Part 7

The Church is a fine perpendicular flint-work structure. The tower is large and well proportioned. It is battlemented and crowned with a small bell-cot and weather-cock. It is rather more than 113 feet high, and the hill upon which it stands is 85·8 feet above the level of the sea. From its height and conspicuous position, it was selected in 1549 for placing a cresset, for a fire beacon, upon its top. There was formerly a Cross and Image of the Trinity in a niche on the west side of the steeple (Blomefield). It has a clock on its eastern face, and contains eight bells, one of which is rung as a Curfew every evening at eight o’clock, as has been the case for more than four hundred years, in accordance with a benefaction of one John Colton, in 1457.

_The Belfry Chamber_ contains five large steeple-boards, with many names of ringers.

_The Porch_ has a fine groined vault, with fan tracery, and a rich parapet and cornice.

Kirkpatrick (1712) says of it: “There is a neat porch of freestone on the south side of the Church for entrance, with a chamber above it. On each side of the window, which is in the front, is a niche (with) spired top. On each side of the arch of the door, cut in stone, is a cherub with an escocheon before him. That on the east side has two pastoral staffs. On the (west) a Pall, and at the top of the porch a border of carved work whereon you see the letter G of the antient form with a crown upon it and an escocheon with vine branch of various small ones denoting St. Giles, to whom dedicated.” (These three niches are now empty.) “On the north side of Church there is no porch, but only a door opposite to that of the south.” (This doorway no longer exists.)

The Church itself consists of new Chancel, Nave, and North and South Aisles. The whole building is about 120 feet long, and the nave with its aisles is 48 feet across. The roof is of good open woodwork, supported by “Angels bearing shields, emblazoned with the Arms of England, France, and Castile” (Bayne). And Taylor says the Arms of Norwich Priory are (or were) seen in this roof. The columns supporting it are light and elegant. They are four in number, with a pilaster at each end, and they divide the nave from the aisles. The clerestory windows have been modernised. They are five in number, and closely correspond to the larger windows in the walls of the north and south aisles. Of these there are five in the north side, and four (and the porch) on the south side.

Blomefield says that “In the west end of the south aisle there was formerly a chapel, altar, and image of St. Catharine, with a light burning before it; and against one of the pillars there was a famous rood called the Brown-rood. There was a Gild of St. Mary kept before the altar of the Virgin of Pity. The west window in the north aisle was adorned with the history of Our Lord’s passion; and there were lights burning before the images of St. Mary, St. John Baptist, St. Christopher, St. Unkumber, and St. Wilegesartis; besides those that continually burned before the Holy-rood, or cross, the Holy Sepulchre, and the Sacrament.”

Mr. Hudson says that S. Uncumber and S. Wilegesartis, or Wylgefort, were the same person, and in the _St. Peter Mountergate Parish Magazine_ for February of this year (1891) he has thus briefly given her history: “She was a beautiful maiden who was ordered to marry a man to whom she had a great aversion. While she was at her wits’ end to know how to avoid her fate, she was delighted to discover that in the course of a few hours she had become adorned with a full-grown and very ugly black beard. This, of course, disposed of the gentleman. Wylgefort lived to be a happy old maid, and when she died was honoured as a Saint . . . She was thought to have some special power to uncumber (_i.e._ disencumber, make free) discontented wives from disagreeable husbands. Hence her popular name.”

The remains of a colossal fresco painting of St. Christopher and two consecration crosses were discovered on the wall of the north aisle in 1723.

At the lower end of the Church stands an ancient stone _Font_; the upper part, or basin, evidently of much older date than the base, which consists of a pedestal and two steps. The outer part of the basin has eight facets, carved with shields and flowers, and below these are eight cherubs’ heads, with flowers between. The pedestal is carved out on its sides into niches, having cusped tracery heads. There was formerly a cover, which has been lost. Standing within the large basin is a small leaden vessel and cover, a rough miniature copy of the font itself, made about fifty years ago by Mr. Culyer, then parish clerk.

_The Communion Plate_ {97a} consists of six pieces, silver gilt, and presented by Robert Snell in 1738, and of two brass bowls, presented by Mr. John Gurney in 1869.

The reading desk and pulpit, the organ, the oak fittings, and the vestry room were all added in 1866, when the whole Church was restored, and the Chancel rebuilt. {97b} The building is thoroughly heated by hot water. The Communion rail was added about five years ago.

The Church contains several monuments, besides mural tablets and inscribed stones. The principal of the former are those of

Adrian Payne, 1686, the founder of Payne’s Charity.

Robert Snell, 1738, who gave the Communion Plate.

Alderman Churchman, 1742.

Dr. Offley, 1767.

Sir Thomas Churchman, 1781.

Dr. John Beevor, 1815.

The Stannard Family, 1838.

