History of an unexpected sort
When I came to England, I knew I would be knee-deep in history. If I wasn't researching my thesis, I imagined I would be rummaging in the branches of Steve's family tree. And for fun, I was sure I would visit a castle or two - at the very least. What I didn't expect to do this trip was make a journey through my own history. But that is exactly what I did yesterday.
First off, a little background. When I was a youngster, my great uncle Robert Beaumont (my Dad's mother's brother) began researching the family tree. He began with his parents, Albert Saunders Beaumont and Dorothy Darling Beaumont of Massachuseets, and managed to take the branches back beyond the Mayflower. I am descended from several of those brave Pilgrims (such as Isaac Allerton and William Brewster). After Robert's death, other family members continued the work.
When my Aunt Jody (one of Dad's sisters) found out I was visiting the British National Archives during this trip, she suggested I see if I could find anything on one of our English ancestors. Peter Bulkley and his second wife (his first wife died after birthing MANY children) fled to the American colonies after Peter, a church rector, got into trouble for nonconformity. Peter went on to found Concord, Massachusetts, and one of his sons was one of the first graduates of Harvard University. His grandaughter was the mother of Ralph Waldo Emerson. But enough name dropping.
Jody thought that since Peter was essentially run out on a rail that some record about it might exist in the archives. So I said I'd look and I did. But I came up empty. A couple of weeks ago, Jody contacted me with some online research she had done. It turns out that the church in which Peter was rector still stands. On top of that, his notoriety is well documented there. In fact, when the church celebrated an anniversary back in the 80s, the church Peter founded in Concord, MA, donated funds to help with renovations. And several families descended from Peter (the man was quite adept at the whole fathering children thing) have visited the church over the years to pay tribute. Jody said we'd have to go there one day and sign the visitors' book as descendents of Peter.
I thought, 'why wait for one day?' Unfortunately, the village is too remote for me to reach via train or bus, so I contacted Jackie and Nick and asked if they'd be interested in taking a trip down there. Yesterday (Wednesday) we did just that and spent some time in Odell, Bedfordshire, at the All Saints Church.
I took tons of photos, but I'm going to post them at the end of this blog. I want to try and convey my experience without interrupting it with visual commentary.
First off, the village of Odell is quite charming and picturesque. The church sits on a small hill. It dates to the 15th century and, according to the booklet I bought about it, is "described in England's Thousand Best Churches (2001) as 'unrestored and charmingly atmospheric.'" The phrase fits the church to a T, which I think is what gives it its charm.
We parked in the grass outside the church walls and walked into the churchyard. I immediately began checking dates on the gravestones. Although Peter wasn't buried here, his father (also a rector here) was, as was Peter's first wife, and some of his children. Unfortunately, the stones I saw dated to the 19th century. They were too new, because Peter left for America in 1635.
The church usually isn't open during the week and you have to go get the key from the rectory office in town. But as luck would have it, some roof work was going on and the church door was open. So we went inside. The first thing I noticed after I walked inside and wiped my feet on the bristled mat was the massive pipe organ dominating the left end of the church. Above it were the cords that operated the six bells hanging in the tower above. Pews filled most of the space before me, and in the right end of the church was the chancel, which featured some memorials, a beautiful stained glass window and the Table (which I would have called an altar, but have learned from the church handbook is an inaccuracy).
I began walking around the room, snapping photos, and trying to get a feel for the place. I love visiting old churches and I like to open myself up to them. Many, like my fave Yorkminster, have a sense of serenity about them. I feel at peace in most churches and religious places (like stone circles). Others - not so much - because they've been bombarded by tourism and have lost that peaceful quality in the tumult of other energies. But I digress . . .
All Saints had that feeling. But I was looking for more. I was looking for a connection. Members of my long-ago family once sat in that church. Two of them were rectors there and led the congregation. Surely I would find some link to that. But I didn't. As I said to Jackie and Nick, "It feels like a church." But I was excited to be there and went a little crazy with my picture taking. I'm normally picky with what shots I take, but I was just snapping away like a woman possessed. I also did something I don't usually do - I sat for awhile in one of the old pews.
Once I had exhausted my perusal of the interior (which included a plaque naming the past rectors and a print of a portrait of Peter), we went outside and checked out all the gravestones. One thing Jackie commented on as we circled the building was you could tell the windows were original, because they were crooked. It gave the church such a rustic charm seeing such flaws. As for the gravestones - none were earlier than the 19th century. But Nick had it figured out pretty quickly.
In the earlier period, graves weren't marked by vertical headstones. They were covered with flat sheets of engraved stone. Sure enough, along a path near some of the first headstones I had examined, Nick found a flat stone overgrown with grass. After scuffing carefully at it for a bit, we found writing. This grave was also from the 1800s, but it was from an earlier date.
We moved back closer to the church after Nick mentioned earlier graves would be placed nearer the church. Sure enough, he uncovered a couple of flat stones from the 18th century. What broke my heart was mere inches from where Nick uncovered these grave markers stood the church's garbage cans. Grass had grown over the entire area and obscured the graves marked there. More than likely, the graves have been covered over for decades. I knew that I was not going to find any family gravestones this day, and wished I lived nearby so I could volunteer to find them. How many other families are similarly obscured by time? Of course, the current rector probably has a plan somewhere noting where the graves are. He probably figures let them rest in peace.
