St Mary church, East Guldeford: The gem of Walland Marsh (Romney Marsh 1)

Prefatory notes and maps showing the situation of Romney Marsh in Kent (within which is incorporated Walland and Denge Marshes)

Romney Marsh: southernmost part of Kent

Romney Marsh is the generic name for the unique, and geologically very recent, levels which form the southernmost corner of Kent. It comprises: to the north east, Romney Marsh proper; to the south west, Walland Marsh; to the south east, Denge Marsh and the shingle promontory of Dungeness; and, to the west of Rye and the river Rother, Pett Level, which lies in the county of Sussex. Guldeford Level is incorporated into Walland marsh, and lies on its south western edge, east of Rye and north of Camber.

Click on map to see the three divisions of the Marsh clearly
This is a land drainage map of 1984 

Romney Marsh was once a salt marsh, but has been reclaimed from the sea by gradual degrees over the centuries. Exactly who reclaimed, or ‘inned’ which sections and when is not entirely clear, but it is certain that Dutch expertise played a very significant part. The word ‘marsh’ is misleading: see term below

Inning is a term which may be taken quite literally to refer to the infill of an area which has been banked or shored against the influx of the sea.

Guldeford is pronounced as Guildford

Guldeford Marsh C 1752. The Rother as estuary

Guldeford Level. Ordnance Survey 1813–1819. Cassini reprint. The river Tillingham, seen on the far left no longer reaches the sea at Pier Head (which no longer exists as a place name), but has controlled outlet through the Rother, centre. From Rye harbour to the sea, the Rother flows through an artificial and comparatively narrow channel, which is ‘vertically walled’. Sea water is prevented from contaminating the marsh by a sluice at Scots Float approximately 2 miles inland. Consequently, as the tide turns, the Rother flows out with such swiftness that its bed is scoured, and the build up of silt prevented. This had been a major problem over the centuries. The Rother, historically sluggish, has meandered at different times in history eastward across Romney Marsh and exited to the sea – as far as can be ascertained from geological evidence – both at New Romney and at Hythe.   

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St Mary, East Guldeford, cannot be classed as a work of notable architectural beauty – as we normally understand that description – yet it is a uniquely charming church, and one that is strikingly situated. It is probably one of the least adorned churches in the British Isles: it stands ‘four square’ and isolated (even from its eponymous and tiny hamlet) on the western side of the marsh levels, some fifteen miles from the definitive, cliff–boundary of Hythe at the easternmost edge of the levels. (Pett Levels, to the east of Rye, constitute the westernmost ‘section’ of Romney Marsh, even though the river Rother  forms a definitive divide in the Marsh, with the first bridging point at Rye.) 

It has stood here since its consecration in 1505 by Richard Fitzjames, bishop of Chichester, in whose diocese the church stood (in which diocese it still stands: there being no cathedral city in East Sussex). And if it further seems strange that East Guldeford is in Sussex, given that Romney Marsh is situated almost entirely in Kent, then that is because the easternmost county boundary of East Sussex has thrown a little hook into Romney Marsh and netted East Guldeford and Camber; and the apparent inconsequentiality of this boundary – on an area that was beneath the sea at time of the Book of Doomsday, 1086 – may well prove beyond explanation.

The building of a church in this seemingly most unlikely of places would not have been possible (or occurred) had not “the abbot of Robertsbridge granted Sir Richard Guldeford, by royal licence, 1,500 acres of salt marsh to hold of the king [Henry VII] by fealty at a rent of 12d [twelve pence] a year.” [ ¹ Lutton] The salt marsh was to the east of Rye and the river Rother; and during the 1490s was reclaimed, to form the Guldeford Inning. Once freed of salinity, the rich alluvial soil produced fine quality grazing for the famous Romney or Kent sheep. On this reclaimed land, Sir Richard Guldeford was granted faculty to build a church, which he carried out at his own expense. The Guldeford family were pious: in particular, Richard’s father, Sir John, who “expressed a strong interest in those Wealden parishes where he had greatest interest. He stipulated that his ‘out berying to be made not pomposely’ and bequeathed 4d to every poor household in Tenterden to pray for his soul. This he extended to four neighbouring parishes . . .” [Lutton]

