Location: Wantage, Oxfordshire (formerly Berkshire)
Dedication: SS. Peter & Paul
Denomination: Church of England (Anglo-Catholic)
Features of Interest: Fine collection of brasses, C14 Fitzwaryn tomb, C15 woodwork
Useful External Links:
The church viewed form the southwest, showing the tower and south transept. | Taken 07/05/25
To a beginner churchcrawler it may seem a counterintuitive thing that the tiniest, most hidden country church can be invariably open, while those in larger towns have an overwhelming tendency to be locked. Of course it makes sense once you think about it a little more; there is a greater risk of vandalism in population centres and almost nobody would happen upon a country church unless they were fully intent on finding it. This inverse law really puts into perspective how vital the work of volunteers is in keeping these historic buildings accessible, and Wantage is no exception. A large church in the centre of a moderately sized working town, Wantage's parish church fits the conditions described above causing it to be locked, but the hard work of the churchwardens allows it to remain open to visitors from 10am-12pm daily, and what a delight that is when there is so much of interest waiting within its walls.
Wantage has a strong Saxon heritage, being the birthplace of possibly the most famous man of the Saxon era, King Alfred the Great. The town is proud of this connection (well, why wouldn't you be?) as is attested by many local business/pub names and the 1877 statue of him in the marketplace. The church guide also attempts to claim Alfred as a parishioner, attesting that, while no evidence exists, it is reasonable to assume that Alfred worshipped in a Saxon church in this location. It is true that the present church stands on a Saxon site, possibly dating back all the way to the 8th century, but no fabric from this time remains, the traces of Alfred's Wantage forever vanished.
The present, cruciform plan of the building dates from the 13th century; the tower with its gargantuan crossing pillars and the nave arcade date from this time, as does some fabric in the transept walls. Only a couple of the church's windows are 13th century, with a small lancet in the west wall of the south transept and the double west windows making up the full corpus. 14th century work includes the octagonal southwest stair turret to the tower, but little other substantial contemporary work was carried out in the building.
It is in the 15th century that Wantage's present church truly begins to take shape; the chancel was substantially rebuilt and given new windows, and a chapel was built onto the east end of each transept. The north chapel became the Fitzwaryn Chantry, while the south chapel, an L-shaped construction originally given as a chantry by the Trades Guilds of Wantage, became the Lady Chapel and Holy Souls Chapel. The parclose screens between these chapels and the chancel are also 15th century. In the remainder of the building, yet more work was carried out; the aisles gained new windows, as did the north transept, the nave gained a clerestory and a new hammerbeam roof, and a south porch was built at the centre of the south aisle. This spell of 15th century rebuilding has given the church the majority of its present-day fabric, and it is the 15th century that can be most felt within the building.
The next few centuries were, as is often the case, less eventful regarding the building itself being chopped and changed, though of course the Reformation surely left its mark, and so for the next substantial changes to the church's fabric we must look no further than the Victorians. The primary restoration of the church took place in 1857 under the supervision of G. E. Street, a rather eminent architect whose most famous work is the Royal Courts of Justice in London. Despite this lofty commission, Street's church restoration work can wildly vary in its quality, and whilst his treatment of Wantage was certainly comprehensive, it was thankfully not particularly unkind. Notably, Street replaced the east window with a design of his own, which is far from the worst I have seen, and enacted the same fate upon the south transept window. He also added a bizarre little clerestory in the chancel, to no great avail, and customarily replaced the pews, pulpit, chancel roof, and flooring, and added a sacristy to the northeast. A second wave of restoration was undertaken from 1877-81 by William Butterfield, one of the more maverick architects of his day, but his work at Wantage was mostly limited to the extension of the nave by a bay to the west in order to increase the capacity of the building. He did this while reusing the extant west window and lengthening the nave arcade and roof in a greatly sympathetic style. The other, slightly odd component of his work involved moving the south porch to the far east of the building and inserting another strange door into the south transept. One final Victorian restoration occured in 1895, with G. F. Bodley restoring the Lady Chapel in memory of the Reverend W. J. Butler.
The most recent reordering of the church took place in the 1990s, with the organ being moved to the west end of the nave and being given a smart new case and set of choir stalls, creating a singularly unusual layout with the choir at the west. Kitchen and toilet facilities were also added, contributing to the church's ability to remain an active part of the community today.