As we left the church (with me snapping photos until the very end), I was buoyant by the experience. It was a lovely church, and it was nice to have a tie to it. We had lunch at The Bell pub, which is across and just down the road from All Saints. The thatched-roof pub dates to the 17th century and gets its name from the church's bells. We had a nice meal and I took photos inside the pub, which garnered its charm and ambience from its low wood-beamed ceiling.
And then we came home. It's now the next evening and I've had time to reflect on my visit to All Saints. I think the reason that I didn't feel a connection to the church when I was there was because it was just too much to process. What made me an historian was my enthusiasm for historical places and things. When I walk into an old church or castle, I have always bore a thought about the people who once stood where I stood and what their lives were like. For instance, when I see the Traitor's Gate at the Tower of London, I always stop and consider how terrified Princess Elizabeth must have been when she was brought through it to the Tower at her sister's command. So when I was standing in All Saints, my mind was already thinking of the people who once worshipped there. I think it may have been too much to try and fit in the notion that some of those people were family, to boot, and that their history is actually my history, too.
When I sat in the pew yesterday and looked around the church and toward the chancel, I was doing what Peter's wife and children once did. And although the current pulpit and Table date to after Peter's departure, the screen that separates the chancel from the rest of the church dates to the 15th century. So when I walked through the door in the screen, I was walking in the footsteps my ancester took nearly four hundred years earlier. And that, my friends, is an awesome feeling. And one that creates an undeniable connection.
=================================
Here some of the photos I took at All Saints in Odell.
All Saints Church in Odell, Bedfordshire, which dates back to the 15th century. The clock was added in 1820.
The back of All Saints.
Looking toward the chancel.
The Table within the chancel.
Standing in the chancel and looking toward the bell tower.
The pipe organ. Above it are the bell cords, which are really difficult to see.
The pews date to the 17th century, but the seats of these are from the original medieval pews dating to the 15th century.
The plaque listing past rectors. Peter and his father, Edward, are listed in the right column third and second from the top, respectively.
A close-up of the Bulkleys' listings.
A framed print of a portrait of Peter Bulkley.
The bell tower.
One of the crooked windows.
These are the 18th-century graves I mentioned that are next to the garbage bins. Heartbreaking.
The visitor's book that I signed as a descendent, twice-over, of Peter Bulkley. The twice-over is because the children of Peter's son, Gershom, had children who married. So Gershom shows up in my tree on two different branches.
First off, a little background. When I was a youngster, my great uncle Robert Beaumont (my Dad's mother's brother) began researching the family tree. He began with his parents, Albert Saunders Beaumont and Dorothy Darling Beaumont of Massachuseets, and managed to take the branches back beyond the Mayflower. I am descended from several of those brave Pilgrims (such as Isaac Allerton and William Brewster). After Robert's death, other family members continued the work.
When my Aunt Jody (one of Dad's sisters) found out I was visiting the British National Archives during this trip, she suggested I see if I could find anything on one of our English ancestors. Peter Bulkley and his second wife (his first wife died after birthing MANY children) fled to the American colonies after Peter, a church rector, got into trouble for nonconformity. Peter went on to found Concord, Massachusetts, and one of his sons was one of the first graduates of Harvard University. His grandaughter was the mother of Ralph Waldo Emerson. But enough name dropping.
Jody thought that since Peter was essentially run out on a rail that some record about it might exist in the archives. So I said I'd look and I did. But I came up empty. A couple of weeks ago, Jody contacted me with some online research she had done. It turns out that the church in which Peter was rector still stands. On top of that, his notoriety is well documented there. In fact, when the church celebrated an anniversary back in the 80s, the church Peter founded in Concord, MA, donated funds to help with renovations. And several families descended from Peter (the man was quite adept at the whole fathering children thing) have visited the church over the years to pay tribute. Jody said we'd have to go there one day and sign the visitors' book as descendents of Peter.
I thought, 'why wait for one day?' Unfortunately, the village is too remote for me to reach via train or bus, so I contacted Jackie and Nick and asked if they'd be interested in taking a trip down there. Yesterday (Wednesday) we did just that and spent some time in Odell, Bedfordshire, at the All Saints Church.
I took tons of photos, but I'm going to post them at the end of this blog. I want to try and convey my experience without interrupting it with visual commentary.
First off, the village of Odell is quite charming and picturesque. The church sits on a small hill. It dates to the 15th century and, according to the booklet I bought about it, is "described in England's Thousand Best Churches (2001) as 'unrestored and charmingly atmospheric.'" The phrase fits the church to a T, which I think is what gives it its charm.
We parked in the grass outside the church walls and walked into the churchyard. I immediately began checking dates on the gravestones. Although Peter wasn't buried here, his father (also a rector here) was, as was Peter's first wife, and some of his children. Unfortunately, the stones I saw dated to the 19th century. They were too new, because Peter left for America in 1635.
