Location: St. Albans, Hertfordshire
Dedication: St. Michael
Denomination: Church of England
Features of Interest: C15 Doom painting, C14 brasses, tomb of Sir Francis Bacon
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The church viewed form the northeast, showing the C19 tower. | Taken 21/09/24
Hertfordshire is generally said to be poor in medieval church architecture, and this is hardly a misnomer, but every rule has its exception. The lovely and historic town of St. Albans is nothing if not the gem in Hertfordshire's crown, and its churches agree. Aside from the magnificent yet controversially restored St. Albans Cathedral, St. Michael's is the city's most fascinating religious edifice, its history spanning centuries all the way from the Roman town of Verulamium to the present day, and is certainly rewarding to visit.
The site which St. Michael's occupies has been in use for centuries; originally, the Roman Basilica of the town of Verulamium stood here, possibly the site of the trial of St. Alban himself, the first Briton to be martyred for his Christian faith. After the withdrawal of the Romans from Verulamium in the 5th century, the site fell into disuse and the Basilica was quarried for its building materials. This state of affairs persisted until the mid-10th century, when Abbot Wulsin (also Ulsinus or Wulfsin) founded St. Michael's here as one of three churches on the roads leading into the city to accommodate the large number of pilgrims drawn to the abbey by the shrines of St. Alban and St. Amphibalus. This site was possibly chosen for its association with St. Alban, and reuses many Roman bricks in its construction. This original building would have been a simple two-celled structure, consisting only of a nave and a chancel, and may have been partially rebuilt in the 11th century, as is attested by the thickness of the walls. Nevertheless, the building remains the most intact Saxon structure in the county.
The church has clearly undergone considerable expansion since these early days, starting with the addition of north and south aisles in the late 12th century, and soon followed by the addition of the nave clerestory followed by the southern Lady Chapel in the early 13th century. In this same century, the southern nave arcade was underbuilt for structural aid, but was later entirely demolished. The 13th century also saw the construction of a now vanished west tower, which would have been completed with the addition of battlements and a southeast stair turret in the 15th century. The original chancel arch was rebuilt and widened in the 14th century, before the whole church was refurnished in the 15th century, gaining some new windows, a new font, a new rood screen and loft, and a new nave roof complete with corbels.
Post-Reformation, less work was done to the church until the Victorian restoration; the Lady Chapel's east wall may have been rebuilt early in the 17th century, and a customary west gallery was added at the end of that same century. This gallery was removed in the first Victorian restoration, undertaken by Sir George Gilbert Scott. Scott was generally an excellent restorer, and seems to have treated St. Michael's well, reordering the church, repairing the tower, rebuilding the buttresses of the Lady Chapel, and replacing the roof, east wall, and east window of the chancel. The most significant addition from Scott's restoration is the south porch, which incorporates one of the remaining arches from the former south aisle arcade.
However, this is not where the Victorian interference in the church's history comes to an end. Unfortunately, Scott died in 1878, while undertaking restoration works at the cathedral nearby. His son, John Oldrid Scott, attempted to follow through with his father's plans as far as his efforts could get him, but ultimately the job fell into the hands of the notorious Edmund Beckett, 1st Baron Grimthorpe, who had financed much of the restoration work, and, as an amateur architect himself (or professional dilettante), was itching to get his hands on the historic building. Grimthorpe is described by contemporaries as 'a pompous, righteous bully' and 'a man of arrogance and bile,' and can essentially be said to have utterly ruined the cathedral, obliterating untold amounts of its historical fabric and treating it as his personal sandbox with which he could do as he pleased. If only Scott had been considerate enough not to die! At any rate, Grimthorpe's 'restoration' of St. Albans Cathedral is widely known and reviled as one of the most disgraceful episodes in the long and arduous tradition of Victorian hands playing with history that was not theirs to destroy.
