Heckingham, St Gregory: Healing Heritage

I was not from the kind of social background where you encountered Latin growing up, but when I was a teenager my step-dad, Tony, taught me the phrase, solvitur ambulando ('It is solved by walking'). Like so many fragments from my 'childhood', it is something I can recall with total clarity (Like, for instance, my first year history report that read: 'Attitude deliberately indifferent. Made no effort to learn his work. Progress very poor.'). 

I have been struggling recently with a long-term health condition that has, at times, eaten away at my resolve. Therefore, today, when Temperance Beau picked me up from work and suggested a slow stroll in the countryside to a church, where we would have a picnic, I was delighted. We drove south of the city in the soft spring sunshine to Loddon Church and then set off on foot along a narrow path. We were on our way to St Gregory, Heckingham - one of my favourite Norfolk churches. 

Steadily, through a wheel-weighted 'Kissing Gate' and along a dusty winding lane we progressed. Through occasional breaks in the high hedges we could see tiny trees on the horizon. Across this gently undulating landscape we continued. We have wended this way before, but it was still a thrill to see the distant tower of Heckingham church peeping up above the trees. Nearly there!

Just a little further... turn left and down the high-banked lane... we have arrived!

We were ready for a well-earned sit down in the humble little rustic porch. Returning to this church is, for me, like meeting up with a dear friend. I have spent many hours here: sometimes alone; often in company. However, every time I enter that porch I am thrilled to see the magnificent Romanesque doorway...

Looking up...

Looking left...

Looking right...

... then left again. Note here, the carefully incised initials left,
no doubt, by long-dead  (over-entitled) 'gentleman' travellers

Feeling restored after a good feed and a sit-down it was time to cross the threshold and explore inside. As I passed through this doorway, it struck me how strange and alien I would seem to the folk who passed through through the newly made doorway, sometime in the 1100s. 

Entering the interior I was immediately struck by the poignant juxtaposition of the plain Norman font next to the Victorian coffin bier. A church as old as this has borne witness to an unfathomable passage of time. Folk who were baptised here. Folk who worshipped and belonged here. Folk whose bones lie buried here. I step into this realm endeavouring to respect all that has transpired here; to understand, decipher and 'read' the clues that are left behind. I am the outsider: the stroller, the observer, detached and disconnected from the life and spirit of this place - but still drawn, inextricably, to spend time here. 

Slowly, I wander within the church, along the south aisle where I note the grinning skulls marking the tragic loss of the Crow family's children. 

The incised crosses on the large shattered grave stone set into the aisle floor suggest that this may be a mensa: a medieval altar, broken up during the Reformation, then re-used as a grave marker. Stone is, after all, at a premium in these parts. 

Walking to the eastern end of the south aisle, I turn and pause awhile to look at the arches 'punched' through the north nave wall when the aisle was added. I always think that, with their solidity and sweeping lines, these arches resemble a Barbara Hepworth sculpture. 

Today, with the light casting a lattice of shadow onto the pages of the huge Victorian bible lying open upon the pulpit, I am drawn to stand here awhile. I find myself recollecting fondly so many meaningful conversations with good friends within this lovely church. Indeed, as I linger here I text a photo to a friend reminding him of a grand old chin-wag we shared sitting here a few years ago. Tempus fugit

Getting down on my haunches to capture the play of light on the nave aisle floor I am struck by the simplicity of the bench-ends. It is nearly time to leave. 

I look back one last time eastwards towards the chancel. I must step outside now...

A quick perambulation around the outside of the church and I notice another (over-entitled) gentleman's 'tourist' graffito. This one is beautifully carved into a quoin to the west of the porch. 

With one final look back at St Gregory's, it is time for Temperance and I to wend our way back to Loddon. As I write this, I am physically very tired. However, this lovely walk has been restorative and I have enjoyed imaginatively re-tracing my steps here. Healing heritage is for real! Thank you for taking time to explore alongside me. 

Postscript: Heckingham Church is looked after by the Churches Conservation Trust. As well as encouraging you to visit this special church, I would also urge you to make a donation if you are able. You can make a general donation to support the excellent work of the CCT or, if you prefer, you can contribute specifically to the upkeep of Heckingham HERE

The Fallible Flaneur <*(((((><(