Thick fog greeted me first thing this morning. It lifted, but only to be replaced with heavy showers. I have resolved for these few months not to let the weather dictate my activities. ‘There’s no such thing as bad weather,’ a parishioner at home often reminds me, ‘just unsuitable clothing.’
Today’s walk took me to the Waveney Valley, where I met up with the Revd James Shelton. James is serving his title curacy in two groups of parishes in South Norfolk. He had a career in marketing and communications before ordination, and I first met him seven years ago when he was responsible for comms at Norwich Cathedral.
We started at The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Redenhall, one of the parishes where James serves. This is one of the great Norfolk churches, built for the villages of Redenhall, Harleston and Wortwell. I have a memory of coming of an unsuccessful attempt to ring the bells here on a 'grab' day some 25 years ago, and I've always wanted to come back.
It does not disappoint. Inside there is a rare and mighty double-headed eagle lectern, made around 1500. It has spaces in the beaks to insert coins. Bats are an issue here, as they are in so many Norfolk churches, so it is covered when not in use with, of all things, an embroidered duvet cover.
Double-headed lectern at Redenhall
By the door there is an early eighteenth century 'death sentence'. This is not the verdict of a judge, but rather a written notice reminding the reader of his or her mortality:
Death
Behold thy Selfe to me
Such a one was I as thou.
And thou in time shall be
Even dust as I am now.
The Victorians built a new parish church in Harleston, by then a bustling market town. So Redenhall is a big church for just a few houses, entirely out of proportion with its surroundings. James told me that people’s affection for this building means that hundreds come to the Christmas carol service, but Sunday congregations are tiny. It is probably on the brink of survival.
Outside the rain was falling heavily, but that didn’t stop me marvelling at Redenhall's tower, surely among the finest in the county. The flushwork – that is the practice of encasing knapped flint within stone tracery – covers the entire west façade of the tower. Each flint was knapped to size. It must have been painstaking work.
Redenhall's tower
When I planned this route on my OS map, I wanted to make the most of being close to the River Waveney. To reach the Angles Way, the footpath which meanders at its banks, one has to cross the river. So, Reader, I beg your forgiveness for straying over a county border. It turns out there are churches in Suffolk too.
When I first met James he had a job-on-the-side as a stadium announcer at Carrow Road. He knows I am a massive Norwich City fan, so it wasn’t long before we got onto football. It was fascinating to hear his experience of working for the club. My only experience behind-the-scenes on a matchday was when I was mascot for a game against Liverpool in 1993.
Inevitably we looked ahead to this evening’s game, the second leg of the play-off semi-final at Elland Road. City go in as underdogs, having finished the season 17 points poorer than Leeds. James is a Sheffield Wednesday fan, but is keen for Norwich to win in order to set up a Premier League East Anglian derby. The Suffolk air must have been getting to me, as I conceded that Ipswich Town really have done very well this season, and deserve their promotion.
Back to churches. Mortlock and Roberts’ The Guide to Norfolk Churches was no use to me at All Saints, Mendham. Step forward, then, Simon Knott, whose Suffolk churches website is just as comprehensive as his Norfolk one. (It should be; he’s a Suffolk boy.) His entry for this church begins reassuringly for me, whose loyalties lie north of the Waveney: ‘No parish in church in Suffolk is closer to Norfolk than that of Mendham.’
This church has a lively feel about it: children’s crafts, a makeshift foodbank, and a small extension on the north side which presumably provides kitchen and WC facilities. There are some good brasses in the chancel.
Mendham
Joining the Angles Way, the heavy rain showing no sign of abating. The landscape here must be stunning in the sunshine. The sheep grazing in the fields were so surprised to see people walking in this weather they didn’t run away. As surprised, crossing the little footbridge towards us, was Ben, who farms here.
It was good to meet a young, local farmer. He grew up around here, and is still in his 20s. I explained that I was undertaking a project walking Norfolk’s churches, but trespassing for a few hours on Suffolk soil. James made the risky move of turning the conversation to football, and, as one might expect, Ben's an Ipswich fan. ‘Daniel was just saying you deserve to go up.’ Let's hope I don't regret my graciousness this evening.
