I started on Sunday, not with a walk, but by celebrating Holy Communion at All Saints, Tattersett. In a county of isolated churches, this must be as isolated as it gets. The nearest road is half a mile away; access is via a track through fields.
Not much changes here. There is no running water or electricity. The previous rector was here for a quarter of a century. The churchwarden, Anthony Duckworth-Chad, told me he has been churchwarden for more than six decades. The rite is Prayer Book. As I prayed the Collect for the King, substituting George with Charles, I looked through the window opposite the Rector's stall. Beyond the graves of past worshippers, all I could see was verdant fields basking in the spring sunshine. I was struck by the timelessness of the place. Nothing except the fashions of those who joined their prayers with mine would have placed us in this century, let alone year. For all the eavesdropping angels knew, I could have been praying for Charles II.
The south window in the chancel
If the setting wasn't special enough, there's more to see here. On the south wall are the remains of a wall painting, probably depicting the martyrdom of St Erasmus with his entrails being wound on a windlass. I wonder what made a medieval benefactor of this church choose this saint and image. Erasmus is patron saint, appropriately enough, of those with intestinal pain. Perhaps this was the motivation. Regardless, it can't have been the most stomach-calming of images to pray alongside.
Talking of stomachs, this benefice has been in vacancy for a couple of years, so the monthly service is at 12 o'clock. Not ideal for those preparing a Sunday roast, but perfect for a family picnic in the churchyard before we set off. Having finished our sandwiches, our four-year old demanded that we go back into church. He sat us down in the pews, and marched up to the altar to take his own service, singing 'Alleluia' at the top of his voice. A few days before our visit, the churchwarden had contacted me to tell me that the previous Rector had died. I prayed for Fr Edward Bundock at the altar he had so faithfully served during the Eucharist. Our son, standing on the same spot, unwittingly gave hope that generations will continue to worship God in this precious, timeless place for years to come.
You can see more images of this church on my Instagram page @walkingnorfolkschurches
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