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 town of Wantage is pretty much what one might expect from a reasonably sized provincial town in modern Britain; a long history and some long-standing buildings must contend with post-war redevelopment and a clone army of new-build homes choking the historic core, as well as one of my personal pet peeves - a marketplace constantly full of parked cars! However, it must be said that the environs of the church itself are rather splendid, with a full circumnavigation of the building possible, leaving its surroundings feeling spacious and curated to accentuate it as the centrepiece of its vicinity. The tower is not particularly prominent, but nonetheless can provide some lovely aspects, especially if approaching from the east or south.
Entering the church through the strange Victorian doorway is a little counterintuitive, but not the strangest configuration I have seen by a long way. The building's interior is dark, perhaps too dark; there is electric lighting available and it tries its very best to illuminate the church, but there is simply too much Victorian stained glass in the building for it to be able to open up the space at all. In fact, Wantage's is the only church I have ever known to have stained glass installed in the clerestory windows; surely this totally defeats the point! At any rate, the darkness in the building is not dingy, but rather muted and intimate, and I am perfectly willing to accept it as simply an occupational hazard. The thickly clustered piers of the crossing are foreboding and shrink the space a little with their weight, but the west end is a total contrast with its fresh woodwork and wide organ. Despite being rife with parclose screens, the east end too is a navigable and fluid space. There is little feeling of ancient sanctity here, but in contrast there is a strong feeling of modern use, and that is just as valuable.
Despite the weight of a plague of Victorian fittings and modern adaptations, Wantage's church contains many artefacts of interest. Most notably, it sports a fine collection of monumental brasses spanning a period of three centuries, allowing one to chart the development of the art most thoroughly. In addition to these there is also a highly damaged yet fine 14th century alabaster monument in the chancel along with some delightfully carved 15th century misericords and bench-ends to the choir stalls, none of which should be missed.
As far as collections of monumental brasses go, Wantage's is an especially adept demonstration of their progression as an art form throughout history, ranging from their establishment and heyday to their eventual decline and deterioration. As such, despite usually covering each brass under a separate heading, I feel that in this case it is best to present them together. There are no fewer than five examples of effigial brasses remaining in the church, two ecclesiastical, two civilian, and one martial, these ranging in date from the 14th to the 17th centuries. None of them survive in their original ledger stones but are rather affixed to the wall as murals, a job which has been carried out to varying degrees of success. Through Wantage's brasses, the history of an entire industry can be traced, its life cycle plotted, and its artistry evaluated. Without further ado, then, let's meet them!
The church's earliest example is, as is very often the case, the best in quality. It is located remounted on a wooden board affixed to the north wall of the chancel and depicts a demi-effigy of a priest in mass vestments. Estimates of its date range from c.1330-1370, though I am inclined to place it on the earlier side, as it shares much stylistic continuity with other early brass figures of priests. It is unknown who is commemorated, though it is likely a 14th century vicar of the church (contenders being Richard de Burmyngham and William White), and so we must stare into his eyes through the mists of time equally aware of the hand of the engraver as the face of the departed.
His expression is doleful, his constitution sinewy, and his hands are clasped elegantly in prayer. His collar and cuffs are neatly ornamented with quatrefoil-reminiscent flowers, and he seems to wear a zucchetto atop his head, although it may well just be a poorly represented tonsure. The engraving work is exceptional, with the flowing lines of the figure's hair and robes being executed most successfully, and the bold features of his countenance being expressive and neat. This is the English memorial brass at its stylistic apotheosis; a careful piece of craftsmanship and a most welcome survival.
The priest demi-effigy in full. | Taken 07/05/25
A closer look at his characterful face. | Taken 07/05/25
Moving chronologically, we next come to the largest example in the church; a full length effigy of a knight, mounted on the west wall of the north transept. This impressive memorial depicts Sir Ivo Fitzwaryn, the son of Sir William and Amicia Fitzwaryn whose tomb lies in the chancel and is detailed in the relevant Treasures section below. Sir Ivo was a man of particularly high standing, having extensive land holdings (including in Wantage), as well as sporting an extensive military and public career - throughout his life he represented three different counties in parliament (Dorset, Devon, and Somerset) and acted as an ambassador to France in 1400 by appointment of King Henry IV. Despite this illustrious career, his greatest claim to fame would be that his daughter, Alice, married none other than Sir Richard (Dick) Whittington, inspiration for the famous pantomime-worthy folk tale. Sir Ivo died in 1414 and stipulated in his will that a chantry chapel should be founded at Wantage, this being of course the Fitzwaryn Chantry to the northeast of the church. He made arrangements for his burial here, but eschewed a lavish funeral service, instead choosing to bequeath the money saved to 200 poor parishioners, who each recieved fourpence in exchange for praying for his soul.
