The church sits up on the hill beside the scant ruins of the castle, and one can't help but be reminded of the same juxtaposition on a grand scale at Durham and Lincoln. The churchyard was trim, but the site itself seems ancient and primitive. All is very simple, very humble. A proper village church this, which makes the Stations of the Cross and the other evidence of the 19th century revival all the more romantic.
Apart from the nave walls and later porch, all is 13th and 14th century. No clerestory was built here, making the church seem rather square and gloomy inside. Mortlock directed me to some extraordinary grafitti, including 14th century fragments of music, and the head of a Madonna. Impossible to photograph, of course. Medieval benches sit beneath the 19th century roof, and the rood screen is also medieval; but the gate, probably inspired by those at neighbouring Cowlinge, are not.
Although the windows are Decorated, and it doesn't look as though this was a prosperous place in the 15th century, all is not what it seems, for the nave walls are Norman, and may well have been the castle chapel. The castle was probably one of those raised by King Stephen against the revolt of Geoffrey de Mandeville in 1143, later becoming a manorial hall. Not much is left, now. The poet John Lidgate may also have come from this village; he was a monk at Bury Abbey.
The most famous feature of this church is the small brass to Thomas Atwelle, one of only four in Suffolk that show a priest wearing Eucharistic vestments. However, it isn't something you can easily see, as it is covered by the long blue carpet which runs the length of the church. This is unfortunate, because, as at Bawburgh in Norfolk, the carpet draws the moisture from the stone floor, which then collects in the indentation of the brass, with the effect of ruining both brass and carpet. The carpet is railed down; I tried removing one of the rails, but when I came to the next one it would hardly budge. I thought that, at a pinch, I could probably get it out, but probably not put it back again, so in the end I reluctantly decided to leave it. I did lift the side of the carpet to look at the poor little figure, its latten oxidising into murky green.
So much Catholic imagery was destroyed by the 16th and 17th century reformers; so many brasses were melted down by 18th century scrap metal dealers. So little survives, and everything is precious. - SIMON KNOTT
There are some commonwealth war graves in the churchyard
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