So it is that of the fourteen surviving churches on Romney marsh, East Guldeford is the only one in Sussex, and the only one to be built entirely of brick. This latter fact caused me considerable confusion when I first visited the church in the 1980s. I of course noticed the brick buttresses (as well as an unsightly patchwork of rendering elsewhere) and assumed these  to be late nineteenth or early twentieth century attempts to shore and patch up the church. Further the brickwork was so badly eroded by the prevailing south–easterly gales from the English Channel – which meet with no resistance from the westerly Pett Levels – that I feared for the entire structure. How, I wondered, could or would funds be found to prevent it from becoming a ruin? How, in the future could we evoke its memory but through such fine graphic renderings as those of John Piper? Romney Marsh, King Penguin, 1950.

Imagine my delight then, on finding (this November, 2014) that St Mary had been thoroughly repaired and renovated (principally by Carden and Godfrey in 2009). It now looks splendid, and would seem to have an assured future (with financial assistance from The Romney Marsh Historic Churches Trust).

The Exterior  

Prefatory note

After first posting this blog, I contacted Carden and Godfrey, asking if they could kindly give me some information about their restoration of East Guldeford, and was sent a very full account by Richard Andrews (the architect primarily responsible for this work). I am very grateful for to Mr Andrews for his response – which gave me more details than I could possibly have wished for – and which I thought at first of appending to my blog (in abbreviated form). However, for the sake of continuity, I’ve decided to include a short paraphrased introduction, followed by direct quotation of Richard’s communication.

I think it fair to say that, before the involvement of Carden and Godfrey, the badly eroded fabric of East Guldeford had received what might best be described as piecemeal repair, resulting in a hotchpotch scarcely deserving the name of restoration. When Carden and Godfrey became involved (in 2012), “the north side was crumbling brickwork, the east wall was a mixture of render and brickwork, and the west wall was similar but with less render While there was clear evidence of render on the west and east walls, there was none on the north wall, and as a result some internal consideration of whether it was right to render the lot - was it always rendered? In the end pragmatism ruled, and I decided simply to consolidate the north wall brickwork, replacing only the worst bricks. The new bricks were made behind Hastings using local clays, and matched the old in thinness and colour and moulding. The east wall had its later buttresses (with bigger bricks) either side of the east window removed in the 1970s I think, leaving patches of lined-out render below, indicating that this wall was rendered before the buttresses were added in the 18th C (?); that having been said the lining-out of the render is hardly a 15thC feature, so was not considered to be original. In the end we put stainless steel expanded metal over the lot and rendered over, keeping the side buttresses exposed in repaired brickwork. The more protected west wall was basically repaired as found. The south wall pebbledash started coming off a couple of years ago so the opportunity was taken to replaster the lot on expanded metal using the same render and the same contractor as for the east wall -a benefit of this is that the arguably over-restored south wall buttresses are less demanding than before.

All of this has been possible through the small band of dedicated parishioners supported by the Romney Marsh Historic Churches Trust – a great benefit of being among those Kent churches!”

Note: the following was written before I had further information from Carden and Godfrey, but I do not think that it will cause any confusion if I leave the text unchanged. 

The bricks are “of varying colours and textures . . . laid in English Bond Figure 2.3 (i.e. one course laid as ‘headers’ and the next course as ‘stretchers’ and so on alternately” to a depth of three feet.” [ ² Steer]). The diagonal sections of brick incorporated into the two buttresses either side of the doorway on the windowless west wall are examples of brick tumbling [ ³ Barlow]: whether, in this instance, it also strengthens the structures I do not know. And quite what purpose is served by the (70º) diagonal courses of buttress–brick adjacent to the south wall and aligned to the outer buttress–edges, it is hard to say.

I quoted Steer above on the “varying colours and textures” of the bricks. And truly those of the south wall are a delight. The predominant colour is perhaps yellow ochre – particularly of the bricks surrounding the doorway. Otherwise, the bricks are red ochre, offset by whitish–grey lichen patches, the green of such plants as have managed to gain purchase, the blackish wood of the door, and the white space between the door and the chamfered or two–sided arch. 