After our first meeting in Norwich, James and my paths crossed again a couple of years later, when he showed up for weekday Evening Prayer in my church in London. His sister, it turned out, lives in my parish. James then was preparing to start a year with the Community of St Anselm at Lambeth Palace. He is one of those impressive people who combines an evangelical fervour with an understanding and apprecition of the inherited traditions of the wider church.
Consequently, James is enthusiastic about both pilgrimage and monasticism. Last year he launched a new ministry, Pilgrims, for the Diocese of Norwich. It draws together the heartbeat of monastic life at the former convent in Ditchingham, where he lives, and the charism of the Via Beata – a ‘Way of Blessing’ – a pilgrimage route spanning the width of the UK from St Davids to Lowestoft. He has drawn together a community of people who meet monthly to pray and to make pilgrimage. I am sorry that their meetings while I’m in Norfolk don’t fit with my timetable, but I’m very glad to have been put on his mailing list. It's a superb initiative, and I think speaks into deep human need to journey towards meaning.
A path through woodland led us to St Mary, Homersfield. Again, Simon Knott reassured me: ‘Behind is a large tree-shrouded bluff, below are the marshes, and consequently any view from Homersfield is into Norfolk.’ Not that the views were much cop in this weather.
Homersfield
In contrast to Redenhall, this is a flint tower which has been built crudely, almost as it it was done on a budget and in a hurry. The south wall, as you approach the church, is delightful in that all six of its windows are of a different architectural style, including one which may be Norman. It reminds me of an Emma Bridgewater mug I have, designed by Matthew Rice.
From here we crossed Homersfield Bridge, which, constructed in 1870, is the oldest concrete bridge in Britain. It is certainly more attractive than its younger sister, built to carry the heavy goods vehicles of the B1062.
This was initially planned as a relatively short route, but, emboldened by my longer distances last week, and in the company of a keen walker, I had found a good way of extending the route via two Norfolk churches, Denton and Alburgh. However, by this stage, the heavy rain had soaked through our supposedly impenetrable waterproofs. Even though the showers were beginning to ease off, we predicted we may be rather cold in five miles' time.
So we travailed back along the footpaths north of Wortwell towards Redenhall. Its tower had never been much out of view on this walk, even in these conditions. As you approach from the north, it's partially obscured by the rolling countryside around it. As you get closer it's as though the fields unveil it before your eyes. It is utterly glorious.
This was the longest I had spent so far in conversation with a priest of the Diocese. It was very good to talk about some of the topics which have featured in so many of my conversations around rural ministry, and the particular challenges faced by Norfolk churches. James is realistic, but also optimistic. ‘There are seeds of hope,’ he is keen to tell me. It was also eye-opening for me, as an incumbent who trains curates, to understand more about rural curacies. James normally sees his training incumbent every few days, but can go a whole week without seeing him , and rarely sees him on a Sunday. In an urban, single-church parish, my poor curate does well to avoid me for a few hours!
There is not much parking at Redenhall, just a layby to the west of the church. As we approached the road we caught sight of two undertakers, standing next to our cars, in a pose which meant only one thing. Once at the road, sure enough, a cortege was making its way slowly up the hill. ‘Do you want us to move our cars?’ we asked. ‘If you think you can in time,’ came the reply.
I like a challenge, but I’d forgotten that I had parked so close to the bank I couldn’t get in through the driver’s door. It must have been an unusual sight for the approaching clergyman and funeral director as a wet, bedraggled walker threw his rucksack into the boot, and clambered with little grace over the handbrake and gearstick. As I pulled away, deftly but not too dramatically, I wound the window down. ‘Just made it,’ I said to the two undertakers, ‘and, believe it or not, I’m a vicar!’
As I looked in the rear view mirror at the cortege, now arriving at the church, I felt a sense of relief: not so much that the mourners had been spared my Skoda Octavia, but that this glorious church was still here, marking life's beginning and end, and sending this soul off to eternity. 'Death, Behold thy Selfe to me' indeed.
Route: 7.2 miles https://explore.osmaps.com/route/21579877/redenhall
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