likely replaced a typical Norman crossing tower. | Taken 31/07/24
The surviving C15 cross shaft and base in the churchyard, long bereft of its head. The cross is a Scheduled Monument and is likely in situ. | Taken 31/07/24