THE STORY OF THE SACRED SPACE
AT ST LAURENCE
AT ST LAURENCE
As you sit in the main body of St Laurence today, what you will see around you is a church that, apart from the iconic 14th century tower and spire, was entirely rebuilt in the Victorian period.
Imagine, though, that you could travel back 750 years in time. In the very space where most of today’s services take place – that space between the foot of the chancel steps and lying between the first two pairs of pillars in the nave – would have stood a small chapel. That chapel was first mentioned in recorded history in 1279. How long it had already been in existence, we don’t know.
We do know that it was a small, simple stone building, measuring just 33 feet long and 16 feet wide. Built on a traditional east-west axis, a simple stone or wooden altar stood at its eastern end, with a window above, and there was a small arched entrance at its western end. The bare-earth floor would have been covered with hay – swept out and replaced every now and then when it became too flea and rodent infested and dirty. It was a simple enclosed space – no pews, no monuments, no stained-glass windows, no fancy ornamentation, no tombs.
Standing at its western entrance and looking out over the surrounding area would have been a very different experience to what it is today. There was no town of Stroud, it did not yet exist. There was nothing to see in any direction but open countryside. Straight in front of you, the ground continued to fall away downhill to a wet and marshy area. Water – a recurring image throughout this story.
Beyond that, open countryside and wooded higher ground – today’s Paganhill, Cashes Green and, further on in the distance, Westrip and Randwick. You may know of a great river that lies further on in that direction, and, perhaps, have heard tales of a wild Celtic land beyond that. Turn your head to the right, and you will glimpse what we know as the Painswick Valley, with Whiteshill and Pitchcombe on its western slopes. Turn your head to the left, and you will see the higher ‘common’ ground that we call Selsley and Rodborough. There are ancient trackways up there, and large mounds which, it is said, contain the bones of ancient peoples. You may see a few faint wisps of smoke rising here and there in the distance from the fires of scattered homesteads and farmsteads.
Your little chapel is what is called ‘a chapel of ease’ – it ‘belongs’ to its mother church in Bisley. Bisley is the main settlement in the area in these days. But Bisley is 4 miles north of here, and steeply uphill. When you die, your body will need to be taken up there to be buried in its consecrated grounds. But the scattered population of this area can be married in your chapel, and, more importantly, children can be baptized here. This is particularly important. Infant mortality is high.
There are midwives – older women who have many years’ experience of childbirth and delivering babies. But there are no maternity wards, no modern anaesthetics, no understanding of infection control, none of our modern medical knowledge or procedures. If a child is born alive, it may yet die within days, if not hours, of its birth. As might the mother. It is essential that the child is baptized as soon as possible to absolve it from any sin. Preferably the same day as its birth. So, the newborn in the scattered communities around about can be brought to your chapel, wrapped in their swaddling cloths, where they will be immersed in the holy water which is kept here for that purpose. Water, again. If the minister cannot be found, or a suitable man is not available, the midwife can baptize the child herself.
This is why your small Christian chapel stands here in this wilderness, all alone. But why here? Why this particular spot? Why this specific small area of earth, 33 feet by 16 feet? What is it about this precise parcel of land, set apart, alone in its own surroundings?
It is likely we will never know the real answer to those questions. But we can hazard a guess. We know that Christians often converted pre-Christian (or ‘pagan’) sacred sites and practices for their own use. Was this small piece of land already a pre-existing and ancient sacred place when the chapel was built? Perhaps geography gives us a clue here. We are literally at the very south-west foot of the Cotswold escarpment. Head north away from the church and you are immediately ascending upwards from Parliament Street, on up Bisley Road, and beyond to the hill tops of the Cotswolds. Rivers, streams, brooks and water courses pour downwards from this edge – hence, the Five Valleys.
St Laurence lies close to one such confluence, as the Painswick Stream, Slad Brook and River Frome all come together. There are springs flowing under the church. There are ancient burial crypts underneath the floor of the church which have been flooded for many years. Rising damp is apparent in parts of the chancel. It is not a great leap of the imagination to picture this piece of ground as having some special local significance long before the existence of the chapel or the town. Perhaps the site of a spring, a well, a fording place? Somewhere where something of significance took place? It is hard to escape, in those imaginings, the image of water. And it is hard to escape, in those imaginings, the feeling that this small space, at the core of today’s church, and the heart of today’s town, has an ancient pre-Christian sacred nature or ‘spirit’ that we can still experience today.
To bring the story forward, in 1304 the chapel was given a degree of independence. It could have its own minister. And a grant of land was given it, the rents and income from which were to pay for that minister and the upkeep of the chapel. That parcel of land was called ‘John Pridie’s Acre’, though we don’t know who John Pridie was. Today we know it as The Shambles. And it is only then that the town of Stroud was slowly – very slowly – to begin to emerge. Just 40 years later, the plague arrived – the Black Death. It is estimated that between 40% and 60% of the entire population of England died – around 3 million people. Nevertheless, in around 1360 the chapel was extended and the great tower and spire built – a symbol of survival and a beacon of hope to the shattered population for miles around.
As we sit in the last quarter of 2020, trying to envisage what a post-coronavirus world might look like, perhaps the opportunity to re-connect with the sacred space that lies here at the centre of our building and our town, and which we are the present custodians of, may help us come to terms with, and shape, a new and different and better future.