The church usually isn't open during the week and you have to go get the key from the rectory office in town. But as luck would have it, some roof work was going on and the church door was open. So we went inside. The first thing I noticed after I walked inside and wiped my feet on the bristled mat was the massive pipe organ dominating the left end of the church. Above it were the cords that operated the six bells hanging in the tower above. Pews filled most of the space before me, and in the right end of the church was the chancel, which featured some memorials, a beautiful stained glass window and the Table (which I would have called an altar, but have learned from the church handbook is an inaccuracy).
I began walking around the room, snapping photos, and trying to get a feel for the place. I love visiting old churches and I like to open myself up to them. Many, like my fave Yorkminster, have a sense of serenity about them. I feel at peace in most churches and religious places (like stone circles). Others - not so much - because they've been bombarded by tourism and have lost that peaceful quality in the tumult of other energies. But I digress . . .
All Saints had that feeling. But I was looking for more. I was looking for a connection. Members of my long-ago family once sat in that church. Two of them were rectors there and led the congregation. Surely I would find some link to that. But I didn't. As I said to Jackie and Nick, "It feels like a church." But I was excited to be there and went a little crazy with my picture taking. I'm normally picky with what shots I take, but I was just snapping away like a woman possessed. I also did something I don't usually do - I sat for awhile in one of the old pews.
Once I had exhausted my perusal of the interior (which included a plaque naming the past rectors and a print of a portrait of Peter), we went outside and checked out all the gravestones. One thing Jackie commented on as we circled the building was you could tell the windows were original, because they were crooked. It gave the church such a rustic charm seeing such flaws. As for the gravestones - none were earlier than the 19th century. But Nick had it figured out pretty quickly.
In the earlier period, graves weren't marked by vertical headstones. They were covered with flat sheets of engraved stone. Sure enough, along a path near some of the first headstones I had examined, Nick found a flat stone overgrown with grass. After scuffing carefully at it for a bit, we found writing. This grave was also from the 1800s, but it was from an earlier date.
We moved back closer to the church after Nick mentioned earlier graves would be placed nearer the church. Sure enough, he uncovered a couple of flat stones from the 18th century. What broke my heart was mere inches from where Nick uncovered these grave markers stood the church's garbage cans. Grass had grown over the entire area and obscured the graves marked there. More than likely, the graves have been covered over for decades. I knew that I was not going to find any family gravestones this day, and wished I lived nearby so I could volunteer to find them. How many other families are similarly obscured by time? Of course, the current rector probably has a plan somewhere noting where the graves are. He probably figures let them rest in peace.
As we left the church (with me snapping photos until the very end), I was buoyant by the experience. It was a lovely church, and it was nice to have a tie to it. We had lunch at The Bell pub, which is across and just down the road from All Saints. The thatched-roof pub dates to the 17th century and gets its name from the church's bells. We had a nice meal and I took photos inside the pub, which garnered its charm and ambience from its low wood-beamed ceiling.
And then we came home. It's now the next evening and I've had time to reflect on my visit to All Saints. I think the reason that I didn't feel a connection to the church when I was there was because it was just too much to process. What made me an historian was my enthusiasm for historical places and things. When I walk into an old church or castle, I have always bore a thought about the people who once stood where I stood and what their lives were like. For instance, when I see the Traitor's Gate at the Tower of London, I always stop and consider how terrified Princess Elizabeth must have been when she was brought through it to the Tower at her sister's command. So when I was standing in All Saints, my mind was already thinking of the people who once worshipped there. I think it may have been too much to try and fit in the notion that some of those people were family, to boot, and that their history is actually my history, too.
When I sat in the pew yesterday and looked around the church and toward the chancel, I was doing what Peter's wife and children once did. And although the current pulpit and Table date to after Peter's departure, the screen that separates the chancel from the rest of the church dates to the 15th century. So when I walked through the door in the screen, I was walking in the footsteps my ancester took nearly four hundred years earlier. And that, my friends, is an awesome feeling. And one that creates an undeniable connection.
=================================
Here some of the photos I took at All Saints in Odell.
All Saints Church in Odell, Bedfordshire, which dates back to the 15th century. The clock was added in 1820.
The back of All Saints.
Looking toward the chancel.
The Table within the chancel.
Standing in the chancel and looking toward the bell tower.
The pipe organ. Above it are the bell cords, which are really difficult to see.
The pews date to the 17th century, but the seats of these are from the original medieval pews dating to the 15th century.
The plaque listing past rectors. Peter and his father, Edward, are listed in the right column third and second from the top, respectively.
A close-up of the Bulkleys' listings.
A framed print of a portrait of Peter Bulkley.
The bell tower.
One of the crooked windows.
These are the 18th-century graves I mentioned that are next to the garbage bins. Heartbreaking.
The visitor's book that I signed as a descendent, twice-over, of Peter Bulkley. The twice-over is because the children of Peter's son, Gershom, had children who married. So Gershom shows up in my tree on two different branches.
LOVE THE CHURCH PHOTOS! Thank you!!
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