Across a wide clearing, hidden in its own grove of ancient trees, is the tiny round-towered church of St Mary, hunched behind its simple porch and under its thatched roof. It is stunning, a moment perfectly caught. No photograph can do it justice. It is a truly magical place.
The tower at Cranwich is one of the most ancient in all East Anglia, a thin Saxon tower with a ring of carstone and, higher up, a punctuation of extraordinary sound holes with knotted tracery. Two hundred years later, battlements and gargoyles were added, but then nothing else happened. Similarly, the nave is Norman, the chancel slightly newer. Several centuries later the late medieval period contributed windows, but after that the structure was complete, unaltered and barely repaired. Even the porch is thatched, and even the thatch seems ancient, moss-dank and dark from years of Norfolk winters.
Inside is dark, and will take a moment to adjust. The interior is very simple, a rustic 19th century makeover. The floors are brick, and damp has coated stone surfaces with green, as if the forest is reclaiming its own. The ceiling is plastered, with a simple wooden tympanum forming the chancel arch. The woodwork, dark with varnish, belies the silvery greyness all around; even the royal arms are monochrome.
A ledger stone in front of the sanctuary is carved elaborately, but by a local hand. Beside it, missed by Pevsner, missed by Mortlock, consecration crosses betray a medieval stone altar mensa, reset in the floor. It must be the original one from this church during its Catholic days, for who would bother to bring one from elsewhere?
A little harmonium sits against the west wall of the nave. On its pedals it proclaims itself mouse proof. There would not be rich pickings for a mouse here today. The font is plain, the only monument is one to John Partridge, a former Rector, who after several years painful illness, which he bore with perfect resignation, he departed this life 17th May 1815, in the 47th year of his life. The interior he knew has gone, but he would recognise the perfect simplicity of this place today.
There is headstone facing west, towards the old rectory, remembering someone who died at the age of 106.
The church remains a perfect example of all that a rural medieval church should be, an aesthetic pleasure, and one of my favourite little churches of all. Recently there has been a burgeoning of interest among the people of the parish. Cranwich church has received a grant from English Heritage to carry out necessary repairs, and the congregation has been galvanised into action. This really is a place where there is a sense of a living church: the heart of its faith community, yes, but also a prayerful space for anyone who visits it, be they local or not, and a touchstone down the long Cranwich generations.
You are looking for a long thin camo'd container in a tree.
“If anybody would like to expand to this series please do, I would just ask that you could let Sadexploration know first atchurchmicro@gmail.com so he can keep track of the Church numbers and names to avoid duplication.
There is also a Church Micro Stats & Information page found via the Bookmark list”