The Medieval Skyscraper

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What a disappointment! That’s what I say to myself as I peer over the huge graveyard at St Mary’s church. Don’t get me wrong – it’s impressive. Too impressive. The 1,200-year-old architecture and art of Deerhurst’s church is supposed to be one of the finest examples of Anglo-Saxon culture. But that was a primitive age in the construction industry. And by a quick calculation, I’d say the edifice before me now is the height of a seven-storey building, surely way beyond the capabilities of eighth-century stone masons.

And there’s another problem. The church gate where I’m standing. It’s like no church gate I’ve ever seen. It’s a shoulder-high sheet of heavy, grey steel and looks more like a barrier that could be electronically slammed against suicide bombers, rather than the welcoming gateway to a tranquil country churchyard. It’s a flood gate. And this makes me even more convinced I’ve come to the wrong place. How could Anglo-Saxons have such a massive structure on marshy land? Well, it’s ridiculous.

I decide to have a closer look anyway, tutting all the way at life’s irritating confusions. The first thing that catches my eye inside the church’s west door is a stone carving. It’s a fresh orangey-yellow, with simple lines. Looks very modernist. The kind of sculpture Anthony Gormley is famous for.

“Hello, there. Can I help?” I hear a voice behind me, and turn. A neatly dressed woman introduces herself as Alice, a local historian. “I see you’re admiring our carving of the Virgin and Child.”

“Hmm,” I say, and, not wishing to be rude, add, “So who’s the artist?”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know?” she replies. “I suppose some Saxon mason with a talent.”