Imagine, though, that you could travel back 750 years in time. In the very space where most of today’s services take place – that space between the foot of the chancel steps and lying between the first two pairs of pillars in the nave – would have stood a small chapel. That chapel was first mentioned in recorded history in 1279. How long it had already been in existence, we don’t know.
We do know that it was a small, simple stone building, measuring just 33 feet long and 16 feet wide. Built on a traditional east-west axis, a simple stone or wooden altar stood at its eastern end, with a window above, and there was a small arched entrance at its western end. The bare-earth floor would have been covered with hay – swept out and replaced every now and then when it became too flea and rodent infested and dirty. It was a simple enclosed space – no pews, no monuments, no stained-glass windows, no fancy ornamentation, no tombs.
Standing at its western entrance and looking out over the surrounding area would have been a very different experience to what it is today. There was no town of Stroud, it did not yet exist. There was nothing to see in any direction but open countryside. Straight in front of you, the ground continued to fall away downhill to a wet and marshy area. Water – a recurring image throughout this story.
Beyond that, open countryside and wooded higher ground – today’s Paganhill, Cashes Green and, further on in the distance, Westrip and Randwick. You may know of a great river that lies further on in that direction, and, perhaps, have heard tales of a wild Celtic land beyond that. Turn your head to the right, and you will glimpse what we know as the Painswick Valley, with Whiteshill and Pitchcombe on its western slopes. Turn your head to the left, and you will see the higher ‘common’ ground that we call Selsley and Rodborough. There are ancient trackways up there, and large mounds which, it is said, contain the bones of ancient peoples. You may see a few faint wisps of smoke rising here and there in the distance from the fires of scattered homesteads and farmsteads.
Your little chapel is what is called ‘a chapel of ease’ – it ‘belongs’ to its mother church in Bisley. Bisley is the main settlement in the area in these days. But Bisley is 4 miles north of here, and steeply uphill. When you die, your body will need to be taken up there to be buried in its consecrated grounds. But the scattered population of this area can be married in your chapel, and, more importantly, children can be baptized here. This is particularly important. Infant mortality is high.
There are midwives – older women who have many years’ experience of childbirth and delivering babies. But there are no maternity wards, no modern anaesthetics, no understanding of infection control, none of our modern medical knowledge or procedures. If a child is born alive, it may yet die within days, if not hours, of its birth. As might the mother. It is essential that the child is baptized as soon as possible to absolve it from any sin. Preferably the same day as its birth. So, the newborn in the scattered communities around about can be brought to your chapel, wrapped in their swaddling cloths, where they will be immersed in the holy water which is kept here for that purpose. Water, again. If the minister cannot be found, or a suitable man is not available, the midwife can baptize the child herself.
This is why your small Christian chapel stands here in this wilderness, all alone. But why here? Why this particular spot? Why this specific small area of earth, 33 feet by 16 feet? What is it about this precise parcel of land, set apart, alone in its own surroundings?
It is likely we will never know the real answer to those questions. But we can hazard a guess. We know that Christians often converted pre-Christian (or ‘pagan’) sacred sites and practices for their own use. Was this small piece of land already a pre-existing and ancient sacred place when the chapel was built? Perhaps geography gives us a clue here. We are literally at the very south-west foot of the Cotswold escarpment. Head north away from the church and you are immediately ascending upwards from Parliament Street, on up Bisley Road, and beyond to the hill tops of the Cotswolds. Rivers, streams, brooks and water courses pour downwards from this edge – hence, the Five Valleys.
St Laurence lies close to one such confluence, as the Painswick Stream, Slad Brook and River Frome all come together. There are springs flowing under the church. There are ancient burial crypts underneath the floor of the church which have been flooded for many years. Rising damp is apparent in parts of the chancel. It is not a great leap of the imagination to picture this piece of ground as having some special local significance long before the existence of the chapel or the town. Perhaps the site of a spring, a well, a fording place? Somewhere where something of significance took place? It is hard to escape, in those imaginings, the image of water. And it is hard to escape, in those imaginings, the feeling that this small space, at the core of today’s church, and the heart of today’s town, has an ancient pre-Christian sacred nature or ‘spirit’ that we can still experience today.
To bring the story forward, in 1304 the chapel was given a degree of independence. It could have its own minister. And a grant of land was given it, the rents and income from which were to pay for that minister and the upkeep of the chapel. That parcel of land was called ‘John Pridie’s Acre’, though we don’t know who John Pridie was. Today we know it as The Shambles. And it is only then that the town of Stroud was slowly – very slowly – to begin to emerge. Just 40 years later, the plague arrived – the Black Death. It is estimated that between 40% and 60% of the entire population of England died – around 3 million people. Nevertheless, in around 1360 the chapel was extended and the great tower and spire built – a symbol of survival and a beacon of hope to the shattered population for miles around.
As we sit in the last quarter of 2020, trying to envisage what a post-coronavirus world might look like, perhaps the opportunity to re-connect with the sacred space that lies here at the centre of our building and our town, and which we are the present custodians of, may help us come to terms with, and shape, a new and different and better future.
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