The brass itself is particularly fine, showing Sir Ivo in his full knightly garb, his head resting on a helmet and his feet resting on a lion, below which is a Latin plate inscription written in smart Black Letter.
The brass of Sir Ivo in full. Save the hilt of his sword and the crest of his helm, the monument's composition is impressively complete. | Taken 07/05/25
A closer look at the effigy's upper half. The detail of his plate armour is very neatly executed, although his face is a little weathered. | Taken 07/05/25
The lion at Sir Ivo's feet, a proud and distinguished looking creature. | Taken 07/05/25
Now for another priest, this time a small, full length effigy in academical dress. This example is thought to represent William Geddyng, vicar of Wantage from 1504 until his death in 1512. During this same period he also acted as vicar of All Hallows Barking (aka All Hallows-by-the-Tower) in London, which must have kept him busy! His effigy is located on the northeast crossing pier facing into the north transept, and is the only one of those mounted directly onto the wall to be free of the slightly messily applied whitewash surround. The original ledger slab would probably at the very least have consisted of Geddyng's figure in the centre surrounded by a border fillet inscription, of which only one line remains, mounted beneath: 'of your charite pray for the soule...'. What a cliffhanger!
The comparison of the two priestly brasses reveals a development in artistic style as well as an industry shift towards mass production; Geddyng's features, especially the hands, are more imprecise, and cross-hatching is employed in the folds of his robe. The figure is smaller and no longer is such a feature made of the neck cords. He wears his hair long and no impression is given of the ears, and he stands upon a grass tussock rather than lying recumbent like Sir Ivo. The highly individual craftsmanship applied to the earlier brasses is beginning to slip by this time in favour of smaller, quicker, and more numerous figures, but Geddyng's brass is still captivating in its expression.
The small and dolorous Geddyng brass in full. | Taken 07/05/25
A closer look at the upper portion of the effigy. | Taken 07/05/25
From this point on, the decline in the art becomes more palpable. Our next example is located on the south wall of the south aisle and is the earliest surviving civilian brass in the church. Dating from 1522, the brass commemorates Walter Tawbott and his two wives, Agnes and Alys, all of whom stand next to one another atop a plate inscription. Their five sons are placed below them, with the plate that formerly depicted their four daughters being lost. The figures are still decorated nicely, but they are inarguably clumsily drawn and out of propotion. The engraving quality is not as sharp and the faces not as expressive. Still, the memorial is a pleasant one and we must be thankful for its survival.
The Tawbott brass in full, pleasingly proportioned as a whole, but perhaps lacking in artistic prowess when inspected a little closer. | Taken 07/05/25
The Tawbott sons. The plasterer was clearly in a hurry (!), though it must be said that there is little of value lost through this slapdash job. | Taken 07/05/25
Closer views of the 3 main figures. Head size is variable to say the least, and the hands are all executed without much grace, but their costumes remain fine and detailed. | Taken 07/05/25
Finally, we turn to the latest example, mounted on the north wall of the Fitzwaryn Chantry. I must admit to being unsure whether to even include this one as a 'treasure,' as the quality is particularly poor, but it is helpful in terms of following the trajectory of the monumental brass as a whole. The memorial depicts Cecily Hyde (d.1612), formerly next to her husband William Wilmott (d.1618), but his effigy is lost, and his loss seems to have upset the balance of the composition greatly to the extent that the remounting of the brass has a particularly egregious layout. Cecily stands alone above a large plate inscription, beneath which cascade two shields, and adjacent to which are some fragments of a Latin marginal inscription, although it is not particularly clear whether these even come from the same memorial. Despite the earlier death dates of the couple, the brass dates to 1619 when their sons-in-law, Thomas Garrard and Thomas Tempest, had it commissioned.
