Lustleigh Church of St John the Baptist Description
- Probably an early British Christian site
- Inside an inscribed stone in Latin from around 600 AD
- A lovely little church set in a very pretty village
- Three 14th century effigies
- A powerful set of 20th century bench ends
- A delightful early 20th century pulpit by Herbert Read
- The 16th century rood screen is a fascination and a puzzlement
- Some good 19th century vernacular carving on a chair in the chancel
- Other wonderful treasures make this a very nice church indeed
Lustleigh Church and ancient times
Lustleigh church sure has a pretty a church gate as ever is, especially when the flowers are in the full bloom, and many a folk call it the prettiest village of Dartmoor, which might or might not be true but it sure is pretty.
A deep history too, set in a petite oval churchyard, a strong indicator that it might have British Celtic origins… churches descended from a long-gone Celtic church often have that set up.
The Lustleigh Inscribed Stone
There is another clue too, for inside Lustleigh church is a tall granite stone inscribed in Latin, dated 450-600 AD, stating ‘Datuidoc the son Conhinoc’, which are British Celtic names. It used to part of the paving of the south porch, but is now carefully preserved inside.
Similar stones have been found in the South West, and their usage is open to debate. Gravestones say some, declarations of land ownership say others, boundary markers say others, not sure says I.
But there is a take-away we can reasonably reliably make… It is in Latin, and Devon was not Romanised West of Exeter, though they did have a presence. So Latin was probably (and remember the Roman had left by the time of this stone) the language of the church, and to a lesser extent the elite.
Plus the south west was definitely Christian to some extent or another, Gildas writing just after 500 AD says so very strongly.
So put together that with Datuidoc using the language of the church and an oval churchyard we probably have a very ancient church site here.
To go full on speculation, as priests were the most literate of that age, and as churches often descended father to son (I know, I know, but priestly celibacy was so not necessarily a thing yet), could this be a priest’s marker? Highly, highly speculative mind you.
Lustleigh Church of St John the Baptist
The present church is a fine little thing, fifteenth or early sixteenth century with a thirteenth century chancel.
That triple lancet East Window on the right is classic thirteenth century, though whether it has been renewed or not is open to question.
The long south porch
The porch is long, noticeably so, with those stone seats down the sides.
Likely enough because the new porch is next to the older south transept and the parish folks wanted the porch entrance to be equal to the transept end.
The seating was for the parishioners to swear oaths, organise business deals, arrange marriages and even get married, which did not happen in a church back then.
Marriage was more of formal social business arrangement, the wealthier might spring for a Marriage Mass afterwards or just a blessing, but a romantic love match… Well, as Old Billy Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet points out, in the culture of the time that was a rubbish idea.
Inside Lustleigh Church
Very well kept inside Lustleigh church it is, a fine interior indeed.
Here on the right the entrance to the south transept looks almost fourteenth century, or even thirteenth, to match the chancel, whilst the granite arcade (row of pillars) of the north aisle is very surely early sixteenth or late fifteenth century.
Effigies and memorials
These three early fourteenth century effigies are dotted around the church, repositioned for sure and possibly from a previous building.
The lower two are in the north aisle, the top one in the south transept and probably a bit later in date, going off his clothing.
There is a oddly moving connection here, between these knights who by feudal obligation were meant to come to the aid of the king when called, or England, at that time was the same thing more or less, and the local man following.
Leo Amery lies here
Leo was a Conservative MP in 1940 when WWII was just starting its great sadness, and Britain had failed to stop the Nazi invasion of Norway.
Chamberlain (Conservative) was in power, but pre-war appeasement plus defeat in Norway and France had more than trashed his reputation, unfairly or not depending on which way you lean; Leo rebelled against his party, along with others, and gave what has been called ‘one of the best parliamentary speeches ever’ during the debate on that Norwegian disaster.
Chamberlain resigned very soon after, Winston Churchill became Prime Minister of a National Government, and the rest is history…
Thanks partly to this Lustleigh lad (even though born in India) whose ancestor, Nicholas Amery from nearby Bridford, married a local farmer’s lass in the 1600s and the Amerys have been a parish fixture ever since.
