Walk 26: South of Ranworth

I could not have been less excited about this walk as I drove through torrential rain this morning. One of the few disappointments of this sabbatical has been the weather. I think March offered better walking conditions than June so far.

The Northern Distributor Road (the NDR to locals) is currently flanked by beds of oxeye daisies, making it look much nicer than it sounds. As I turned off towards the Broads I glimpsed some clear sky in the distance. It was a promising sign, and, indeed, this transpired to be one of my most enjoyable walks yet.

Panxworth's ruins

I began at the ruin of All Saints, Panxworth. All that remains is a small, slender, fourteenth century tower. The church can’t have been very big. Standing a good half a mile from its small village, All Saints was declared redundant in 1976, and the nave and porch –Victorian rebuilds – were demolished in 1981.

The primary purpose of this walk was to visit St Helen, Ranworth: ‘the Cathedral of the Broads.’ Actually, I don’t like this practice of calling big churches ‘Cathedrals ofs…’. It’s either a cathedral or it isn’t, and, actually, the beauty of this particular building lies in it being a supremely impressive parish church. I enjoyed this church immensely, for three reasons.

The view north from Ranworth tower

Firstly, the tower is open for visitors to climb. 89 steps of different heights and conditions lead to the belfry. Then two ladders over the bells, and a stiff hatch to open, reveals what are surely unrivalled views of the Norfolk Broads. From here my confidence in the day’s weather grew; the dark, rain-heavy clouds to the south were being driven away, with brighter skies emerging from the coast. Amid the pleasure boats below I spotted that most quintessential of Norfolk sights: a wherry.

Secondly, Ranworth has arguably Norfolk’s finest rood screen. Mid-fifteenth century, it stretches not only across the chancel arch, but also covers the east walls of both aisles, with parcloses dividing the side altars from the central aisle. It is the detail of the images which is so breathtaking. Betjeman shows its restoration in A Passion For Churches: ‘A hundredth of an inch at a time, Miss Pauline Plummer is revealing the secrets of the chancel screen at Ranworth, and soon will show it in its medieval glory.’ God bless her.

Ranworth's screen

This is one of those pieces of medieval craftmanship which made me kneel in adoration. Not, I hasten to add, to worship the work of human hands, but in awe of the company of saints which it so compellingly presents. I was more than mildly irritated at a holidaying couple talking loudly at the back of church, and it took all my willpower not to ‘sssh’ them. Once they were gone, and I had this beauty all to my myself, I found myself wanting to linger for as long as possible. ‘A church should pray of itself with its architecture,’ said Ninian Comper. ‘It is its own prayer and should bring you to your knees when you come in.’ Ranworth’s screen succeeds in this, and it’s very hard to leave it.

Leave I did, and I am glad I did, because – the third and final element of my delight – this church has its own visitor centre. Housed in the old Vicarage stables in the corner of the churchyard, it is staffed by volunteers most days in the summer months, offering drinks and cakes. The two volunteers here today were very welcoming and interested in my project.

St Barbara, Ranworth's screen

The parish, I learnt, has been in vacancy ‘for quite a while’, and it sounds like the Diocese is biding its time. A neighbouring benefice is also due to become vacant in a few months. St Helen’s is maintaining a weekly Sunday service, with a monthly Eucharist. Hats off to them. But they clearly want a priest.

They had a fine one in A Passion for Churches. The Vicar of Ranworth, Hugh Blackburne, was also Chaplain to the Broads, and he is filmed on a boat encouraging holiday makers to come to church on Easter Day. It was a copy of Bishop Peter’s Pilgrimage in the visitor centre which reminded me of him. Peter Nott, Bishop of Norwich in the 1980s, kept a diary of his pilgrimage around the Diocese. Blackburne, if I remember correctly (the book isn’t with me at the moment), became Bishop of Thetford, and died not long into retirement. He was that old school, middle-of-the-road, establishment sort of bishop; educated at Marlborough and Christ’s College, Cambridge, and a chaplain in Vietnam. (I may be making all that up, but it’s not far from the truth.)

St Helen's, Ranworth

I have been struck by just how many Norfolk parishes are in vacancy, and how thinly spread clergy are. I got the sense that these volunteers were glad to meet and spend time with a priest, not because I am especially interesting, but simply because contact time with a priest is a rarity for them. It’s taken me most of the sabbatical to realise that I am exercising a funny sort of priestly ministry as I walk around Norfolk’s churches. Austin Farrer said that a priest is ‘a walking sacrament’. In my 26 walks I have only seen two priests in their parishes, so perhaps I am – almost without knowing it – doing something valuable by prayerfully padding around these rural communities and chatting to people as I go.

I promised to pray for them, that a priest might be called here. As I left the boats and the Broads, and walked through the countryside, I found the fields of wheat bidding me to pray, ‘Lord of the harvest, send labourers into this harvest.’

I walked the long way to South Walsham, along what is referred to locally as ‘Rebellion Way’, so-called, I believe, because it took a certain amount of campaigning to rescue footpaths from local landowners. After my numerous negative experiences recently, I was thankful. It is well used by muntjacs.

South Walsham's two churches in one churchyard

South Walsham is one of a smattering of Norfolk churchyards to have not one but two churches. The guide suggests that this is because of the splitting of an ancient manor, with both families wanting their own church. Across the road from the churches there remain two (old) parsonages. How odd it must have been for two clergymen to live next door to one another.

