Abbotsham Church of St Helen Description
- A very rich church, full of history and wonder
- The medieval bench ends are outstanding
- Along with the medieval roof bosses
- A lovely Norman font
- A stunning carved-wood altar back of the early 20th century
- A beautiful Evening Star angel in stained glass
- A really very lovely church indeed
Abbotsham Church of St Helen
Seafaring was wild and dangerous business back in the day, ships hugging the coastline needed detailed local knowledge of tides, rocks and shelters. Dangerous as it was near the shore, out in the deeps, no modern navigational aids, enormous waves, strong gales aiming to wreck, was more so.
So landmarks were important, doubly so as entrances to river mouths and harbours are well hidden at sea level. Here in Abbotsham parish there was a chapel or church on the northern headland over where the rivers Taw and Torridge empty out, marking a safe passage to the ports safely ensconced in their estuaries.
That original parish church fell into disuse, Abbotsham Saint Helen took its place, and it is a peach.
A thirteenth century peach in fact, though a lot has gone on with the building since; the building’s footprint seems to be from that era and the tower, a rare north transept tower, seems mainly from the 1200s.
There was a chapel or church in the parish for sure by 981 when it was given along with a heap of land to Tavistock Abbey, thus Abbot’s Ham, ‘Ham’ being an area of land somewhat hemmed in by water or marsh… or, as here, the sea.
Around the church
Here the thirteenth century north tower, shorter, bulkier, less windowed than later ones, a fine sight into the bargain.
The church is dedicated to St Helen but which one is open to question. One view is that Helen is a modern variant of the Celtic St Elen or Endelient, who has a church on Lundy Island and was the sister of St Nectan who in his turn has a major church westwards along the coast in Hartland. This area seems to have been settled by Celtic missionaries, so there is that too.
There are two other alternatives, one being St Elene the welsh wife (claimed) of Magnus Maximus, a Western Roman Emperor (383-388 AD) who started his game of thrones from Britain, or St Helen who is said to have discovered the true cross in the Holy Land.
It is very confusing, and the kind of thing that folk take strong positions over. Me, I go for Nectan’s sis because I like that story best, and I suspect the role of the Celtic Church in Devon is much larger than generally imagined, but to be fair that is not much of a formal argument.
A good old window
Getting back to the undiluted material, the windows on this beastie are most excellent, like this thirteenth century one on the north face of the tower, Y tracery as it called for obvious reasons, classic 1200s style.
Inside Abbotsham church
The cared-for tidiness of the interior clearly shows the lack of additions to the basic early design… A nave, chancel and two transepts (the southern one just in front of the chancel arch on the right).
A cruciform church exactly.
The old font
Somewhat earlier is the very graceful Norman font, with very Norman cabling around the plinth and a fluted bowl whose flutes, unlike some, do not extend to the rim of the bowl, which has more cabling around the top.
The outline of the bowl is extremely graceful and pleasing; it is of gourd shape; rather narrower at the rim than it is a few inches below
The Baptismal Fonts of Devon, 1919, Kate Clarke
Have a closer look if you will, because the design is very clever and very, very fine indeed. The two cables seem to cinch in the font, bowl and stem, allowing the curves of the bowl and the angle of the stem to be be organic, formed by the cable action rather than the stone carver.
The whole is superb; it is a flower head about to blossom, petals ready to unfold, a floral lightness that makes the stone float. It goes from ‘Norman font’ to ‘oh wow, that is soooo delish’ in a moment.
Art is not just everywhere in our churches, churches are our art.
The wondrous medieval bench ends
Which the spectacular amount of superb Late Medieval bench ends here proves over and over again.
They are glorious, not only for the wonderful passions and designs they contain but also for their window into Devon everyday as was… and peeking through that window is a rich delight.
We do not know exactly when they were installed, if indeed they were installed all at once, and there is some suggestive evidence that they might have come from elsewhere, but the important thing is that they are here, and they rock.
Their design ranges from deeply religious to traditional gothic patterns to more modern Renaissanceries to a fusion of the two. Plus, wonderfully, the Victorian church renovators looked after them like newborn babes.
A mocking monkey
There is also some fine humour here, a carving deeply meaningful as well as a savage burn.