The outlines formed by the hipped (four–sloped) roof, the pyramidal bellcote, and the south and north buttresses form a very satisfying ‘origami’ pattern of brick and tile. Almost, from this angle, the church looks like some kind of grand fortified barn. Yet no barn ever had bellcote, as far as I am aware, and the building is unmistakably ecclesiastical. However, Lutton writes that “it most resembles the barns that scatter the marshland landscape and so translates local vernacular style into self conscious pious statement.”

The number of buttresses supporting the church has changed over the centuries. Steer writes that “extra buttresses were added to the east and west walls in the 18th century . . . to combat the thrust of a wide building on marshy ground.” This was probably the only change made to the total of the buttresses since 1505. The current – and no doubt permanent – total is four to the north and south, and two to the east and west. The condition of the church as it was before at least 1973, and as it is today can be clearly seen by comparing the photographs below.

         Photograph from Steer (source not given). View from the south–west

The interior

As a result of one of those unaccountable oddities that occasionally assail me, I did not try the church door to see if it was open. It just gave the look of being firmly closed – as might appear from a glance at the photograph of the west front above. Yet in fact it is never closed! (It contains no valuables, so why should it be?) However, photographs show the interior to be pleasingly light – the walls being painted in pale cream. It has no structural division between the nave and the chancel. Above and between the eastern windows is a painted frieze of angels. But these are of inferior quality, and are thought to be late Victorian. There is no evidence of any earlier decoration. There are box pews and a double decker pulpit, but otherwise a gratifying absence of the dark Victorian wood which tends to cast a somewhat gloomy pall over so many church interiors. (Excessive embellishment or ornamentation of churches – or cathedrals – although often of great beauty, hardly reflects the teachings of Christ. Rather, they tend to be reflections of a Christology with which Christ – as he is presented in the gospels – would have been profoundly impatient.)

East Guldeford from the north

I do not know of any other church that has such an unusual history – even though I am sure that such abound. It can hardly be seen from the road or the Marshlink railway line. Like some treasure in a provincial museum or art gallery you may have it all to yourself – probably for several hours, if not an entire weekday. The Marsh footpaths are difficult to follow, and its ravelled waterways may only too easily block your way if you do not read your map very carefully. Further the eastward path, towards Appledore station, looks very uninviting. So it is that few venture that way – or across the Marsh at any point. Its atmosphere percolates very slowly into the soul, and if there is any fauna that represent St. Mary, East Guldeford, then it is the heron, that solitary watcher of the dykes. The only difference being that St. Mary has stood sentinel for five hundred years.  

The (apparently) uninviting autumn path towards Appledore station

Endnote:

There is more to say about East Guldeford church; as indeed about Sir Richard Guldeford, who embarked from Rye on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1506. This I shall write about in my next blog, which will probably be the first of 2015.   

¹  Rob Lutton (Lecturer in the Faculty of Arts, University of Nottingham), Richard Guildford’s Pilgrimage: Piety and Cultural Change in Late Fifteenth– and Early Sixteenth–Century England. From The Journal of the Historical Association, Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 2013     

² Francis W. Speer, Guide to the Church of St. Mary, East Guldeford. The East Guldeford Parochial Church Council. 1972  

³ I am grateful to my friend Adrian Barlow for shedding light on this. In an email he makes this comment “the angled brickwork on the buttresses is technically called 'tumbling-in work': it's more often seen on gable ends. From your very clear photograph, this looks a particularly interesting and complex example.” It seemed a further curiosity that Steer gives the dimensions of the bricks as “approximately 9¼ by 2 inches.” I found it hard to imagine that I’d ever seen a brick of so thin – except perhaps on a Tudor building – and yet when I measured the Cambridge Whites on our garden wall I found them to be 9 by 2¾; and those on the walls of our 1888 terraced house 9 by 3 inches. Still, looking at the close–up photograph of the East Guldeford buttress, the bricks do appear to be approximately 3 inches in depth. Brick slips – used to fill spaces where standard bricks will not fit – could be 2 inches thick, or less – but these are not used for entire courses of brickwork. (I now understand that the west wall buttress bricks are atypical to East Guldeford, and that the bricks of the walls are indeed thinner. As referenced in the email from Richard Andrews, quoted above.)

Colour photographs copyright the author

The Rother today as a managed river