Sparsely strewn among the pews, like Gormley figures, or extras in a crime drama (of the kind where the priest is perpetually tidying hymn books), twenty clergy are seated about me for a retreat day at Edington Priory, Wiltshire. Recent months have asked much of parish priests, so I’ve invited mine here for a few hour’s peace: some inspiration ahead of the Lenten fast.
Hard against the escarpment of Salisbury Plain, Edington is the purported site of the Battle of Ethandun, King Alfred’s conclusive victory over the Danes - and the kind of place one imagines E.M.Forster had in mind when he wrote how ‘the fibres of England unite in Wiltshire’. Experienced by most from the canal-like A303 oozing past Stonehenge, the county’s odder reaches are numerous – like the abandoned village of Imber, deep into the Plain. Like those in their Dorset counterpart in Tyneham, residents of Imber were required to leave their homes in 1943 to clear the ground for tank battalions preparing for D-Day and never permitted to return. The Rector of Edington is also, enjoyably, that of Imber (rather like the Bishop of Dunwich, responsible for a place long since submerged) and the Priory contains, I find, several refugee items belonging to Imber’s church of St Giles: two tombs and a sturdy wooden altar.
This morning there is a scattering of rifle fire from the ranges – Ukrainian campaigns have been rehearsing here for months – yet amid these restricted areas, St Giles abides, un-shelled, as the hamlet’s most well-preserved member. Curated by the entirely wonderful Churches Conservation Trust, it holds out for peace, wondering when people might eventually turn up for Mattins.
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