Unfortunately, St. Michael's church also lay within Grimthorpe's domain and received much the same treatment in the 1890s, with the medieval west tower being totally demolished and a new tower of Grimthorpe's design being added onto the northwest of the building. Whilst the tower itself is not obtrusive in design, its placement, as anyone who has ever seen an image of the church can confirm, simply looks bad. He also totally remodelled the western portion of the nave, extending it slightly westwards, and, in doing so, permanently blasted a 15th century window from the world. Additionally, a measly and ill-proportioned vestry was tacked onto the southwest (the south side for goodness sake! Any self-respecting Victorian restorer had the decency to tuck a modern vestry out of sight on the north side), and, to add insult to injury, Grimthorpe destroyed all remaining traces of the 15th century Doom painting above the chancel arch, save the surviving wooden tympanum. I am content to call Grimthorpe a supercilious, entitled, and gross pretender to the arts, grim by name and grim by nature, and when there exists no dearth of evidence that I share this view with many who knew him personally, I can lean back in my chair comfortably and feel not an ounce of remorse.
The 20th century saw a few further changes, with the westernmost portion of the nave arcade undergoing reconstruction in 1935 and a second, boxy vestry being added to the north side (take note, Grimthorpe!) by J. C. Rogers in 1938. Despite these more recent chops and changes, St. Michael's still preserves a large portion of fabric hearkening back to its ancient roots, and its long history can easily be traced in brick and stone.
The information here has been taken variously from the church guide (leaflet available from the church, though they had run out of English versions and I instead have had to translate a German one!), the church website, and the Historic England listing.
Despite its location within the city of St. Albans, the church of St. Michael stands away from the bustling centre to the west, surrounded by a churchyard which would be becoming of the most rural of places. The setting is especially verdant and surprisingly peaceful for its ultimately urban location. The aspect of the church is unusual however, owing to the dimensions of the building itself, and it is impossible to know which angle is best, as each one presents a bizarre new facet of the building's geometry.
The church's interior is airy and light, thanks to the whitewashed walls and clerestory just as much as the modern artificial lighting. One can immediately tell the extent of Victorian interference, as despite being among the oldest buildings in the county, the church does not preserve that palpable ancient atmosphere. On the other hand, the modernity lends it a well kept and active feel. The treasures of the church are generally very accessible and well signposted, with the exception of the brasses, which require an arduous treasure hunt beneath carpets, mats, and screens. However, this hunt is where much of the fun of exploring a medieval church is to be found. Leave no stone (or carpet) unturned!
Despite Baron Grimthorpe's best efforts, much of historical interest survives in the church today. Much of this interest comes from the church's fabric itself rather than 'treasures' per se, but there are still a number of items within the church which deserve their own segments from me, these being the church's collection of monumental brasses and a rare survival from the 15th century rood screen, depicting a fragment of a Doom painting.
This church receives a special commendation in my monumental brass gazetteer, and so was absolutely unmissable for me. I must confess that after having visited, I am not convinced it quite deserves this status (especially as it is then ranked on the same level as the truly extraordinary brass of Abbot Delamere at the cathedral nearby), but nonetheless, the brasses are still fine in quality and exciting in presence. The church contains three memorials of this type (or perhaps two and a half, as you will soon see), but does not seem to behold them particularly well; their preservationist treatment is admittedly superb, with one (and a half!) being protected and hidden under carpets in the Lady Chapel (carpets, of course, being liftable), but the remaining one being located below a bizarre, thick Perspex lid below the floor level at the east end of the nave. This makes the last of them rather difficult to appreciate, or even lay eyes upon, which is why I say that the actual respect paid to them as artistic products is lacking.
The first and finest of the brasses is in the floor of the Lady Chapel and commemorates John and Maud (née Weyland) Pecok, dating from the middle of the 14th century. The brass is simple in composition, yet excellent in condition (no doubt due to that carpet) and I would not be surprised if it had been restored at some point in its history. The couple stand in prayer above a Norman French inscription, below which are their family crests, perhaps unsurprisingly showing three peacocks. John stands in simple dress on a field of grass and flowers, his tired face sporting some scruffy stubble, while Maud appears more youthful, her long dress obscuring her feet. The faces of the figures are stylised in an oddly curvaceous and asymmetric fashion, characterised by straight nasal bridges, flowing eyes, and plump lips. Their clothing is somewhat prosaic, although the couple must have been fairly well-off to have been able to afford a brass memorial (despite brasses being on the cheaper side compared to other forms of memorial).
