The story of Witney's church begins, as many churches claim, in the Saxon era, with the current building replacing a possible late Saxon one. This old church was probably built with limestone shale, quite an undertaking for a Saxon church, as most were built of wood with only the more prosperous and important religious sites being rebuilt in stone. The current building was begun in the middle of the 12th century, and the old church would have been quarried and recycled into the fabric of this newer foundation. This rebuilding was possibly spurred on by Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester (and younger brother of King Stephen), who began building a bishop's palace to the east of the church in c.1143, as the parish of Witney at the time lay within land owned by the Bishop of Winchester, and had done since King Edward the Confessor granted it to Bishop Aelfwine in 1044. The town was growing in prosperity due to the wool trade, and so a rebuilding of the church on a more befitting scale seemed inevitable. However, very little fabric of this late Norman building remains today, save a couple of blocked windows at the east end of the nave, with later rebuildings obliterating much of the Norman foundations, including those of the apse, which was probably to be found where the current crossing is located.

In c.1170, the building was extended, with a north aisle and porch being added in a Transitional style; though much altered and expanded, this porch remains to this day and is one of the oldest intact porches in the country. Further and more extensive changes in the Early English Gothic style were to occur in the 13th century; the south aisle was added at this time and the north nave arcade rebuilt to match, the chancel was extended hugely to the east, the northwest Chapel of the Resurrection was added, and the north and south transepts, of two bays each, were added to give the church the grand, cruciform shape which forms the basis of the building's current plan. In addition to all these major 13th century augmentations, the most major of them all, the addition of the tower and spire, was to be executed around the same time. The crossing area gained four huge pillars to support this ambitious central tower, complete with an octagonal spire surrounded by four pinnacles, similar in scale and layout to the one found at Christ Church Cathedral (then St. Frideswide's Priory) nearby in Oxford. This comparison shows just quite how illustrious this design was for a parish church, and is a testament to Witney's success as a market town. The completion of all this work was marked in 1243 by the rededication of the church, and additionally acknowledged with a royal annual grant of two deer from Wychwood Forest to feed the townspeople, a tradition observed to this day in the Witney Feast of St. Mary.

The north transept saw the lengthening of its eastern bay in the early 14th century in order to house a private benefactor's chapel, with the wonderful Decorated Gothic tracery in the northern transept windows dating from this rebuilding. This chapel was necessarily located on a slightly higher storey, as a crypt was also inserted beneath. However, this crypt was later removed and the transept's floor lowered to the nave level, leaving the two 14th century recessed effigies in the chapel floating halfway up the wall. In addition to this work in the north transept, the south transept was also extended by a bay in the 14th century in order to match that of the north. In this same century, two windows were added on either side of the east end of the chancel, with the nearby piscina, aumbry, and sedilia also dating from this time.

Another addition at this time was the now vanished southeast chapel, which extended eastwards from the east face of the south transept. The chapel was dedicated in 1331, endowed by a man named Richard of Standlake. Richard appears to have been something of an unsavoury character, and had all his property confiscated upon his being convicted of murder, with his chapel here being rededicated in the name of the Virgin Mary sometime before 1361. The history of this chapel does not get any more illustrious as time goes on, with it being converted to a domestic dwelling, and a courtyard being formed by walling off the space between it and the chancel. The Sexton of the church was reportedly found squatting there in the 18th century, and in 1820, after becoming 'ruinous and filled with lumber and filth,' it was finally demolished under the orders of Rector Robert Barnard, who decreed it to be 'a nuisance and a disgrace by the practices carried out there.'

Back to chronology after that brief aside, then! In the 15th century, the 12th century porch was altered drastically, with the building of a priest's room (later a Sunday School) above it necessitating an expansion upwards and to the east, the staircase to which possibly replaced an old ossuary. Several of the windows were replaced in the Perpendicular style at this time too, including the All Saints Window at the southeast corner of the north transept, and the east window, which has since been replaced. The southwestern portion of the south transept dates from 1485 and owes this transformation to the Fermor family of Caswell House, who gifted £20 to found a chantry chapel here (dissolved in 1548). Later in the 15th century, or possibly early in the 16th century, the clerestory level in the nave, transept, and aisles was added, with the presence of a crane being documented in 1497, presumably for this work. At the same time, the pitch of the nave and transept roofs were lowered to fit in with the fashions of the time. Soon afterwards, the western face of the nave received a grand new window and door in a powerful yet elegant Perpendicular Gothic style.

