Redenhall, St Mary, Norfolk: Time Passes, Memory Fades, Life Goes On...

Source: 'Excursions in the County of Norfolk, Volume 1' (1818) by Thomas Kitson Cromwell

Writing about St Mary, Redenhall, in the early nineteenth century, Thomas Kitson Cromwell described how the church, 'stands on an eminence, and is a beautiful specimen of the florid gothic'. It is a church, he says, with, 'the finest tower of any country parish church in the whole county'. Here is how it looks today, still magnificent atop its 'eminence'. The stunning patterned flint flushwork on the west face of the fifteenth century tower (in contrast to the plainer flint-face of its other sides) suggests that it was designed to be seen from this perspective. Whatever their motives, I am grateful to those medieval folk who donated the funds that enabled this to be built. In a sense, I suppose, they are memorialised in the form of this spectacle, this legacy. 

Wandering within the extensive graveyard we encounter some lovely eighteenth century gravestones peeking through the long grass, with anatomically suspect momento mori skulls to remind us of the transience of all earthly things. Looking back towards the church from the south, we get a good view of the fifteenth century clerestory windows, together with the plainer faces of that mighty tower. Assuming it is not a later insert, the 'Y-tracery' of the chancel window at the eastern end of the church suggests it dates from the early fourteenth century. 

Tempus fugit

A lone Celtic Revival cross from the later nineteenth century stands sentinel above the froth of white flowers surrounding it. I recall a couplet from Gray's 'Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard':

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire

But now, amid the wheeling beetles and flourishing green, reside deaths of quiet desperation. The bones lie inert underground, whilst above everyone they once knew is long departed. Why, I wonder, are we so invested in being remembered and leaving our mark? It is very human to cling on like a limpet on a rock. 

Can storied urn or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?

Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death? 

I think not.

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