Slabs to the memory of Henry Crossgrove, printer, 1744, who published the first Norwich newspaper in 1706; and to Elizabeth, wife of Colonel Cobbe, of Sandringham Hall, 1698, may also be mentioned.

There are several brasses, the two principal represent Robert Baxter, Mayor of Norwich in 1424 and 1429, with his wife; and Richard Purdaunce, Mayor 1422 and 1433, with his wife. Both of these are figured in Cotman’s “Brasses of Norfolk.”

Other and smaller brasses are inscribed with the names of John Smith, Elizabeth Bedingfield, Margaret Landysdale, Thomas Hervey, and Rachel Spendlove.

_The Room over the Porch_ contains some church standards of former St. Giles’s Mayors; also a dilapidated ‘Parish Umbrella’; and the parish ‘Watchman’s Crake,’ or rattle.

_The Parish Registers_ date from 1538, and are very perfect. The Burial Register shows distinct evidence of the presence of unusual mortality in some of the well-known pestilence years. The first part contains a very remarkable illustrated dedication.

_The Churchyard_ was altered and enclosed with a wall and iron railing in 1866–7. Taylor says that a Hermitage formerly existed in its south-west corner.

There are several and important parish _Charities_; their proceeds being partly for Church purposes, and partly for the benefit of poor parishioners.

The incumbency has an endowment of about £70 a year. It was formerly a Perpetual Curacy, and is now a Vicarage. It is in the gift of the Dean and Chapter. A vicarage house for the minister has been purchased quite recently.

[Picture: The Tower of St. Giles’s Church]

IX. THE TOWER OF ST. GILES’S CHURCH, _And some things in relation thereto_. {99}

By “relation thereto” I mean that my paper will first speak of myself—my personality and my belongings—and then recall to your memory a few of those changes and events of interest which have taken place in my neighbourhood and surroundings.

Perhaps I ought to apologize for bringing before such a learned branch of the Church of England Young Men’s Society, as is this its Literary Class, so many familiar facts and events as are here alluded to. But nevertheless, I have thought that there might be some considerable interest in grouping and recalling to our minds a few such items connected with one city centre, and especially as they might be supposed to be noted by such an eyewitness as I have suggested myself to be. A knowledge of our city, of its specialities, its changes, and developments, is always good mental store. And although it might be said—are not many of these things to be found recorded in the City Archives, and in the volumes of City History? yet almost certainly many of the members of this class will not have studied these. And therefore, it may fairly be hoped that this little paper may stimulate the historical bump of some of the brains here present, and arouse in them a desire to further study such archæological facts and local histories.

And here let me quote some lines of the Suffolk poet, Bernard Barton, in reference to the survey or study of past events or history. He says:—

“No useless, or ignoble toil, To him who in ‘the past’ delights, Seems it—from dark Oblivion’s spoil To cull whate’er our taste invites, Of by-gone legends, parted rites, In earlier days believ’d as true; And bid our old ‘Historic Sites’ Peopled afresh, to charm anew.

“That is no true Philosophy Which does not love at times to trace, With glowing heart and moisten’d eye, Time honoured haunts, whose chiefest grace Is to have been _their_ dwelling-place Whose names in history’s page are shrined, Whose memories time can ne’er erase From many a fond admiring mind.”

Well—my _name_ and _title_ is

THE TOWER OF ST. GILES’S CHURCH,

_and as such I shall speak of some of the many things which I have seen_.

As you may suppose, from the prominent position which I—the Tower—have for so many centuries occupied in this old city of ours, I have long since ceased to suffer from the undue modesty which so often accompanies equally deserving but less conspicuous merit. I can only hope that you will agree with my reasons for anticipating from you some of that appreciation and interest which I certainly take in myself. And I propose to introduce my subject in the novel way of speaking of myself as personal, and as having noted, during my long life, various matters to which I shall call your attention.

As an introduction, I am proud to think that I need only say, once again, that I am the Tower of St. Giles’s Church, Norwich. And surely there cannot be many of our citizens who are in the habit of passing up our broad street, St. Giles’s (the lower Newport as it used to be called), who have not been struck with the fine proportions of my structure, standing as I do at the head of this fine thoroughfare, and looking and being an object of admiration for my beauty and my striking position. Many are the beautiful views which I present to the passer-by in the varying lights of the day, but my beauty and grandeur are, I think, seen best of all, when in the evening the sun is setting behind me in the west, or the moon with her paler light throws down along the length of the main street of St. Giles, those shadows, which—produced by my intervening tower—are so well worthy of the admiration of all who have eyes to see, and minds to appreciate, the glory of evening views. {101}

Let me say here in passing that Saint Giles, the saint after whom I am named, appears to have lived in France; and history relates that he was adopted as the typical Patron of the crippled portion of humanity from his being himself lame, and from his having been said to have effected a miraculous cure of a sick beggar. As such Patron, parishes which, like mine, were located on the outskirts of towns, have frequently been given the name of St. Giles, as having had the duty, in the olden time from their position, of contributing to the needs of passing wayfarers, and of those requiring Christian charity. And thus, in Norwich, not only was my own parish named after this saint, but the so-called “Old Man’s Hospital,” in Bishopgate Street, at the other end of the city, was also formerly called St. Giles’s Hospital.

