Drewsteignton Church of the Holy Trinity Description
- Stunning position overlooking the village square
- Beautiful built tower
- A real statement of a medieval porch
- A soft light in an enchanting interior
- Wonderfully designed 20th century bench ends
- A goodly Norman font
- A lovely south chapel
- A very rare Queen Elizabeth I coat of arms
- The village almost as attractive as the church (almost!)
Drewsteignton Church of the Holy Trinity
Dramatically soaring over the village square, the rough stone of the little cottage in front bringing out the neat granite of the tower, Drewsteignton church sure knows how to be centre stage.
Just to the left of the cars is the village pub… here a tale about folk, life and compassion unfolded when I was young.
This was my home village, this my pub, out here backaday the legal drinking age was deeply negotiable and pubs were so very much for drinking. Not a recommendation, that.
In the pub Bill Ellis lived on scrumpy (very alcoholic cider) in a corner of the main room, often slept in a shed out the back, changed his clothes once in a blue moon, deep Devon accent, spoke total nonsense half the time, got brought drinks more often than that; he was a man in distress, deeply so.
Me, I was young and discombobulated, autistic static and freshly baked trauma fizzing and fuzzing around my head… Others were better. I did not understand Bill at all, even judged him occasionally, one of my many sins.
But with that Child of God there lives a tale.
For in 1538 Henry VIII decided parishes had to keep records of baptisms and marriages, Drewsteignton started in 1557; this gap was not unusual, no strong centralised state, no police, and plenty of time to check the big boy was serious were all par for the course.
Well, the third babe baptised in those very first records was… Yup, Bill Ellis, Willyam Ellis to be exact. If that is not magical, then what is?
I would not be claiming that they are the same, the Wandering Devonian, haunting the village for nigh on five hundred years, but knowing the pickling effects of scrumpy all too well…
And there was a a farmer up the road in the parish, Great Shilstone farm, in 1849 who had a sheep stolen called… Yup, Bill Ellis (the farmer dude not the sheep, natch). Go figure.
There is more to this story though.
The village church
But first the church, because we are here for that somewhat, and the Faith did bring the compassion and care this story will show.
It is a beaut, that gorgeous granite exterior very posh for its day, the fifteenth century to be exact, the north aisle put on maybe a tad later and the chancel rebuilt in the nineteenth.
As ever, there were earlier churches , though as ever we do not know how far back they went. The houses around their square do look like a planned Saxon or Norman village, but that is only a suspicion. If so, I bet there was a Bill Ellis involved.
Drewsteignton was wealthy when this version of the church came about, sheep of course, tin likely, oak bark for tanning leather and charcoal for industry from the vast woodlands in the Teign Gorge, limestone quarrying probably ramping up, set on one of the main Exeter-Cornwall routes, a market (that square again), everything hunky dory.
Old heads
The slightly later north aisle has these fancy heads on the window hood moulds, showing some extra cash to spend.
The mighty fine tower
Though that tower, boy or boy does its granite soul so rock.
The archway brilliant, the coursed blocks wonderful, the window arch superb, and the actual window just tickety boo.
That window looks old too, with maybe some restoration work, and its style is a little out of fashion for the tower’s build time; Reused? Drewsteignton a tad behind the times? Maybe they just liked the design, which rests my soul in deep contentment.
The beautiful west window
Oh, and it show plants, stylised yet defiantly plants. Once seen, never forgotten.
The grand porch
Like this tough beast of a porch, no wilting flower it, two storey, the top one called a parvis, at one point maybe a room for one of the lesser clergy to live in or space for travellers, maybe storage for valuables or even weapons; later it was a schoolroom.
Inside Drewsteignton church
Inside it is a glowy church, light flows through the tall clear windows and gambols around the granite and wood. It is really very nice indeed. Those pews look very interesting too, and here looks are totally on point.
Glorious twentieth century bench ends
They are very good indeed in a mild and subtle way, the kind of way that a hundred years or so down the line folk will be wittering and twittering over them like a twenty first century eejit with a head full of churches.
And it is worth spending a bit of time with them because they do not immediately relate to modern design cool.
