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St
Andrew, Blickling
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Blickling
Hall is probably the grandest of the big Norfolk
country houses, and one of the grandest in
England. Largely constructed for Sir Henry Hobart
in the 1620s on the site of its predecessor, it
is perhaps the great Jacobean country
house. Robert Lyminge, the architect, died on the
job in 1628 and was buried in the churchyard of
St Andrew. If Lyminge could come back
today, he'd recognise the Hall, despite its
additions in the late 18th century. But he
wouldn't recognise the church. St Andrew, which
sits rather awkwardly to the south-east of the
Hall, was almost completely rebuilt in the 19th
century; the chancel by Butterfield in the 1850s,
the tower by Street in the 1870s. Street also
remodelled the nave. What you see now is
something of a contrast with the Hall, a rather
austere and urban Victorian building which would
be more at home in a provincial small town.
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Given that the two architects were
two of the most significant of that century, we may
correctly assume that no expense was spared here. Little
survives that is demonstrably medieval - most notably,
the south doorway.
Internally, the church is much more
successful, and perhaps even more urban, as if it would
be comfortable in the middle of Norwich or Cambridge. It
is dark, shadowy, as if intended for worship which was
incense-led. Everywhere, shiny tiles lead into the
darkness, and the building is big enough to unfold as you
walk through it. I enjoy these churches that speak so
soundly of the late 19th century, but nothing dates as
quickly as the recent past, and St Andrew is perhaps less
suited to modern forms of Anglican worship than its
medieval predecessor might have been.
The great
survival from the medieval church here is the collection
of brasses. Each of them is in here twice - once as a
replica for brass rubbing in the north aisle, and at the
east end of the nave in reality. It has to be said that
the replicas are not very convincing. Anyone reading this
who is under the age of, say, thirty, may not realise
that in the 1960s and 1970s there was a great craze for
rubbing church brasses. However, this has now passed, a
kind of ecclesiological train-spotting consigned to
history, and I do not think I have encountered a single
brass-rubber in the thousand or so churches I have
visited in the last five years.
The
brasses are a reminder of Blickling's association with
one of the great tragic figures of English history before
its rebuilding; several are to the Boleyn family, and
Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII, grew up here. The
Felthorpe family is depicted in its entirety, with eleven
sons and five daughters. Most moving is Anne Wode, who
carries her two dead babies in her arms. The best are,
perhaps, the smaller figures, although the lifesize Sir
Nicholas Dagworth is rather fine. You can see a selection
of them below - hover to read, click to enlarge.
I mention
the brasses first because of their significance, but in
any event your attention will have been drawn immediately
on entry to the vast 1880s memorial to the eighth
Marquess of Lothian, who paid for all this. He lies with
his curly hair and beard guarded by life-size angels (or,
at least, the size that I assume angels to be in the
life). George Frederick Watts, a sculptor perhaps best
known for his public works, was the artist. I assume he
was well paid for his efforts.
What else
is there? The medieval font has modern colouring, and in
any case may be a composite. Some 17th century memorials
in the chancel are not major, but are interesting for
being contemporary with the rebuilding of the Hall. Oh,
and the Victorian glass is good, mostly by John Hardman
for the Butterfield restoration. And there's a smashing
Art Nouveau relief in the south aisle. If I make it sound
a bit like a museum, then you are not far wrong. But God
bless the parish for keeping it open every day.
Simon Knott, September 2005
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