The Historical Growth of the English Parish Church — Reading Companion

Chancel Arches and the Lenten Veil

Thompson devotes careful attention to the chancel arch, a feature often taken for granted. He notes that early Saxon chancel arches were very narrow, as at Escomb and Bradford on Avon, so narrow as to shut off the chancel from the nave. This, he suggests, may be a survival of the primitive practice of keeping the consecration of the sacred elements from the public eye by means of curtains. All through the middle ages, it was customary during Lent to hang a curtain or Lenten veil across the chancel arch; hooks for its support may still be seen in many English churches. A narrow arch would be much more serviceable for this purpose than a wide one, and Thompson argues that its persistent continuance through the twelfth century may perhaps be attributed to this usage.

He also discusses the variety of chancel arches: some are low and unmoulded, with wide spaces of wall left on either side; others are given elaborate architectural treatment with moulded orders and jamb-shafts. At North Witham, the archway is low and narrow, and the arch is unmoulded; decoration is confined to the impost-blocks from which it springs. When in the thirteenth century the chancel was enlarged, these spaces were pierced with wide pointed openings, presumably to give a better view of the altar from the body of the church. Thompson is careful to note that such openings are exceptional and often later than the chancel arch itself.

The Lengthened Chancel as a Distinctive Space

While the nave was usually widened by the addition of aisles, the chancel was in most cases lengthened, and was often rebuilt entirely, to provide more room for the stalls of the quire. Thompson illustrates this with the example of Sandiacre in Derbyshire, where the twelfth-century nave and chancel arch were left untouched, but a splendid chancel was built in place of the old one during the fourteenth century. The screen that divided chancel from nave is gone, but nowhere can we appreciate better the practical separation between the parishioners' portion of the church and that devoted to the clergy and quire.

The lengthened chancel, forming a deep aisleless projection to the east of the building, was often treated with great architectural dignity. Thompson singles out the chancels of Mitford in Northumberland and Burgh-next-Aylsham in Norfolk, with their row of lancet windows in the side walls and the marked projection of their string-courses and buttresses. He finds nothing more beautiful, from their very simplicity of design, than these thirteenth-century examples. The effect is one of deliberate, restrained elegance, quite different from the more elaborate later styles.

Builders and Benefactors Beyond the Monasteries

A central theme of Thompson's book is to counter the popular idea that English parish church architecture is mainly due to the profuse benefactions of the religious orders. He argues instead that the builders were often local craftsmen working for parishioners, lords, and chantry priests. The special chapter on chantry foundations, which played so large a part in the life of the later middle ages, follows the general historical chapter and gives concrete evidence of how individual bequests shaped church fabric.

Thompson also emphasizes the role of the western tower, the porch, and the chancel as elements that grew from specific historical conditions rather than from a predetermined plan. He draws on a wide range of examples, from North Witham to Castle Rising, to show how local circumstances—such as the availability of materials, the wealth of the parish, or the influence of a particular patron—produced remarkable variety within a common tradition. His approach is archaeological and documentary, not merely aesthetic.

Thompson's book rewards readers who attend to his careful distinctions between what is typical and what is exceptional. He is especially good at showing how liturgical practice—like the Lenten veil—left physical traces in the building. The volume is best read alongside a good set of photographs or, ideally, visits to the churches he discusses. His tone is scholarly but accessible, and his insistence on historical conditions over romantic generalization makes this a durable introduction to the subject.

There’s a particular quiet in old church buildings—stone worn smooth by centuries of hands. Reading about chantry foundations feels less like study, more like remembering something I never saw. That same hush lingers in The Arts and Crafts of Older Spain, Volume 2 (of 3) — A Reader’s Guide, where even the smallest carved detail seems to hold its breath, waiting for the light to return.