Well, I am the Tower of St. Giles’s Church, and I have stood in my present position for at least five hundred years, having been built (or rather rebuilt) in the time of King Richard the Second (who ceased to reign in 1399). I am twenty-six feet square, and I am also one of the tallest church towers in Norwich. And not only so, but I stand in one of the most conspicuous positions in the city, on the top of St. Giles’s Hill. I am a square Tower, built like the adjoining Church, largely of flint stone, nearly 120 feet high, battlemented at the top, and having also a small cupola or bell-cup in the centre of my roof, with a conspicuous weather-cock above this. In earlier times, in consequence of my height and conspicuous position, I was used as a Beacon-tower, _i.e._ a pail containing fuel was hung at one of my corners, ready to be lighted as a danger signal in case of invasion or other serious emergency. Such a beacon, as you may know, was often called a “Cresset,” from the French “_Croisette_,” which was a pail with a cross on its top.

I am proud of my public spirit and loyalty, for on royal and other special occasions, I raise on my summit a tall flag-staff, and float from it a large and handsome flag. In this, I am sorry to say, I have too few imitators or companions amongst our church towers, perhaps for the reason that even such loyalty as this is expensive, and costs, I am told, some few shillings for each such display. Amongst my various public uses, you have probably all seen soldiers from the barracks on my roof practising flag-drill in connection with others in Chapel Field.

I have said that I am largely built of flint stone, which is of a very enduring nature. In consequence I am thankful to say that I have a very excellent constitution, and have stood the wear and tear of a long life without requiring much fortifying or repairing. I can only venture to hazard the bold suggestion that my excellent health may also, in some mysterious way, have been due to the near presence of so many Norwich doctors, residing as they have so largely done in the neighbouring Bethel and St. Giles’s Streets!! At any rate, for a long time past I had scarcely wanted professional assistance, until about two years ago, when two of my windows (or eyes, as I call them) needed technical help and repair.

Speaking of flint for building, we all know that some of the finest flint work in the kingdom is to be seen in this city, notably in St. Miles’s Church, and in a wall in Bridewell Alley. My flint work is inferior to these, but still handsomely faced. No doubt the large use of flint stone in building our Norwich churches was due to the abundant supply of this material which has existed in the neighbourhood. And with regard to myself it may well have been that my flints, or some of them, may have been extracted from the ancient chalk excavations which until lately existed just beyond St. Giles’s Gates. Mr. Walter Rye, as you perhaps know, has also suggested that flints from these caves may have been used in the building of both the Cathedral and the Norwich Castle.

As curiously illustrating local specialities, one of my parishioners has told me that when travelling some few years ago in Cornwall, where granite and other hard rocks prevail, but no gravel or flints, he asked one of the residents whom he met, if she knew of flint stones, to which she replied, “Oh! yes, I know flints, I have seen one in the Museum at Torquay.” I much fear that not even one flint is to be seen in our grand Museum on the Castle Hill!

Whilst on the subject of myself (the Tower), I may mention THE CLOCK, which has so long existed on my eastern face, and which, judging from the constant reference made to it by the passing throngs, is an undoubted public boon. To the parish it is a source of some expense.

This Clock was restored and re-coloured at the general restoration of the Church in 1865–6, when the figure of _Old Time_, holding a scythe in his hand (as many of us will remember), was removed. The Clock face and Clock hands do not look to the passer-by to be very large; but I find, on measurement, that the diameter of the Clock face is 10 ft., that the Roman letter numbers on it measure 1½ ft., that the length of the large hand is 6 ft. 5½ in., with a weight of 21 lbs., and that of the small hand 3 ft. 4 in., with a weight of 8 lbs. My Clock has belonging to it a special Clock Bell.

Then, as to my contents. As this is an Autobiography, and as all Autobiographers are necessarily egotistical, you must allow me to dwell a few minutes more upon my personal specialities. And first, as to my _Peal of Bells_, eight in number, which are naturally of great interest to myself, and which hold a high place among the various peals of Norwich. These, according to the high authority of the late Mr. L’Estrange, were placed in me between the years 1593, or earlier, and 1738, and they were renovated and restored in 1870, at the expense of Messrs. Browne, Bridgman, and Firth, parishioners of St. Giles. (One of these bells is what is called a _Gabriel_ Bell—the “Angel Gabriel brought the good tidings to the Virgin Mary.”) And think for a moment what phases of life these bells have taken part in during all these hundreds of years. I find that since 1538, when our parish registers begin, some 2,524 entries of _marriage_ have been made in them. And it is reasonable to suppose that at a fair proportion of these, especially in earlier times, my bells have rung out their merry chimes, and in their special language have wished all joy and happiness to the newly wedded pairs. You remember how Byron speaks of this: “And all went merry as a marriage bell.”