The church received multiple customary 19th century restorations, the first in 1830 being a rather sad chapter in which many significant memorials were removed from the church and lost. Additionally, a 1735 west gallery, which had already been extended in 1794 and blocked the west window, was doubled in size, and the Chapel of the Resurrection was converted into a school in 1846. However, the 1865-69 restoration by G. E. Street was more of a welcome guest, as the church was in a bad state of repair by this time. Street himself was actually only supervising the work, with the bulk of it being carried out by the less experienced Alfred Groves, and together they added the organ chamber at the south west of the chancel, removed the aforementioned gallery and unblocked the west window, rebuilt the west door to the original design, replaced all the pews, relaid the nave floor after installing underfloor heating ducts, replaced the chancel roof, and raised the chancel floor level by four feet. All of this work, despite removing a fair amount of character from the building, was nevertheless much to the benefit of the church's operational ability, and is to be commended, especially in this age of rife dilettantism.

The 20th century saw a few more utilitarian changes to the building, with the south end of the south transept being converted into a parish room in 1987. However, the main 20th century chapter of the church's history is that of a tug plane crash during World War 2 in 1942, which damaged the spire and chancel roof. More about this incident can be found in the Treasures section. The ultimate effect was that the chancel roof and spire were rebuilt in 1943 and 1944 respectively.

The information here has been taken variously from the church guide (a very commendably thorough booklet available from the church for the modest sum of £2) and the Historic England listing.

The church is approached and entered from the north if coming via the green, which, while not the norm and sub-optimal in terms of natural illumination, places the building in a strong position at the base of the town, with the rest of the market settlement appearing to burst from its grounds and grow northwards. In this sense, the green acts as a wide corridor flanked by historic houses and leads rather pleasantly to the church. The church building itself is rather domineering, and is the most prominent structure for miles around. The grand central tower commands its environs with an ancient majesty that is befitting of such a wealthy market town's primary religious edifice. Owing both to this and the historic surroundings, the aspect and setting of the church are about as fine as can be hoped for.

The interior feels open and airy, with the clerestory windows and whitewashed walls lending an expansive quality to the nave. The rest of the building past the crossing is not quite so well lit, but the impressive plan more than makes up for this. However, the atmosphere cultivated in the church is not one of ancient reverence; in fact, it is difficult to get much of a sense of continuity with the building's history at all. Modern chairs upon modern flooring, combined with modern room conversions and modern clutter give the church a very well-used feel, but sadly to the detriment of the building's historic atmosphere. As a working church building, the needs of its parishioners and community are commendably met, but perhaps the sense of responsibility for the town's heritage is not so much. Nevertheless, such a wonderful building rewards the visitor, even if it takes a little work to appreciate it.

This magnificent tomb is undoubtedly the church's greatest treasure (for me as a tomb-lover at any rate!), as well as its most readily accessible for the visitor. The memorial, located at the west end of the south aisle, commemorates Richard Wenman (d.1534) and his two wives, Christian (d.1501) and Anne (d.1538), and consists of a sizeable table tomb surmounted by a wonderful monumental brass depicting effigies of the three people. The tomb formerly lay in the Chapel of the Resurrection to the northwest of the church, which was gradually commandeered by the Wenman family as a private mausoleum and today serves as the parish office, known as the Wenman Room. In 1867, during Street's restoration, the entire tomb was translated to the south transept aisle, where it remained until 1987, at which point it was moved to its current position at the west end of the north transept, just outside the chapel where it originally lay.

The composition of the tomb is remarkably complete and remarkably high quality for its date. The central figure of the composition is Richard Wenman, standing prayerfully upon a delightful little tussock of grass and flowers. He is flanked by his two wives; I am not sure which is which, but I am equally not sure that it really matters, as they are nearly identical in appearance, and it is a usual occurence that exact portraits of the deceased were in no way intended on most memorials of this date anyway. (As a point of interest, Anne (née Bushe) was the sister of Thomas Bushe, a wool merchant who himself has a brass at Northleach.) There are three sets of children depicted beneath them, presumably grouped with Christian's daughters on the left, Anne's daughters on the right (or vice versa!), and sons in the middle. The plate depicting the sons is missing, but the five daughters survive. The corners of the slab are occupied by four heraldic shields, with the top right one missing and the top left and bottom right being the same, and the entire scene is surmounted by a rather fine depiction of the Holy Trinity.

Scrolls rise from each of the main figures' mouths, but the main inscription running along the chamfered edge of the slab has been lost through handling. However, it was recorded at some point in its history as saying 'Man in what state that ever thou be \ Timor mortis should trouble thee \ For when thou least wenyst \ Viniet te mors superare,' in an odd mix of English and Latin, which are actually the same words as are written on the brass of William Launder, also at Northleach.

