The principal purpose of this walk was to visit Weston Longville, where the Revd James Woodforde wrote his Diary of a Country Parson in the late eighteenth century. Over breakfast, perusing the parish’s website, I discovered that there is a church – inexplicably not marked on my OS map – next to Morton Hall. You have to phone ahead to collect the key, which I duly did from Weston Longville’s church car park.
St Margaret, Morton-on-the-Hill is, according to Simon Knott, ‘surely the most elusive of all churches.’ He’s not wrong. On a grey, wet day, the wooded farm track seems to become less welcoming the nearer you get to the Hall. But it was worth persevering. Lady Prince-Smith is the keyholder, and has been instrumental in the restoration of this church.
Morton-on-the-Hill
It seems to me that most Norfolk church towers have collapsed at one point or another. Here it happened on the night of Easter Day 1959. ‘It was a still night,’ the church leaflet recalls, ‘and the sound was like a load of gravel being tipped out of a lorry.’ After two decades unrepaired, step forward Lady Prince-Smith. With the help of the Norfolk Churches Trust and a band of volunteers the east end of the nave and north aisle were repaired and restored, with a glass partition overlooking the ruined remains of the west end of the nave and the tumbled round tower.
The church is officially redundant, but Lady Prince-Smith recalled the days, not that long ago, when the priest at Weston Longville would come regularly to take services. But clergy are more thinly spread in these parts now. I detected a sense of loss in her voice, and, as I took the key, I promised to pray in the church.
On this dank day the ruins seemed beautiful but eerie, not helped by that strangest of noises, the cooing of a peacock. Inside the church is charming. A flowering creeper has crept in under the north wall, creating a strangely romantic web across the floor. (Although I hope its progress is halted before it takes over.) Clearly, the north aisle was intended for regular worship. There’s a great drape to keep out the draught, and a chandelier hung on a piece of rope. Both look as though they belong in a great country house, which presumably they did.
The interior, Morton-on-the-Hill
I prayed, as I had promised. As it happens, I am praying in every church I visit. But here I prayed, if you like, more purposefully. I prayed the prayer I’m praying in every church, but out loud, and also the Lord’s Prayer. I invoked the intercession of the Jesuit martyr St Robert Southwell, members of whose recusant family lived here. I prayed for all who had worshipped in this place, living and departed. And, discovering a working harmonium by W. Howlett & Son of Norwich (I had no idea such things were built locally), sang a verse of Love divine, all loves excelling.
I always feel a sense of duty to pray in redundant churches, as if to re-hallow them. Churches are, in T. S. Eliot’s words, ‘Where prayer has been valid.’ And, even if they are redundant, where prayer is still valid. ‘These stones that have echoed their praises are holy,’ as the hymn reminds, ‘and dear is the ground where their feet have once trod.’ As I finished, the sun broke through the clouds, and, suddenly, a building which felt like it had lost its soul, became alive again. I am often surprised how, during prayer and worship, the sun comes out just at the right moment. I shouldn’t be.
Attlebridge Church, from the bridge
I headed towards and over the busy Fakenham to Norwich road, and then, using the bridge this road now bypasses, the River Wensum, to St Andrew, Attlebridge. The churchyard here is a wild flower meadow. Norfolk churches are pioneering when it comes to the environment, no doubt enthused by the Bishop of Norwich, who is wonderfully passionate on these issues, and lead bishop on the environment for the Church of England.
I headed east towards the old railway line, and then through the fields parallel with the main road. From here you get a glorious view of Morton Hall and its little church perching above it. You’d never think it has such a commanding position overlooking the valley of the Wensum when you approach it as I did. Morton-on-the-Hill – a place name which sounds more Cotswolds than East Anglia – is a helpful reminder that Norfolk is not, as so many presume, flat.
Ringland Church
Back across the Wensum I arrived at St Peter, Ringland, and its superb hammerbeam roof. ‘It could be called St Peter Mancroft’s younger sister,’ states Mortlock. As fine is the medieval stained glass above it in the clerestory. These are not just fragments jumbled together, but complete scenes, including an exquisite Annunciation.
The roof, Ringland
This is a church on the new Walsingham Way, a pilgrim footpath from Norwich to England’s Nazareth. A table at the back of church has a kettle and do-it-yourself tea-making facilities. Ringland is not alone in doing this, but it does it superbly. There’s a little fridge with milk, including oat milk, and decaffeinated tea as well as normal, catering for every requirement. And the water is fresh too, rather than from a mouldy bottle. All this is very impressive as running water has not yet arrived here (a digger was tunnelling a hole as I visited), and is an exemplary form of welcome and Christian hospitality. Hats off.
There’s also the former Ringland Wesleyan Methodist Chapel in the village, built in 1852. Happily, it is still in community use as the Village Hall. Disappointingly, however, the big green sign on the front of the building claims it was ‘formerly the Reading Room’ with no reference to the original purpose for which it was built.
Weston Longville
I returned to All Saints, Weston Longville, feeling utterly fulfilled without having yet visited the church which brought me to this part of Norfolk. Woodforde’s diary is not a spiritual diary. Like many of his clerical contemporaries, he wasn’t much given to piety. Rather it gives a wonderful snapshot into eighteenth century rural life. He writes a great deal about food and drink, which he consumes in considerable quantities. His name will be familiar to those who, like me, are fans of real ale. Woodforde’s Wherry is a champion beer of Britain.
Woodforde also records in his diary his many trips to Norwich. I did likewise, albeit by car rather not horse, arriving for my overnight stay at All Hallows Guesthouse, next to the Julian Shrine. The shrine’s bell summoned me to Mass, and it was touching that the parish priest, Fr Richard Stanton, prayed for me and my pilgrimage during the intercessions. I in turn offered up to God all those I have met over the past few days. All indeed shall be well.
Walk: 6.4 miles https://explore.osmaps.com/route/21167711/parson-woodforde Note that this route goes through Morton Hall, which is not a public footpath. Visitors are encouraged to phone ahead for the key. Details are on the Norfolk Churches Turst website.
Memorial to Parson Woodforde at Weston Longville
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