The couple standing together, hemmed in between the pews inserted into the Lady Chapel; a pleasing, simple composition, well preserved by a veteran carpet. | Taken 21/09/24
John Pecok, with his tired, unshaven appearance giving him the look of someone who is tired of having been praying for his soul for the last 700 years. | Taken 21/09/24
The heraldic shield below Maud, showing her family arms (Weyland) impaled with those of her husband, with its delightful little peacocks. | Taken 21/09/24
Maud Pecok, looking similarly bored. The perspective and execution of her hands are slightly unsettling, but the detail in her sleeves more than makes up for it. | Taken 21/09/24
The other two brasses in the church are somewhat disappointing for separate reasons. The first of them is a perfectly beautiful brass in itself, commemorating an unknown knight from c.1380, but unfortunately, the chancel floor has been raised and extended around him, leaving him in a recess below the floor level and covered with the aforementioned Perspex lid. I have never seen a configuration quite like this, and it is not the most satisfactory of solutions regarding viewing the brass. Of course, it now stands no risk of weathering from footfall, but the recess appears to have become a place for storing electrical cables, further disrupting the monumentality of the brass. It is a shame, as the brass itself is especially fine, with the little of it visible through the finger hole showing a martial figure in a helmet, with a stoic and unusually dynamic face. Whilst the identity of the knight is unkown, he is thought to have been a member of the Peacock family.
The final brass is a very unfortunate case, as it has been severely mutilated. This example in the Lady Chapel floor (just west of the Pecok brass) dates from c.1400 and formerly depicted a civilian in the head of a cross, and would have been singularly fashionable and intriguing had it survived in any recognisable form to the present day. Alas, at some point in its history, some vandal seems to have taken it upon themselves to destroy it, although how exactly they did this is a mystery to me; the matrices are highly damaged and interrupted, but still occupied with some kind of white infill. This is an unfortunate conclusion to the brasses of St. Michael's, but is still testament to the strong brass engraving industry in the Home Counties in the middle ages; the cathedral exhibits it best.
The head of the martial brass viewed through the finger hole of the lid. This was the best I could do photography-wise, unfortunately, as the remainder of the brass is equally high quality. | Taken 21/09/24
The mutilated civilian brass. I cannot help but wonder whether there might once have been another figure on the left, as the remaining effigy is quite far to the right hand side of the composition. | Taken 21/09/24
While the above brasses are treasures indeed, the church's rarest and most precious artefact is made not of brass, but of wood. This oddly shaped panel made from painted wooden boards is affixed to the south wall of the nave and is the only surviving fragment of the church's rood loft and screen. The screen was originally installed here during the 15th century spate of refurnishing, but was only to last until the next century before its ultimate destruction. The Reformation rendered rood screens/lofts liturgically useless, and the rood itself (i.e. Crucifixion scene) was deemed idolatrous and popish, and as such fit for destrucion and looting, and as a result, to my knowledge not a single medieval rood survives in this country, save the most paltry of fragments. The screens and lofts themselves were sometimes luckier, but are still a precious rarity, so this fragment in St. Michael's is a special sight indeed.
The section which survives here is the tympanum, which would have fit into the crest of the chancel arch amidst the rest of the set up. Having previously called this a surviving part of the rood loft/screen, I must admit that it is actually something of a hybrid, essentially serving as an extension of the east wall above the chancel arch to fit in a larger rectangular scene which covered the whole wall. The subject of this scene was the Doom, a painting of the Last Judgement, which commonly adorned the space above the chancel arch in pride of place, allowing the parishoners to marvel at it and let their imaginations run wild, and hopefully inspiring them to live virtuous lives. This whole scene was limewashed and erased after the Reformation, but uncovered again during 1808 building work, surprisingly with the complete scene more or less intact. However, Lord Grimthorpe ultimately spelled the real end for this incredible survival, totally obliterating it with his meddling, charlatan fingers, a totally unforgivable destruction of an invaluable piece of British heritage. All that survives is a drawing made at the time of its rediscovery, showing the dead rising from their coffins, with the Virgin Mary and St. Peter welcoming the virtuous into heaven, while St. Michael the Archangel swoops downwards with his sword towards the demonic figures rising from the mouth of hell. Trumpeting angels and an enthroned Christ watch over the whole scene.
Of course, almost none of this is visible to us today, and while it is frustrating to know that the full scene nearly survived to the present day, we can count ourselves lucky to have anything at all. The tympanum shows six of the figures rising from their coffins, among them all classes and walks of life. A king and queen rise among an abbot and a pope (both now lost) among ordinary civilians, all ranks united in death. It is a powerful and humbling scene, even just this small part, and acts as the smallest of glimpses back into the world of medieval faith.
