St Mary, Howe

This is a charming little round-towered church in a delightful setting, and it grieves me that it is part of the unwelcoming Poringland group of parishes who keep their three churches locked without keyholder notices. The heavy lock on the porch doors at Howe sends a strong, uncompromising message to passing pilgrims and strangers, as it did to me when I revisited in the spring of 2022. The church sits among a group of old houses at a meeting of narrow lanes through an intensely agricultural landscape. The fields start to roll and fold as Norfolk spreads westwards away from the marshes and the rivers. An old postbox set in the wall of the graveyard completes the scene. The round tower is unmistakeably 11th Century, with its round windows and coursing with darker stone. There is a little conical cap, a bit like the one across the county at Little Snoring. The windows of the nave and chancel are mostly in the Decorated style, suggesting a 14th Century rebuilding, but at least one seems to be set in the ghost of a once larger window, perhaps Perpendicular, so presumably 19th Century replacement. Even then, there is little to disguise that this was once a typical, homely Norman church, on the site of one which was even older.

The only time I've seen inside Howe church was back in 2006 when I came this way with the late Peter Stephens, and we found someone cleaning the church. The photographs at the bottom of this page are all from that occasion I'm afraid. Perhaps the most memorable sight as you enter is the early Norman tower arch and, within the tower, the outline of a similarly arched west doorway. They are a counterpoint to what is a typical late 19th Century restoration in common with many of the little churches in this area. Sometimes this is charming, but my memory of Howe on the one occasion I've seen inside was of a slightly weary anonymity, as though a lack of communal life had sucked the vitality out of it.

St Mary has one of the most elaborate First World War memorials in Norfolk. It dominates the west end of the nave. I wondered if it had been bought from a French workshop, because this kind of overtly lush sentimentalism was relatively rare in England. It is in dark wood with enamelled panels in the Gothic style like a Flemish altarpiece. The memorial opens as a triptych, a grieving woman resting her head against a shield at the centre which reads To the Memory of the Brave Sons of the Empire who Fell on the Battlefields of Europe. "They Have Fought the Good Fight", Dying in the Cause of Humanity that Honour might Live. Interestingly, the circumstances of the death of all six named on the monument is included as well as the dates and their ages. An enamelled medallion below updates the list with those local lads killed in the following war.

Another touch in the French style is a beautiful lectern, an angel poised and balancing the reading desk. Behind it, the stairway to the rood loft climbs through the wall space. Perhaps the greatest curiosity is the brass plaque on the wall of the chancel. At first, it appears as if it might be a memorial, but in fact it records the instructions of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, the patron of the living, to any rector that she chose for this church. It makes interesting reading. There's a very good window of the 1860s by Robert Bayne depicting Faith, Hope and Charity, but even his familiar vibrant colours fail to lift the heart, for there is an atmosphere of sadness here. Perhaps it comes from the war memorial, or maybe simply it is from the church being locked away from those who who might fill it with prayer.

Simon Knott, December 2022

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