Two things are relevant here… Doctors back in the day often checked health by taking a gander at the patient’s urine, colour, consistency, smell and even taste.
Then monkeys (the figure here) were seen as an impersonation of the human, a deformed impersonation for sure, thus it was shorthand for a false person, spiritually misshapen; it appears in medieval carvings as such.
So here is a false doctor, capering, chained to material things (spiritually misshapen), not to be trusted, and as such is a bit of a drive by on medicos… or at least quacks.
But more, the medieval church very strongly saw itself, and was seen, as a doctor of souls, looking after the health of the spirit, aiding folk to get with the Divine in a very deep and caring way; each priest had ‘The Cure of Souls’ of his parish, this was the main purpose.
But roaming preachers and friars existed, with a reputation (probably overplayed) for preachery quackery and wandering hands, and in an oral society knowing who to trust outside one’s own personal social network was challenging to say the least.
So I suspect this was a warning against false prophets, using the medical profession as a metaphor for spiritual physicians.
A clue to their age
There’s also a carving of a bishop and what are likely enough his coat of arms on another bench end.
He is Bishop Vesey of Exeter (1519-1544) who seems to have spent most of his time sending wads of cash to his hometown Sutton Coldfield, giving his relatives a leg up, and supporting Henry VIII in all his various shenanigans.
His presence here is an indicator of the date of these babes, of some at least.
Instruments of the Passion
Another indicator of their date are the Instruments of the Passion, objects that were used during the Passion of Christ, his sufferings leading up to his crucifixion, death and resurrection.
Clockwise from top left: the nails and nail puller used to put him on and take him down from the cross, the whipping post where he was scourged (the cockerel of Peter on top), the crown of thorns and the cross, his burial shroud, the dice and lantern used to gamble for his clothes, the bowl and water vessels Pontius Pilate used to wash his hand of all responsibility (how did that work out for you, Ponty babe?), and the lash used to whip Christ.
These were deeply meaningful to folk who lived and breathed the Faith. Nowadays our culture often compartmentalises our lives; work, personal habits, family, religion, science and more, and all tend to stay in their lanes with no grand crossovers.
Back then faith was life, deeply affective into the bargain, and all the other stuff was mixed together with it. So these symbols were so very much more powerful to medieval folk living and breathing Christ’s suffering, death and resurrection.
The Passion of Christ
This sketch of the depth of faith in the Late Medieval is reinforced by these rarities, Christ praying in the Garden of Gethsemane and carrying his cross to his execution.
Crucifixion and more
And then there is this crucifixion scene (on the left just to be clear!), one of only two remaining on Medieval bench ends in Devon. At one point all three figures, Mary, Christ and John, had their faces vandalised but Christ’s was replaced, using the original it seems.
The composition is once again excellent, Mary half turning away from the horror is especially poignant, Christ staring out at us as if to say ‘you did this’ which in many ways we did and do, every time we cause hurt and distress through lack of love and care.
Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.
Matthew 25:40
There sometimes seems a clarity about these carvings, about the Late Medieval faith that they illustrate, a sharp shrewdness that leaves one bereft of hypocrisy and excuses, bereft of our usual excuses and moral glissades.
The acrobat on the right is not in that league, admittedly, but by golly it is a marvellous work.
Beautifully balanced in such a tight space, right hand strategically placed, the flowing elasticity is so well done.
The meaning, if any, I leave to others… Not a sausage, moi… unless it is those moral glissades in the flesh…?
Abbotsham sanctuary
There is more marvellous carving in the very nice sanctuary with its glorious Nativity altar back, a memorial to EMW Sealy, son of the vicar who died of war wounds on Christmas Day 1915 at the age of 26.
The altar
The whole is marvellous, a fantastic example of early twentieth century traditional wood carving.
As an aside, the altar is the original post-Reformation Communion table with later work infilling the space between the legs (thank you, Richard Parker).
This combination of the old and new, like the continued use of the Norman font, is very much on purpose, a statement of continuity and a celebration of the past.
The very fine altar back
Back to the woodwork, always a wise choice, with that those delicate pillars supporting that glorious, and gloriously intricate, canopy over Mary, Joseph and Jesus and the beautifully winged angels either side.