Twentieth century wood carving
Again from the twentieth century come the benches and bench ends, an outstanding collection of local and religious imagery; admittedly there is an elephant and a unicorn in the mix, but after a pint or ten of Stanbury’s Old Devon Cider who knows what we will see?
They are so well carved, not just the figures but the foliage as well. Here there is a Dartmoor pony and a fine bull.
Herbert Read’s pulpit
Another exquisite piece of twentieth century Devon wood carving is this lovely pulpit, 1904 by Herbert Read.
The design is from the many medieval pulpits that inhabit Devon’s churches, over a hundred and eighty I believe; those ornately carved columns, the intricate canopies above the figures, the vine frieze along the top, Devon Traditional boasting at its best.
The figures are the only bow to modernity, five of them representing Christ in his guise as guide, shepherd, sower, fisherman and priest, though a couple of saints get in on the act too.
The rood
And so looking up to the rood, the crucifixion scene, a meditation in itself, each time we gaze we bring another aspect of ourselves to be felt, understood, valued, a different prayer each in our own way, each in our own understandings.
A more recent carving too than the bonny it sits on.
Lustleigh Church Rood Screen
This rood screen being the self-same bonny, a right beaut and a bit of puzzle as well, in the best possible way.
For one, it does not seem to have been made to support a rood loft, it seems more a chancel screen. There are rood stairs here but they do not line up to this.
Some folk say it was erected under Queen Mary I who brought Roman Catholicism back to England for the five years of her reign, 1553 – 1558.
Others suggest that it is later and was erected after the proclamation of Queen Elizabeth I in 1561, stating she still wanted a screen but no rood loft. This would assume, not unreasonably, that the original loft and screen had been trashed.
Though again, in general, whilst rood lofts were seriously quickly dismantled after the Reformation the actual screens supporting them do not seem to have suffered the same sudden fate here in Devon.
So we are left with that puzzle, and a thing of beauty.
Which seems a fair trade-off to me.
Old and new
It is difficult to tell exactly what is original and what is due to the extensive restoration by Herbert Read in 1892, but this really does not seem made for vaulting to carry a rood loft. It seems like a chancel screen.
The old and new wood here are differently coloured.
The wainscoting folk
Yet another puzzle is this carving, the figures on the wainscoting down below. I do like the chunkiness of the carving, and the confident deep-cutting of the figures, but Late Medieval Devon glory it so is not. For one thing the carving above the figure is too repetitious, as are the figures, and for another there is not a trace of colouring.
Plus it lacks a definite wildness that is difficult to pin down exactly but that every Late Medieval Devon screen I know has in spades.
To be fair, there is one other screen with carved figures along the wainscoting in Devon and that is just nearby in Bridford. Was this a copy?
Well, possibly, but then again the Bridford screen’s figures are deeply religious, holy folk, saints and prophets, as they should be for their date, while these look more generic and a tad mundane.
The similarity could just be coincidence.
Mind you, these could be Old Testament prophets or late sixteenth early seventeenth century clergy, either of which might just pass the Protestant sniff test. Whoever they represent, they seem minimally designed to inspire and that makes this screen dramatically different from earlier ones.
On the whole, and there are varying opinions, I venture this is Elizabethan or even early seventeenth century.
Goodly carving
Not to say the carving is not engaging, like this detail here from an upright.
I can live with this bonny whatever its dating.
The chancel
The thirteenth century chancel has been nicely cleaned up. This also has a rarity, out of shot here, two small pierced corbels on opposite walls above the Communion rail (glimpsed here).
These were used to hang the Lenten Veil, which hid the high altar all through the forty days of Lent.
The sedilia
One reason we know this is thirteenth century are these three sedilia, or seats for the clergy, in the south wall; we are so used to seeing church services taken by one priest in English parishes that we have forgotten that there would have been a number of clergy in the chancel and sanctuary, all with allotted tasks, during Medieval times.
The seats would have been as much a way to keep unneeded personnel from getting under each others’ feet as much as a breather.