The quality of the memorial is very much debased, as by this time, the art of the monumental brass (in particular the full effigial brass) was in terminal decline owing to the rising popularity of other forms of memorial. The latten itself is thin and obstructively dark, with the engraving being terribly shallow and busy. Despite being only (!) 400 years old, its poorer quality has left it in a far worse state than our first example, which is almost 700 years old in comparison. The plastering is the sloppiest of them all, the remounted configuration bizarre and anachronistic, and the backlighting from the windows either side is prohibitively strong, factors which combine with the more disappointing artistic value rather fittingly. I must apologise to Cecily Hyde at this point; I am merely stating the unfortunate facts about an art form on death's door, I do not mean to disrespect the memorial beyond the most materialistic of angles!
The brass in full. The positioning makes it very difficult to view satisfactorily, and I must admit that that is no great tragedy. | Taken 07/05/25
Some digital enhancement allows the fading figure of Cecily Hyde to be seen in her somewhat stuffy Jacobean dress. | Taken 07/05/25
And with that, we reach the end of the artistic history of the monumental brass, beginning with the abject stylistic glory of an unknown priest and ending with the last vestiges of a Jacobean lady. In each case, no matter at which point on the timeline each example stands, I commend the engraver and the deceased on a life well lived and a legacy preserved. From the most skillful marblers of the 14th century to the more impersonal, yet stalwart metalworkers of the 17th, I hope each can find peace in the fact that their work survives to this day, leaving a tangible trace of their personhood upon the mortal plane from which they were always destined to depart, and it shall not be forgotten.
Aside from the brasses in the church, the most notable memorial is to be found against the north wall of the chancel. This is the tomb of Sir William Fitzwaryn (d.1361) and his wife Amicia (née Haddon). It is a dreadfully broken and battered sight, the soft alabaster having been abused and weathered, teeming with graffiti, but one can still imagine its glory days as a monument to these local holders of power. Sir William had an extenensive military career (with his aforementioned son Ivo following in his footsteps), acting as Governor of Montgomery Castle and accompanying King Edward III on campaigns in France and Flanders, including a commanding role during the Battle of Crécy in 1346. Like his son, he was also called to parliament and had extensive land holdings, made even more numerous through his marriage to Amicia, the daughter and heir of Sir Henry Haddon.
Such an illustrious CV would appear to qualify the couple for an equally illustrious memorial, and that is indeed what they initially received, with a fine alabaster tomb being erected depicting the couple recumbent in prayer underneath a fine and large canopy, an act intended to commit them to eternity. However, the intervening 650 years have not been kind to the Fitzwaryns, with the tomb being a mere shadow of its former self. The canopy has been brutally hacked away almost in its entirity, with two suspended protruding sections being all that remain. The effigies themselves have lost their carefully detailed costumes and facial features, with hands broken off, eyes scratched out, and initials gouged into their skin. What exactly prompted such poor treatment of the tomb is unknown to me; it is of course true that medieval monuments rarely make it to the present day unscathed in this country thanks to the combined efforts of iconoclasts, reformers, vandals, and Victorians, but the Fitzwaryn tomb seems an especially harsh case of premeditated vandalism combined with simple neglect and decay. Nevertheless, there is something beautiful in its plight, and the state of the tomb aptly reflects the state of human memory; whilst we can remember the idea of them as real people, all we have left of their lives are echoes, but echoes that stood the test of time nonetheless.
The long-suffering couple at rest. | Taken 07/05/25
The marred beauty of the Fitzwaryn tomb in full. The path of the canopy can be assumed to have followed the path of the arched recess. | Taken 07/05/25
The lion at Sir William's feet has fared no better than his master, with the tired and sunken hollows of eyes being all that remains of a face. | Taken 07/05/25
Another feature of much interest in Wantage's church are the 15th century stalls located in the chancel. An array of fine woodwork is on display here, with misericords, bench-ends, and poppyheads all valiantly represented, carved with a distinctively rough-hewn finish common to much medieval English woodwork. The collection was formerly the most extensive set of medieval choir stalls in Berkshire before the town of Wantage was reassigned to Oxfordshire in 1974 and usurped from this position.
I must admit that my photos of the misericords in particular are not comprehensive; the ancient hinges made an enormous racket, and I was too self-conscious to keep lifting them with the churchwarden around! As such, the couple I did manage to photograph were random and I unfortunately seem to have missed the most interesting ones. However, photos of the entire collection of 17 are viewable elsewhere, with many showing blank shields, but highlights including a double-headed eagle, a depiction of the Pelican in her Piety, a set of three flagons, and a couple of lion supporters.