The church's other brass memorial is also an excellent and exciting one. This example is located in set into the floor of the chancel, and commemorates Richard Ayscombe, who died at the age of 55 in 1606 and bequeathed the sum of £100 to the local poor, which would be over £25,000 today. The memorial depicts Ayscombe as a finely dressed, mustachioed man, standing in prayer above a Latin plate inscription and surmounted by two identical heraldic shields. The engraving is typically highly shaded and pushing being overly detailed, but it is of a fairly high standard and large size given the relatively late date of production in the history of monumental brasses, comparable to the Longe Brass at Bradford-on-Avon.

However, having said all this, being able to actually look at it seems to be asking too much. A large and sturdy pew has been placed directly on top of the memorial, along with some customary wild cables running atop the slab, and as a result, it is nearly impossible to view and appreciate the brass. The leg of the pew being directly on top of the brass is also not a recipe for fantastic preservation, as the thinly engraved latten of the 17th century is more liable to weathering than most, and I am no expert at identifying different wood varieties, but unless the bench is made of a chemically inert type, the direct contact with the wood can cause additional corrosion, especially if it is oak. (As an aside, this is why many remounted brasses are affixed to a certain standard type of wooden board which looks dreadful, but is ultimately in the brass' best interest.) I am very sympathetic towards this church's dilemma between ensuring parochial functionality and respecting their wonderful heritage, but this particular instance seems like an unnecessary concession which I am not particularly willing to grant. I would almost prefer for the brass to be totally covered by a carpet in addition to the bench and cables, as at least then the survival of the brass in its present good condition would be ensured by the time a longer-term solution is found. As it stands, the state of affairs is not particularly satisfactory, and easily improvable.

The unfortunate placement of the Ayscombe brass in full. | Taken 07/10/24

The church contains three medieval stone effigies, all of which are unfortunately sequestered rather thouroughly out of the sight of most visitors. The oldest is that of an unknown ecclesiastic dating from the 13th century, and is located in a tomb recess in the north wall of the Chapel of the Resurrection. The figure, who probably represents the chapel's benefactor, is dressed in a relatively simple cassock and rests his feet against a very worn animal which could be anything from a dog to a lion. This is all well and good, but, as previously mentioned, the Chapel of the Resurrection is no longer a chapel and is now known as the Wenman Room and in use as the parish office. As such, this effigy is normally completely closed off to the public. However, as luck would have it, I was at the church at the same time as one of the churchwardens who very kindly allowed me to access the office and photograph the tomb, which is hemmed in behind the printer and stacks of copier paper and cardboard boxes. Obviously the church are in dire need of the space, and this is the unfortunate cost.

The benefactor's effigy in full; the C13 colliding with the C21. | Taken 07/10/24

The north transept effigies in full. The blue backdrop is surprising but most certainly not unwelcome, and makes the effigies pop rather well. There are, however, some alarming cracks visible in the stonework, especially the canopy on the left. | Taken 07/10/24

I have mentioned many times throughout this article the impossible balancing act facing not only Witney, but every single other historic church across the country. Churches owe it to their community to both provide a usable space for both worship and other activities and also to preserve and display the storied heritage of a settlement which can be traced through the building's fabric and artifacts. Both of these obligations are more often than not at odds with one another, Witney being a perfect example. If they want to make the north transept memorials accessible, where exactly are they going to store all their vestments, seating, staging, etc.? How exactly would one propose providing access to the memorials of the Wenman Room without compromising its use as a parish office? These community hubs are not made of money (in fact rather the opposite), and any major reordering or conversion is a huge undertaking with necessarily restricted parameters. Is the current church yours to arrange as you wish, or does the heritage contained within its walls lend itself more to collective ownership?

There is no simple solution to any question posed by this conflict, and I do not envy the position of any incumbent priest or churchwarden in this respect, and I am certainly sympathetic to Witney for being unable to provide access to some of its most fascinating treasures. After all, an active church that stifles its history is just as bad as a church-cum-museum which ignores the needs of its community. Our historic churches have always been dynamic spaces, constantly being chopped and changed to fit the needs of the contemporary people, and in an era where we are more preservation-minded than ever whilst simultaneously underfunding the preservation of heritage, we can hardly go around tacking on extra vestries and throwing away cumbersome memorials like the Victorians did. I am in danger of rambling on about this for too long, but the ultimate state of affairs is that our historic churches are neither village halls nor museums. They must remain dynamic whilst remaining static, provide the means for life whilst respecting the dead, be ancient whilst being modern. Thus is the plight of the 21st century church.