Adam and Eve
In the chancel as well is this beauty from another age, a chair with this lovely carved back.
It is a 17th century panel but carved in the 19th century
Paul Fitzsimmons, Marham Church Antiques
I love that way that Adam and Eve are holding hands as Eve reaches for the apple offered by the serpent, showing clearly the responsibility both the newly minted humans have.
Cain and Abel
But there is also this robust carving with it, the first murder, Cain and Abel, with a well muscled Abel holding up a hand to protect himself. Whoever carved this has a seen a fight, I venture.
There is strangeness in this story too, a deep wonderment, for when God notices that Cain is cheesed off by Abel’s sacrifice being given the high five and not his, God says, so beautifully:
At the tent flap sin crouches
And for you is its longing
But you will rule over it
Genesis 4: 7
Whereupon Cain ups and offs Abel, as in the carving, which is not exactly himself ruling over sin.
But God does not off Cain in turn. Sure, he exiles him, and points out he is going to have a hard life as even the soil that swallowed Abel’s blood will ‘no longer give you its strength’, but he does something surprising; mighty shocking in a society where blood feuds would have been the go to for murder.
And the Lord set a mark upon Cain so that whoever found him would not slay him
Genesis 4: 15
He protects Cain, who wanders off abroad and whose ancestors invent pastoralism, playing the lyre and pipe, and forging copper and iron.
Which in one interpretation, that of Rabbi Shai Held (at least in my limited understanding of such), is a description of sin exiling us from the Divine, but always with the possibility of redemption and forgiveness.
Because Cain owns his sin, and repents, and his exile is the start of a long journey back to the Divine, and thus he really does ‘rule over it’ in the end.
Medieval stained glass
One thing these folk do not have stress over is sin, I venture, being saints themselves. Margaret on the left, Catherine on the right.
They are part medieval and part restored; as with the best restorations, the newer bits are plain to see, the upper dragon and the wheel being two examples.
A Norman font
Another slightly changed oldie is this Norman font, which is a bit of puzzler.
That central bit looks just like many a Norman font that we find hereabouts, cable moulded tub fonts as they are called, and I do wonder if the top bowl, which is to made from a different stone, has been placed there relatively recently.
Those Devon marble columns around the outside are definitely a later addition, nineteenth century most likely, maybe to support the newly positioned bowl… ?
Of not, as the case might be.
A speculation for sure, but worth a bob or two.
In the Tower
Whilst this tower stairs door is worth more than a few bob, it is a beauty and seems mainly medieval , a wonderful survival.
Mind you, keep oak dry and it goes as hard as iron and lasts for aeons.
A face of mystery
Still inside the tower space, at the apex of the west window, is this puzzler looking straight down. The church guide suggests a selfie of the chief mason, others that it might be the mason’s wife. Both of these suggestions might or might not have legs, but there is no evidence for either.
We can reasonably sure that placing this image right above one of the main entrances, used for sacred processions on holy days, would have been a decision of the church wardens or donors, and/or clergy. My guess is that Mr or Mrs Mason might not have been their choice.
The best suggestion I have come across this:
Could it represent death of the body? It seems to have a cloth tied around the head like was once done to hold the jaw [of a corpse] closed
Insta Commenter
It is powerful face for sure, and could have symbolised ‘death to the world’ as our Orthodox friends would say, at the boundary of this very spiritual space, or something along those lines. The fact that it is at the very dividing edge of the worldly and the spiritual makes it of deep significance, I venture.
Beyond that I hesitate to say.
Except of course it is a wonderfully moving piece full of profound emotion.
Heaven and Earth
Though to be fair the dividing line between world and spirit, between this fine church and its very pretty village set in some of the most Devon ravishing countryside (and that is saying a lot) is blurred to say the least.
As one wise local lass said back in the day:
I were just a-wonderin’ if Heaven be so very much better ‘an this, ‘cause less it were, I don’t know as I’d care for the change
Small Talk at Wreyland, Cecil Torr, 1918
Seems spot on to me.
