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St Peter,
Hoveton I first came here at
eight o'clock in the morning at the start of one of those
wonderful days that seemed to fill July 2006. The haze
over the park of Hoveton Hall was thinning, and the sun
was getting higher above the trees. Even the Roys of
Wroxham empire, actually on the Hoveton side of the
river, looked romantic down in the valley. It was going
to be a scorcher.
The shops and leisure developments on the Hoveton side
sometimes give Wroxham a bad name, I'm afraid, but you
don't have to go far out into the lanes to bring yourself
back into proper rural Norfolk. In the narrow lanes to
the north of the village sits one of Norfolk's prettiest
small churches. The red brick, thatched St Peter, with
its stepped gables and bellcote was a perfect sight that
first time I saw it early on a summer's day, and more so
for being so tiny, so precious, like a carnelian jewel
box in a bed of green velvet, all of a piece. And so it
remains in the years I have revisited it since, in
preference early in the day, cycling from the nearby
railway station.
St Peter was built in one go in 1624. As Pevsner
observes, this is an unusual date for a church to be
built in England. I assume it had something to do with
the proximity of the Hall. Hoveton's medieval parish
church, St John, is a good mile and a half a way. The
family who lived at the Hall were the Blofelds, and
although the current Hall wasn't built until the end of
the 17th century, I assume that there was an earlier
building on the same site. There are two bays of windows
in the nave, a west window and an east window, and a
little porch in perfect proportion. It made me think of a
toy church, perhaps even one of those china ones you see
on some people's mantelpieces.
You step into a tiny space, one of Norfolk's dozen
smallest parish churches. When I first read about this
church, my heart had sunk on discovering that the
restoration in the late 19th century was by Herbert
Green. Green was the mediocre Diocesan architect at the
end of the 19th century, and I feared a dark, gloomy
place. It is true that entering the building now is to
enter a 19th century building to all intents and
purposes, but it is a restrained one, full of light, and
still very much suits it. Green was not able to entirely
resist his enthusiasm for the neo-Norman, hence the
ludicrous tub font, but for that he may perhaps be
forgiven.
There is a gorgeous moulded Stuart royal arms set on a
painted back cloth. This church was built the year before
James I died, but the arms do not bear his motto and so
are perhaps those of his son, Charles I. There are
hatchments and other memorials to the Blofelds, and an
interesting memorial to Mary Aufrere from the middle
years of the 18th century. But most of all, this is a
simple, pretty, prayerful space, welcoming and inclusive.
On a summer day it is full of light and the sound of
birdsong, and I'll always remember it and keep coming
back to it for that.
Simon Knott, November 2019
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