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St
Andrew, Frenze We are a stone's throw from the Suffolk
border, and Frenze church sits barely any distance at all
from Diss railway station, but it is remote, across the
fields hidden in a copse of trees. To reach it, you need
to head out of Diss and journey almost a mile from the
nearest road. From a country lane signposted somewhat
unpromisingly to Diss Business Centre, you soon reach
clear rolling country, and at a bend in the road a
concrete track heads off to Frenze Hall. If you have ever
visited Frenze church, or even read about it, I'm sure it
wouldn't be possible to pass the end of this track
without turning off on it.
Not for the first time, I failed to resist one Thursday
morning in the furnace heat of early August 2018. I
freewheeled down the track through the woods and then
upwards until eventually, the track came out into an
empty farmyard, apparently abandoned, although the farm
house is still occupied. In one corner of the yard, on a
rise behind an old wooden fence, sits the church of St
Andrew, Frenze. As lovely as ever, the door wide open,
the only slightly jarring note being the big 'church
open' sign outside - is that necessary? Surely nobody is
just passing here, and anyone who has made the trip
specially is going to try the door anyway, aren't they?
St Andrew is a curious looking structure. Effectively, it
is just the small nave of a formerly longer church,
propped up but still leaning all over the place. You step
through the red brick porch, not ostentatious but full of
the self-importance of the end of the medieval period,
into a soft grey light falling on bare wood and stone.
Although the font and a few other features survive from
medieval times, the overwhelming flavour of the inside is
of the 17th century, a silvery white family pew facing
across to its partner pulpit, clearly by the same hand.
The church is so obviously redundant, and perhaps because
of this is charged more intensely with the past of this
tiny parish more than its present. Now in the tender care
of the Churches Conservation Trust, this would just be a
beautiful, unspoiled hidden corner of Norfolk if it were
not for one very curious thing - this church has no less
than seven figure brasses, more than just about any other
church in East Anglia, as well as other memorial
inscriptions. An extraordinary find in such a place.
They are all between eighteen and twenty-four inches
tall. Mostly, they are to the Blenerhaysett, or
Blennerhassett, family and their relatives - a most
un-East Anglian name. In the Paston letters, Sir John
scoffs that Ralph Blenerhaysett is a name to start a
hare. They came from Cumbria, and were Lords of the Manor
here. Six of the figures are still in situ on the floor.
They are vowess Joan Braham, died 1519, in cloak and
girdle, Jane Blenerhaysett, 1521, in kennel headdress,
John Blenerhaysett, her husband, also 1521, in armour,
with sword, the already mentioned Ralph Blenerhaysett,
1475, in full mail. Then there is an exquisite shroud
brass to Thomas Hobson, and Anne Duke, also in a kennel
headress. Other inscriptions also survive, and there are
replicas of others on the wall. As I say, extraordinary
stuff.
Even if there were no brasses, you would want to come
here. Everything is simple, but touched down the long
years - the plain altar, bears a medieval mensa.
Surviving boards from a Stuart royal arms have been
collected together and hang above the south door. There
are two piscinas set into windowsills, one each side of
the nave. Two smug little monkeys on a single bench stare
out at all of this. What a special place.
Simon Knott, August 2018
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