A misericord showing a large flower supported by vine leaves. | Taken 07/05/25
A plain example, but with the supporters bearing fruit. | Taken 07/05/25
A splendid poppyhead of chunky constitution, the bench-end ornamented with roses. | Taken 07/05/25
A marginally more graceful example with a small dog in the bench-end spandrel. | Taken 07/05/25
A closer look at the adorable little carved dog nestled among the oversized vine leaves, with a whimsical curl in its tail. | Taken 07/05/25
A view of the northern set of stalls, mirrored on the south side of the chancel. The modern chairs are unfortunate. | Taken 07/05/25
The exterior from the southeast. | Taken 07/05/25
A fuller view from the southwest. | Taken 07/05/25
The interior facing east, with the mighty crossing piers standing ahead. It is possible to see from the placement of the east window that the chancel 'weeps' slightly to the north. | Taken 07/05/25
The interior facing west, with the new organ and choir stalls visible. One can scarcely detect Butterfield's extension of the nave, which is a commendable achievement for the era. | Taken 07/05/25
The handsome organ in full. The present rebuilding dates from 1996/7, but much of the pipework is taken from the 1886 original. | Taken 07/05/25
An example of the counterintuitive clerestory stained glass which is not even viewable from ground level, so again I ask what is the point?? | Taken 07/05/25
The east end of the church is rather a pleasant sight, with the notable exception of Street's silly little clerestory windows. | Taken 07/05/25
The east window; as I say, the tracery is not particularly objectionable but the same cannot be said of the garish glass. | Taken 07/05/25
This cutesy C15 door in the north wall of the chancel now leads into the Victorian sacristy. Before the sacristy was built, I am guessing that it was a priest's door which simply led outside. | Taken 07/05/25
A smart memorial on the chancel south wall to the Wilmot family; William Sr. died in 1684 after William Jr. in 1666, with Mary outliving them and commissioning this monument. | Taken 07/05/25
The Fitzwaryn Chantry facing east. | Taken 07/05/25
The Lady Chapel facing east. | Taken 07/05/25
Looking into the Lady Chapel (L) and Holy Souls Chapel (R) from the south transept. The screen is from the 1857 restoration. | Taken 07/05/25
Looking through the crossing to the east. The extent of the gloom enclosed here by the huge clustered piers is evident. | Taken 07/05/25
Gazing up at the vault of the crossing area, the elegant ribs contrasting with the thick arches. I certainly have no fears regarding the tower's structural soundness! | Taken 07/05/25
An example of some of the distinctly average glass which darkens the church, this aisle window being given in 1893 in memory of William and Georgiana Wasbrough. | Taken 07/05/25
The pulpit probably dates from Street's restoration, though having seen many of his other designs I am doubtful as to whether he played much of a role in the creation of this elegant and filigree specimen. | Taken 07/05/25
Other than the C13 base, the font is an unremarkable affair with the bowl having been replaced later. The clunky font cover is much more akin to Street's usual work, though some sources attribute it to Butterfield. | Taken 07/05/25
The C15 hammerbeam roof in the nave is a marvellous piece of work, being supported on characterful stone corbels of the same date. | Taken 07/05/25
This wooden face of a king affixed to one of the roof trusses is a fantastic surviva, with many of its corresponding neighbours being lost. | Taken 07/05/25
A selection of C15 corbels from the nave, showing a bearded man, a lady with a distinctive horned headdress, and a ram. | Taken 07/05/25
This corbel creature is also of the C15 and supports the Victorian Lady Chapel roof. | Taken 07/05/25
One final corbel, this time an angel with some sort of instrument in the north transept. | Taken 07/05/25
Street's east window... | Taken 07/05/25
...and Butterfield's south door. | Taken 07/05/25
The full south transept, showing just how strange and unceremonious the main entry is. | Taken 07/05/25
The moved south porch; it is unclear the extent to which it was rebuilt upon its translation. | Taken 07/05/25
A surprisingly well-lit view from the north side, with the north transept visible. | Taken 07/05/25
An external mass memorial; a grim reminder of an era before modern medicine. | Taken 07/05/25