Their shape for one, that slight chunkiness, defined by the top edge, a full stop which emphasises the carving work on their verticals. However, heaviness is avoided by the thin buttressing flowing down the sides, a gentle framing of the main carving work looking straight at us.
Then the plinth they stand on, presenting something important.
Which is that the carving rhymes so well with the meaning of the medieval gothic; it is about plant growth, springing from seeds at the bottom.
Seedlings budding
Here a seedling in yellow and a seed (flowerhead in outer shell) in green. Once seen always remembered.
Blossoms and blooms
Then the upper level and here those seedlings, they are blooming and blossoming and cavorting to their hearts’ delight.
Is it not just wonderful! And each bench end different too.
The flowers and blossoms might be real scene stealers but the other carving pops the stage with wild foliage, a mastery of curves and placement.
Detailed beauty
Going closer, the detail is superb, those apples dropped from the tree just create a little scene. It is the entrancing details that makes the whole work so well, just as the Late Medieval carvers themselves did.
Dartmoor ponies
But of course these bench ends are not just a celebration of God’s lush greenery, wildlife comes out to play as well.
Here local Dartmoor ponies, the mother with her back to the wind, gale-blown mane and tail, grass the same, the foal turning its head away from the gale… This scene is not just a static ‘here is a pony to represent God’s creation’, it is dynamic and story-filled, these are living beings in God’s fine world.
And nearly all the animals carving are similar, hare, fox, salmon…
Salmon leaping
Which are shown with no background but boy are they alive, beautifully, bouncily alive.
I have seen the occasional salmon depicted in churches. These are the perkiest. I love them, and all the others.
As I do the whole world of bench-end-dom in this church.
They were made in 1936 in a world where Drewsteignton was far more deeply rural than it is now, salmon flowed up the nearby River Teign, cars were rare, a good road was rarer and a trip to Exeter and back, thirteen miles each away, was an expedition.
People lived in the scenes shown here, rich rural life was all around, and these benches brought that wonder, that Divine, into the church. Which is so Late Medieval style that I was totally gobsmacked.
And when I say Late Medieval style I am not exaggerating, because look at this babe…
The Late Medieval bench end
The only surviving medieval bench end from this church, not now on display but here a relatively recent photo thanks to Todd Gray and his marvellous book Devon’s Ancient Bench Ends.
The twentieth century design has taken the Medieval and created a rhyme with it, a close rhyme for sure and also an enchanting use of the modern.
The designers were Caröe & Passmore, W.D. Caröe himself a famous multi-talented architect who designed St David’s church in Exeter, a real masterpiece, and then Dart & Francis from nearby Crediton carved them.
Devon through and through the modern benches are, traditional and up-to-date just as the original carvers were in the creative ferment of their own time.
The Norman font
Though it is just not twentieth century beauty here, this Norman font is a wonder too.
The pedestal, up to the cabling, is original and the bowl is a replacement; the actual Norman bowl was smashed when some of the roof fell on it in the 1700s.
Those three Daisy Wheel designs at the bottom are interesting, they are found not only in churches but elsewhere as well. They are apotropaic, ritual markings for warding off evil.
On fonts they are not so common, at least in Devon. I cannot remember seeing another example.
A colourful roof boss
Whilst in the south aisle are some Late Medieval roof bosses with later colouring, gloss paint not being a thing back in the 1500s.
Their colouring is a bit of social history itself. They were painted in the sixties by the vicar, who had a pretty good opinion of his artistic talent.
As one commenter said, did he allow local artists and craftsmen to preach sermons and celebrate Holy Communion?
The sanctuary
The Sanctuary is also probably by Caroe & Passmore, an elegant backdrop brings out the subtle carving of the altar, the whole replacing a very Victorian marble altar back.
The Lamb of God on the altar
Here, on the altar front, the Lamb of God intricately carved, somebody knowing actual lambs very well. Plus the ground on which it stands, a rare touch that rhymes with the detail on the bench ends.
The altar is a copy of the one in Tokyo Cathedral apparently, Godless me as was spending nigh on two decades in Japan and never setting foot in a church; mind you, it could have been a copy of the pre-WWII altar which disappeared along with most of Tokyo during its firebombing.
