We walked through the village, watching the changing expressions of visitors as the full horror of the plague story hit home. From the mildly curious to the stark shock of those who aligned themselves with the story for a moment, it was interesting to observe those who merely skimmed the history from an emotional distance and those for whom empathy made it personal. It is difficult to keep the story at bay if you open yourself to what people experienced, rather than seeing them just as characters on the page of history.
Central to the story of the villagers’ response to the plague in 1665 was the church, even though all services were soon moved to a nearby field to try and prevent the spread of the disease, and it was there that we were heading.
There has been a church in Eyam since before the records of its incumbents began. Its first recorded rector served here in 1250, though its story goes back much further. In the churchyard stands an intricately carved ‘Celtic’ cross of Mercian design, dating back to the eighth century, preserving that mix of Pagan and Christian symbolism that typifies the style. The top part of the shaft is missing, broken long ago for use in domestic building, and we cannot help wondering what artwork and symbolism was lost.
Within the churchyard is the tomb of Catherine Mompesson, the Rector’s wife, who had stayed in the village when others left, to support her husband and his congregation. Her husband had wanted her to leave when they sent their children to Yorkshire for safety during the early days of the plague, but she had refused to go. Catherine was amongst the last to die during the outbreak, having contracted the disease whilst nursing those infected. You can only imagine how she and her husband must have felt as they faced these decisions. Catherine is buried close to her husband’s church. She was just twenty seven years old.
The current church of St Lawrence is a mainly fourteenth century building, yet traces of its earlier history are easy to find.
In this small church there is a feeling of living history, the continuity is caught and held here somewhere between the ancient burial urn, interred on the moor three and a half thousand years ago and the Saxon font that has seen the baptism of villagers for over a thousand years.
The font stands in St Helen’s chapel and close by a medieval grave slab bearing St Helen’s Cross is set into the wall.
All in all, it is one of those old churches that seems, on the face of it, to have everything we get excited about. It is obviously loved by its parishioners, is well cared-for and, from the children’s corner to the village notices around the church, still very much part of the community today. And yet, there is an oppressive atmosphere, felt by most of us, as if the ghost of sickness still clings to the place, not helped by the story of the plague displayed in the side chapel and the book listing the names of those who died; a place designed for spiritual inspiration given over to the memory of old death.
Wall paintings show the twelve tribes of Israel and a Memento Mori of grinning skeletons. But there are a number of beautiful stained glass windows, one of which commemorates Mompesson and his congregation, with vignettes telling their story, from the outbreak of the plague to the tragedy of Emmot Sydall and Rowland Torre, lovers who lived either side of the quarantine boundary.
Emmot, a young woman in her early twenties, lived in Eyam. Rowland lived in Stoney Middleton, a neighbouring village just a short walk away. They would meet every day, as young lovers do, and when the quarantine was imposed, their meetings continued, though they could only shout to each other from a distance.
John Sydall, Emmot’s father, lived with his family opposite the cottage where the plague had broken out. He and four of his children were amongst the first to die. In the spring of 1666, Emmot failed to come to the rendezvous with Rowland. He returned every day to the appointed spot, until the quarantine ended some months later. At the first opportunity, he walked into Eyam to seek for his love, only to be told that she had fallen ill and died in April. One sad story amongst so many…
The Mompesson window also contains a ring of roses, in reference to the nursery rhyme, long thought to be associated with the story of the plague. In some ways, it is ironic that the beauty and fragrance of roses should be forever joined in the folk record with such a horrific episode in human history. In others, regardless of the historicity of the attribution, it is a good reminder that apparent beauty may hide its thorns and its petals strew a path to despair, and yet, when we face the horror of our darkest fears, our choices may lift us to the Light.
In spite of its beauty, no-one felt like lingering in the church. There were still two more places we wanted to take our companions that afternoon… and, as we walked out into the sunshine, we were acutely aware that the next story we had to share could be harrowing…
Reblogged this on The Light Behind the Story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for sharning, Alethea xx
LikeLike
Thank you. What an excellent tour. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
So I was told, but it is not one I’ve read. The real story, though, is horrifying.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Agreed. But you share sights and stories I’ve not heard. ❤
LikeLike
There is more to come from Eyam. x
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ll try to keep up. ❤
LikeLike
🙂 ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on GrannyMoon's Morning Feast.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for sharing, Granny.
LikeLike
I found Eyam a very moving place when we went there a few years ago. It still retains the melancholic sense of that remarkable and tragic story. A very special place.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is and it does… not somwhere easily forgotten.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on Where Genres Collide Traci Kenworth YA Author & Book Blogger and commented:
A sad time in history-the plague.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for reblogging this, Traci x
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome, Sue!
LikeLike
❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow! This was fabulous.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Jennie. It is a heartbreaking story to research. Reading the diaries and letters from that time really brings the tragedy home.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I bet it does! 💔
LikeLiked by 1 person
The blog took me through the journey of troubled times. The places shown make one feel lonely, sad but a bit philosophical as well.
The place is also a testimony to a few individuals who put others before self in servicing the severely ill, and even died serving them.
Wonderful blog!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. The resolution and compassion shown by the villagers was extraordinary.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes and I would perhaps like to know more about those times. May be you can bring another post on that historical period?
LikeLike
There are already several posts on the blog about this period.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on France & Vincent.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A lot to leaen thanks for sharing a bit history
LikeLike
Always happy to share 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I must read more about the actual cause of the plague. I know it had something to do with rats, and I think temperature change as well. I am not fully sure of what else might have been involved. I will do some reading on this on my own, but this is an excellent article and look at the people living in those times and how it affected all of them. Thank you most kindly.
LikeLike
It was thought to have been spread not by the ratsm but by their fleas.
LikeLike