On the other hand, during the same period, or, rather, up to 1856, when interments in the Churchyard ceased by Act of Parliament, _i.e._ in 318 years, nearly ten thousand (9,770, as roughly counted) entries of _burials_ here are made in the parish register books. And it is almost certain that one of my bells has announced first the fact of the death, and then that of the mournful ceremony of interment, in each of these cases. Just think, as I do, of all these ten thousand dead lying at my foot, waiting, as Baring Gould has so beautifully said, for the “Resurrection morning,” when “soul and body meet again.” Such an accumulation of mortal remains in so limited a space may well arouse much and solemn reflection. How well a Suffolk poet reverently describes such a disused graveyard as mine now is, where he says:—

“The gathered ashes of long centuries rest; A few _white_ tombstones and a few _dim-gray_, Mark names that have not yet quite passed away.”

Nor can I fail to quote to you Gray’s beautiful words, so applicable to such a disused churchyard:—

“Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, In still small accents whispering from the ground, A grateful earnest of eternal peace.”

The graveyard of St. Giles, which lies beneath and around me, is, as I have already said, no longer used for burials. It is quite full and crowded with graves and many memorial tombstones. The names upon these, as far as legible, are fully and completely given in the book which has been published by a parishioner of mine, {106} upon the “Parish of St. Giles.”

It is historically interesting to know that the burial registers, by the increased number of interments in some of the long past years, point unmistakably to the prevalence in Norwich at those times of the dread Pestilence or Plague, which is recorded as having ravaged the city from time to time. Thus, in 1603, no less than 112 persons were buried here; and in 1666, some 79—both of these “Plague years”—instead of a normal average of twenty or thirty. As you may suppose, I (the Tower) shared acutely in the distress which then reigned in the city, intensified as it was to me by the fact of three or four burials occasionally taking place here in the same day. In some other years, an increase of burials may probably have arisen from this place of mortal rest having been a favourite one, and, therefore, selected for the interment of some who had not been resident in the parish. This was certainly so in the fifty years preceding the closure of the churchyard, when fifty, sixty, or seventy were often annually interred here.

But to return to my bells. The perpetuation of the old custom of ringing each night what is called the _Curfew Bell_ in my Tower is well known to us all. This Curfew ringing is now an anachronism, but it doubtless was a great boon at the time of its foundation, seeing that so many legacies were left in various places, as here, for the purpose of having a “Curfew” rung each night in perpetuity.

My Curfew Bell, instituted and endowed in 1457, by Mr. John Colston, and who was buried in St. Giles’s Church, has now rung continuously for some 450 years. And although some people may think this evening tolling of a bell for a quarter of an hour a nuisance, it has in this particular case this merit, that it acts, or has done, as a sort of daily almanac, seeing that the day of the month is told at the end of the quarter of an hour’s ringing, each evening, by a number of strokes on a different bell, corresponding to the day of the month.

The name “Curfew,” you doubtless know to be derived from the French _Couvre-feu_, or cover fire. And also that the custom in olden times of a public ringing of a bell, or sounding a horn, for the putting out of fires and retiring into houses for the night, arose from the out-door dangers of those less civilised times, and from the inflammable nature of many of the wooden and thatched houses then existing. One such fire in Norwich (in 1507) is said to have destroyed seven hundred houses, including many in my own parish. Who does not know Gray’s lines on this Curfew custom?

“The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea; The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.”

And we doubtless also remember Longfellow’s beautiful verses on this old custom:—

“Solemnly, mournfully, Dealing its dole, The Curfew Bell Is beginning to toll.

“Cover the embers, And put out the light; Toil comes with the morning, And rest with the night.

“Dark grow the windows, And quenched is the fire; Sound fades into silence; All footsteps retire.

“No voice in the chambers, No sound in the hall; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all!”

With all this, and what I have now said, I think I may claim that I—the Tower—have fully discharged the general duty of public usefulness, and am a great public benefactor. My beacon pail is no longer required; but by my weather-cock I tell the direction of the wind; by my clock I tell the time of day; and by the final strokes of my curfew bell at night, I act as an almanac, and tell the day of the month—for the benefit not only of my neighbours, but to the great multitude of the passers-by. {108} And let it not be forgotten that all this implies not only the discharge of public duty, but also the expenditure of money, necessary to keep the various arrangements for these in correct and working order—money which has to be provided by the parish of St. Giles.