The Daily Telegraph

The Cambridges­hire gallows of deadly sins

- christophe­r howse

Something strange was hanging in the old church of All Saints and St Andrew in the rural Cambridges­hire village of Kingston when I visited it on Wednesday. The scene looked like the opening of a PD James crime novel.

It was a perfect English summer’s day and at the gate of the grassy churchyard swung a heavy wooden sign announcing “Church open”. It was. The north and south doors were open to a gentle breeze. No one came.

But at seven of the pillars of the nave chasubles hung from little wooden gibbets, like hanged martyrs. One bore the image of a pig’s head with large letters reading: “The pig of temperance.” Another, of a different colour, had a goat’s head: “The goat of chastity.”

If this was not a case for Inspector Dalgliesh, what was it all about? Art and Christiani­ty is the short answer, that being the name of an organisati­on trying to combine the two.

The installati­on at Kingston is the work of an artist and letter-cutter in stone, Bettina Furnée. She showed me the seven chasubles – the liturgical capes worn by priests celebratin­g the Eucharist. (The work is sewn by Isobel Chandler.)

“They unite the seven deadly sins, usually represente­d by these animals, with the contrary virtues,” she tells me. “The virtues and vices are blended. I don’t think we see them as contraries today, but as a continuum. The installati­on is more inclusive and in tune with our times.”

Partly she wants to win back these animals (“and women”) from identifica­tion with deadly sins.

The installati­on responds more to the church building than is obvious. Peter Reynolds, churchward­en here, and the author of the impressive guidebook to the church, showed me the remarkable wall paintings surviving from the 13th to 15th centuries (with some textual additions of the 17th century). In the chancel are remnants of knights in mail, thrusting out with lances beautifull­y depicted. These come from a representa­tion of a psychomach­ia (an

allegorica­l battle between virtues and vices), a theme taken, for example by the 4th-century Latin poet from Iberia, Prudentius. His Psychomach­ia was just the Middle Ages’ cup of tea. I can’t say I have read it, though his poetry of martyrdom is alarming stuff.

At the west end of the north aisle are outlines of a wheel showing the seven corporal works of mercy (feeding the hungry, visiting prisoners, etc), with, below, a very devilish demon beside the lost images of the seven deadly sins. To these the chasuble installati­on speaks.

The installati­on, there until October 1, is called

A World to Come. “Our current world is flawed and will be replaced,” the artist explains, “but it must be our collective making.” To pin the idea down, a neon display of red capital letters sits on top of the ancient chancel screen: A WORLD TO COME. The letter L flashes on and off, and I dimly asked if this was intentiona­l. Of course. It plays on “World” and “Word”.

During a service, the flashing would be maddening.

This church was one to which the fierce iconoclast and Parliament­ary Visitor William Dowsing came in 1644. “We brake down a crucifix, seven Ora pro nobis and gave order to levill the steps in the Chancell.”

Heaven forbid that I should emulate Dowsing in opposing church art, though I have reservatio­ns about using chasubles (as much as chalices instrument­s of sacred rites) in this exercise.

But I would like this numinous church to be seen and for people to find the money to mend the roof and save it for a world to come.

 ??  ?? ‘The Toad of Generosity’: the Rector of Kingston in chasuble
‘The Toad of Generosity’: the Rector of Kingston in chasuble
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