The two churches almost straddled one another until a fire destroyed most of St Lawrence, South Walsham in 1827. The chancel and one bay of the nave were restored, as was the (by then, detached) tower. Having fallen into disrepair, the church was restored in the 1990s as, effectively, a consecrated church hall. It is a wonderful space: flexible, with underfloor heating, and a real sense of sanctity.

St Lawrence, South Walsham

The tower, however, suffered the double blow of a lightning strike and a sonic boom in the 1970s, and only the base remains. The area between St Lawrence and its old tower has been transformed into ‘The Sacristan’s Garden’. It is planted with the medicinal herbs and plants that would have been at the disposal of a sacristan at the time St Lawrence was first built. It is a wonderfully creative use of a space which could otherwise look at bit sad.

I was a bit surprised to find piped worship songs coming through the sound system of St Mary, South Walsham. I prefer silence, or the sound of my own prayers, or simply the song of the birds outside. But I got used to it. And, actually, it’s fitting for a church which feels well-used, well-loved, and well-prayed in. The little four-page guide is by Nicholas Groves, whose recent untimely death I know has been a loss among lovers of Norfolk churches.

Window at St Mary, South Walsham

The range of stained glass here is particularly beautiful. Or was it the light making it so? I was drawn to a depiction of the Parable of the Sower in the south aisle, dating from the 1920s. Terns fly over yoked oxen. It could be – probably is – the fields of this parish. By the time I left the CD had moved on to more traditional hymnody.

South Walsham is a pretty village, and you wouldn’t know you are so close to the Broads. Foxgloves abound in Norfolk at the moment. I always think cottage gardens are incomplete without them at this time of year. Hollyhocks should replace them later in the summer. Not confined to borders and gardens, foxgloves are poking up at the edges of fields, along with the stray poppy. It’s funny how birds are the enemy of the sower in the parable. They are no doubt responsible for these unexpected splashes of colour.

All Saints, Hemblington is, in most ways, a typical Norfolk church: down a track, round-towered, hidden by trees, not a house in sight. But what makes it different is that, once you are in the churchyard and church, it gives the impression it’s at the centre of its village. And clearly it is, spiritually, even if it isn’t physically. (And there are plenty of churches, alas, of which the opposite can be said.)

Hemblington

On the railings, even before you’ve set foot on consecrated ground, there are laminated signs to tell you the church is praying for different parts of the community. There’s a little extension to the north side, offering level access and a loo. Indeed, this was the third church of the day with facilities.

They had just celebrated a Green Sunday, focussing on the environment, and the church school has been in yesterday too. I tend to prefer my churches uncluttered, but the clutter here was good clutter, rejoicing in the creator’s creation.

It’s welcoming too to the church-crawler. Like Ringland, there are really good tea and coffee making facilities in the kitchenette at the back of the nave.

Inside All Saints, Hemblington

And what an unexpected treasure of a building it is. St Christopher, with attendant images of his life pre- and post-conversion, almost fills the north wall. The font is very East Anglian, except that, unusually, its carvings are not of sacraments or instruments of the passion, but well-preserved images of saints. Some are easier to identify than others. St Agatha had her breasts cut off as part of her martyrdom, and here she is portrayed - clearly pre-martyrdom - with an unrealistically pert bosom.

In more recent times, someone’s taken a paint brush to this font. I can’t quite decide if the result is garishly amateurish, or faithfully medieval. Perhaps it’s both.

Not for the first time on my walks – indeed, not for the first time today – there was a negative comment about the state of the churchyard in the visitors’ book. This, like others, was from someone complaining they had difficulty getting to a grave because of the height of the grass, or the presence of wild flowers. In South Walsham a churchwarden had annotated the comment: ‘We’re encouraging wildlife.’

Here at Hemblington, there are notices in the churchyard stating that it is a space for humans and other creatures. More than that, a prayer trail has been mowed through the grass, with little numbered way-markers. There’s a delightful meadow of oxeye daisies to the north of the church, and, sensitive to the needs of mourners, the area which contains recent graves has been kept immaculately.

Hemblington's churchyard

Comments like this sadden and annoy me in equal measure. Firstly, it makes an assumption that God’s acre is our acre. In this diocese there’s a clear culture of allowing churchyards to be sanctuaries of wildlife. Secondly, more invidiously, is the assumption that small churches have the resources sufficient to maintain enormous churchyards. In one church, I was sorely tempted to add a comment suggesting that the complainer offer to mow the lawn themselves, or set up a standing order to help the parish pay for a gardener. I am turning in my grave even before I’ve got there.

Let’s not end negatively. Today, unlike Sunday, was a day of good footpaths. The route from Hemblington took me to the South Walsham Fen Nature Reserve, where an information sign revealed that the bridleway was shown on eighteenth century maps as a proper road linking Hemblington and South Walsham. ‘Seek the ancient paths, where the good way lies,’ says the prophet Jeremiah, ‘and you will find rest for your souls.’

The Broads lapping at the banks of Ranworth; the verdant countryside further south; and some sumptuously beautiful buildings. Today's churches all felt alive with the Christian faith, I suspect because they are all used at least weekly. The effect this had on me was palpable. This was a good way, and I indeed found rest for my soul.

Walk: 6.5 miles https://explore.osmaps.com/route/21980227/ranworth-4-churches