After hearing a compelling podcast by Robert Macfarlane about a church full of extraordinary angels I took a couple of trains to the small town of March in Cambridgeshire. The walk from the station to the church goes through the town for about a couple of miles, crossing the river Nene. I discovered afterwards the road is part of the Fen Causeway; before the marshland was drained, the church would probably have been on an island. I’d noticed glints of small waterways on my train journey here, and the dark purple, almost black colour of the soil, due to its peatiness.
Earlier I’d contacted the Reverend Ruth at the church of St Wendreda, whose hammer beam roof space houses these winged marvels. Their wings are based on those of the hen or marsh harrier which would have been a common sight in the 16th century, when these were carved out of oak by two brothers, the Rollesburys of Norfolk.
I’m rather keen on angels, and was excited at the prospect of seeing 118 of them at one go. There may actually be 120 angels, but they can be tricky to count. There are carved saints as well, including statues of St Wendreda, possibly a seventh century Saxon princess, and her sister of Ely fame, St Etheldreda.
To get a clearer sight of the angels, it’s best to lie on the church floor. ‘Sometimes people have difficulty getting up again,’ Ruth said. It’s not just the physical effort of getting up off the floor. The angels are almost overwhelming. How much more so if you lived hundreds of years ago, and were more aware of their spiritual meaning.
On one wall hang images of William and Alice Dredeman, who funded the carvings, exchanging Latin comments in elegant speech bubbles above their heads. William, a canny Tudor networker, may be the reason the angels were never destroyed during the Reformation’s vandalism. Or maybe the angels were just too high to reach? Sadly the angels are currently imperilled by a practical threat as the church spire is collapsing. As the Reverend Ruth kindly supplied tea and cake later she explained how it’s possible to sponsor an angel to provide funds needed to repair the spire.
Later this year I’m hoping to visit St Wendreda again and give a talk/run a workshop in aid of the fund. Dates to be confirmed. Meanwhile I’ve added some dust, some of it drifted down from 16th century celestial beings, to my Museum of Dust.
The Hall is scattered with assorted treasures from the Sitwells’ travels, and hung with portraits of ancient Sitwells. Alexandra Sitwell, Edith’s charming great-niece, who showed us round, assured us that the Hall isn’t a museum – the current family use it. A saddle hung on a hook near an door leading outside, and amongst the odd throne or two and elaborate tapestries were references to Alexandra’s favourite dachshund Moon.
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