The Nativity scene
And the figures, their robe details, their naturalistic poses, Joseph leaning forwards and Mary wanting to clasp the boy to her heart…. Then the background details, the gate on the left, the fencing and the ox and ass taking such an interest… This is fabulous work.
Sadly, I have not been able to identify the artist, but surely one of the big folk of Devon wood carving.
Pretty floor tiles
Looking down are these charming tiles, peacocks possibly, a beautiful little design.
The chancel roof bosses
Whilst up on the ceiling are Late Medieval roof bosses, this one in particular being quite unusual; it seems to be a blend of symbols, both reasonably common in Devon but seen together very rare.
The tongue sticking out is usually understood to mean a warning against the Sins of the Tongue, gossiping in all its senses.
With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers and sisters, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water.
James 3:9-12
This visual prompt is merged with a ‘Green Man’, foliage coming out of the mouth, which Stephen Miller describe so well…
The Green Man is indeed Everyman, humanity itself, in all of his death-bound and life-renewing stages of exuberance, torment and ecstasy.
Stephen Miller, The ‘Green Man’ in Medieval England, DevonChurchLand website
Making this a fingerpost on the Path Of Salvation, solidly pointing away from all the blathering and blethering that usher us into badlands.
Wall plate figures
Along the top of the walls in the nave are more eloquent carvings, figures holding shields with tools on. Some say these figures are angels, they could well have lost their wings so this might be true, but they could equally likely be folk carrying these shields in a religious processions.
Work was sacred, in truth all life was led within the Divine. Tools were blessed, likely at those same religious processions, just as they still are in some deeply Christian countries.
This is not confined to Christianity either. have seen a Shinto priest in Japan bless a car, a brief and ordinary ceremony with the priest in fully flagged in formal dress.
And this was very important, these blessings in Medieval Europe were part of life, including praying over tools or work, asking God to help create beauty.
The church was not part of life, life was part of the church.
Suddenly the significance of these tool-bearing figures blazes into life, a devotional life in the presence of the Divine, richly revealing of the lush Medieval spirit…
A portion of it, at least. Life is bumpy.
A flouncy memorial
On the other hand, this beautifully flouncy babe is less living in the presence of God than living in the presence of John Willet who died in 1706 and was very happy to let folks know about it.
He was, as the inscription so eagerly lets us know, a gentleman, a barrister at law, lived at the Big House and was Lord of the Manor. Most importantly, it states that he is buried ‘by the south side of the communion rails’.
All this is a mighty big change from those medieval figures, anonymous, dedicatory, simple This inscription is in English, many folk could read reasonably well by now, the lettering here understood by many.
An expansive message too, about a proper gent, swollen immensely by the florid, expensive and very-of-the-moment decorative stonework surrounding the inscription, the paintwork far brighter than its present faded glory.
His (declared) importance being underlined by that burial next to the communion rails, a sacred space in the Medieval where only the clergy and the occasional aristocrat were buried; Mr Willet was very certainly neither of those.
One thing easy to miss, and here the medieval mind would have shattered, the inscription does not say the altar because by now, in the English Church, altars did not exist; communion tables were their proper name for fine upstanding Church of England folks… And as for rails surrounding an altar in the Middle Ages… Fencing off the altar of God would probably have been considered a sign of mental illness!
Magic and wonder
Cooling all upset minds is this entrancing window by, I think, Veronica Whall in 1913.
She is surely the Evening Star; a lamp (God’s Word) brightens the path, a cross on her chest, her collar of two sickle moons filled with stars, another star on her brow and the night sky above, the staff ready to blossom with the coming of the morn.
The light to come is Christ who is clearly identified as the Morning Star in Revelation, and the Evening Star is the messenger, the guide, the Star of Bethlehem that steered the Magi to Christ… Yet now, in Christian terms of course, we live in the light of the Morning Star and the Evening Star is in our past…
Life’s tenderest moments come out of the past – remains of innocence, like the evening star, shine with hope and inspiration, bringing all that was good and true from the Lord out of the past into the present.
The Evening and the Morning Stars, Rt. Rev. Louis B. King
Just as this richly-coloured sparkling vision has stepped out of our childhood imaginings into our present minds, overflowing them with dreams of beauty and wonder…
Whatever our faiths or thoughts…