The tympanum in full. The figures rise from their graves, begging for mercy, royal and pauper alike. The central unpainted segment would have had the lower shaft of the rood affixed. | Taken 21/09/24
The exterior from the south, presenting an incongruous aspect which Grimthorpe's additions do not help to declutter. I suppose that the steeply pitched C13 Lady Chapel is equally to blame, however. | Taken 21/09/24
Some fun graffiti on the south door. John Turner appears to have lent his N's a Cyrillic flavour, while Richard F. is a little more accurate. Both display careful penmanship in their (presumably not so hasty) additions though! | Taken 21/09/24
The interior facing east with a marked contrast of the ancient and the modern on display. | Taken 21/09/24
The west end; essentially entirely Grimthorpe's creation, but housing the grand dual-manual organ of 1980 built by Peter Collins. | Taken 21/09/24
The east end of the C13 Lady Chapel; yes, it is leaning quite dramatically to the south! One can see why Gilbert Scott saw it necessary to rebuild the buttresses of the chapel - let's hope he did a good enough job! The stained glass is uninspiring at best, but the painting of the Virgin and Child on the east wall is more unique and together with the extensive wooden panelled reredos and altar below serve to give the chapel a homely feel. | Taken 21/09/24
Architectural fabric at the west end of the Lady Chapel. The upper opening is a former clerestory window which was enclosed at the time of the chapel's construction. The central opening appears to reuse Roman bricks and was probably a window dating from the early C11 before the aisle arcade beneath cut through it, the aisle arcade itself being filled in when the south aisle was demolished. Tapestries of this sort are fascinating and can be found all over this church. | Taken 21/09/24
The magnificent early C17 hexagonal pulpit, complete with a finely carved sounding board, a caged hourglass, and a matching chair. | Taken 21/09/24
Detail of the pulpit back. The design is exceptionally frilly, but still comfortably solid and combines floral and Classical motifs. | Taken 21/09/24
The original C17 hourglass. Just imagine how many hours this stalwart timekeeper will have counted in 400 years! | Taken 21/09/24
The chancel south window has unusually pretty C19 glass, and its jambs are attractively painted, this dating from the same era. | Taken 21/09/24
The church actually contains one more memorial brass, but this time only a damaged inscription of 1558 set into the nave floor, commemorating Henry and Florens Gape. | Taken 21/09/24
This elderly looking coat of arms is just that, dating from the reign of King Charles II (1660-1685) and is hung high on the Lady Chapel south wall. | Taken 21/09/24
The memorial of Sir Francis Bacon (d.1626), philosopher and statesman, who is buried in the church and commemorated here seated in a relaxed pose. Famously, Bacon died after contracting pneumonia as a consequence of stuffing a fowl with snow to experiment with its ability to preserve meat. | Taken 21/09/24
This early medieval carved stone cross was acquired from Italy in the early C20 and mounted here in the north nave arcade wall in memory of Lt. Philip Musgrave Toulmin, killed in action in 1917. The interlaced cable design is relatively simple, but attractive, and effective as a poignant memorial. | Taken 21/09/24
The C15 monolithic octagonal font is conventional but perfectly pleasing, with some lovely floral bosses at the centre of quatrefoils on each face. | Taken 21/09/24
A C15 carved corbel depicting an angel clutching a simple heraldic shield, still supporting the C15 nave roof after all these centuries. | Taken 21/09/24
Inside Gilbert Scott's south porch looking at the south door, diminutively contained within an arch of the former south aisle arcade. Note the reused Roman bricks above the arch among the flints. | Taken 21/09/24
The west end; the paved area at the bottom left is the former location of the tower, with almost everything in this photo owing its appearance to Grimthorpe. Still. there are worse looking buildings out there! | Taken 21/09/24
The east end with the Lady Chapel's lancet and roof peeking out from the left. The wall again exhibits an eclectic mix of knapped flintstone and delightful courses of reused Roman brick, as well as some unusually exposed timbering in the gable. | Taken 21/09/24
I simply couldn't resist adding this photo of the singularly magnificent brass to Abbot Thomas Delamere in the cathedral nearby. Dating from c.1360 and of North German workmanship, it ranks among not only the finest brasses, but the finest tombs in the country. | Taken 21/09/24