The east window
The East Window, 1862, is a beaut, amplified by the window’s size; the church windows here are all a goodly size.
Age has not been kind to it but its design still entrances.
Old rememberings
Scattered around the church are a fair amount of ledger stones, floor slabs covering the graves of folk buried in the church, a privilege reserved for those who could pay. Here an early one roughly lettered in hard granite from 1544.
The Lady Chapel
The Lady Chapel has a most beguiling atmosphere, gossamery sunlight, simple granite, blue dossal curtain and that beguiling stained glass above.
Christ the Gardener
Mary recognising Christ after the Resurrection after mistaking him for a gardener.
There is an abundance of detail here, from the two lasses on the right having a good natter about Mary and the stranger she is meeting…
Beautiful background
To the wonderful background details, this is a real landscape, a real city.
A Queen Elizabeth I coat of arms
A real queen here too, Elizabeth I, with a lion and dragon frolicking about her coat of arms.
The dragon is for Wales. Later her successor, James I, would rock up from Scotland with his unicorn and relegate that dragon to the substitute bench; a real pity that, think of how funky a lion, dragon and unicorn doing the jive-bunny together on the Brit coat of arms would have been, then double that delight as the Red Hand Of Ulster jitterbugs onto the stage.
These QEI coats of arms are very rare; every monarch fancied their signatures in the churches so the designs were often replaced, and besides the custom only started getting its legs on with Lizzie so take up was sub-optimal.
Despite that rarity another one is in the adjoining parish church of Cheriton Bishop.
Back to Bill Ellis
That dragon is a fine beast, beautifully painted with strong confident strokes.
Lizzie came to the throne in 1558, just a year after that Bill Ellis was born, stealing his thunder one could say. That same year others were born with names I know from my time here, Easterbrook, Hill…
But the true wonder is something else. My time’s Bill Ellis was deeply ill and I certainly did not understand that.
The landlady, Mabel Mudge (everybody called her Aunt Mabel), his aunt or great-aunt, offered him shelter she could and fed him when he was off the scrumpy.
She was also the target of his intemperance. None of us thought to stop that.
Family matters, and matters again, but tragically women submitting to abuse was pretty much expected back then; I feel for her, and that tainted dynamic.
But something happened, something good.
I was back many years later, a pause in a giddy gaddy life, and there was Bill in the village square neatly dressed, a clean sweater, a bushy beard, lived-in face, smiling and sober. He had received the care and support he needed, had been properly listened to, was a coherent human. A man respected. A man changed. A man cared for.
Britain had changed, that was clear. Care was now available. Compassion more in evidence. And women being abused off the table, more so at least.
Auntie Mabel died in a local care home, well remembered still now, her picture is in the pub, rosy nostalgia erasing her many struggles and strifes, her deep humanity of a life lived… Bill lives less in memories by far, a difficult man to love, but he mattered as much as anyone…
Because the church.
The tiniest spark from a far away land, peasants looking for truth, a Jewish Rabbi who talked about loving our enemies and how we are all the Image of God, us, all, each and every one, are sacred, the scrumpified Bill who slept in a shed and lived in a daze of trauma, the Queen of Lions and Dragons, Auntie Mabel, we are equal within the Divine.
Because in God’s infinite presence the paltry distinctions of human precedence are altogether ridiculous – because to be a Christian is much loftier than to be a king. Yes, in the light of the Incarnation and the Resurrection, the very humblest life is transfigured as with a glory from Heaven, and man as man, apart from every external accident of wealth or intellect, becomes a holy and a royal thing.
Sermon preached at the 1875 Church congress by Rev FW Farrar
And this Rabbi lived his message, got tortured, abused and savagely executed for it, yet told a truth powerful enough to build breathtakingly beautiful churches in the lush landscapes of Devon, singing hymns of the Divine in wood, glass, stone and colour… But much more importantly we created, clumsily and haltingly, a society that cares for the likes of Bill Ellis and Mabel Mudge…
Because they matter. Because the Rabbi’s teaching matters. Because from that Rabbi’s teaching, from his revelation, from his culture, from him we grew to know that every single one of us matters.
And for every flavour of faith and none, that is a wondrous marvel I venture.
