complete and his wife Dame Katherine Ferrers died in 1537. It was she who ordered the Babington monument to be built in the arch between the chancel and the chantry. She willed it to be made of alabaster but it was made of limestone, presumably to avoid the ruinous cost of so much alabaster.
The use of the chantry chapel was short-lived. In 1545 Henry VIII, in typically rapacious fashion, decided that endowments were misuse of money and started to seize them for himself because he, of course, would never misuse money. Two years later Edward VI abolished them altogether. Not all Babingtons were recusant Catholics, and Anthony’s son John actually helped Henry in the Suppression of the Monasteries. This might explain why Kingston’s chapel was not despoiled.
Pevsner is pretty dismissive of both church and, much more surprisingly, the monument of which more anon. We can certainly agree that everything west of the chancel and chantry are undistinguished and dates from two rebuildings of 1832 and 1900. The chancel itself, however, has Early English style chancel arch capitals and, most unusually, a tripe sedilia on the north wall. Was that relocated at some point? Either way, it seems that the chancel has some architectural connection with the Old Chapel before Babington began work on converting it to a church.
So to the monument. The main structure is a narrow rectangle with hefty columns at each corner and arches to north and south. Above it are parapets with pinnacles at the corners. There is no tomb chest or effigy although the structure is of a shape to accommodate one. Although it is believed that Babington and his wife were interred beneath the canopy, there is no sign than an effigy ever existed and I would add that is difficult to see how such effigies, had they existed, would have been integrated into the canopy structure. It is something of a mystery.
The whole structure is richly dedicated. Most numerous and charming are little carvings of people with “tuns” - large barrels. Some are children, making the rebus Babe-in-Tun. It is surprising, perhaps, to modern viewers but many leading families liked plays upon their own names and this was one such. Many shields are shown and represent the families from which the deceased hope to garner prayers to help ease their paths through the dreaded Purgatory. The columns have a number of figures and a whole raft of skeletons, believed to represent the Dance of Death.
Of even more interest is at the east end of the monument where there is a remarkable sculpture of the Day of Judgement, complete with bodies rising from coffins, some being devoured by a voracious Jaws of Hell, others marching piously and gratefully into a doorway to the Kingdom of Heaven. It is plausibly believed that this was once the reredos of the chantry altar. Other sculpted panels to the west of the monument were originally on top of the monument but were subsequently removed as being too heavy for the structure.
Pevsner said sniffily in that patronising donnish tone he occasionally adopted that the capitals “stick out excessively far” (for what, one wonders?), that the Doom carving shows “how inferior (to what, Nick?) the aesthetic qualities of the sculptors were” and - unbearably snobbishly - “altogether uncouth, if thoroughly meaty, provincial work”. Provincial forsooth! Oh, no! Pevsner, whisper it, was an artistic snob who habitually overlooked artisanal carving altogether, to the great detriment of his otherwise indispensable “Buildings of England” series. I think it was a generational thing, Pevsner having died in 1967 and having spent a lifetime studying and teaching fine art at universities stuffed with classically educated public schoolboys. Simon Jenkins, whom I love to poke fun at, said “as flamboyant a show Tudor pomp as the tower at Layer Marney...” And he get the point as I do and as Pevsner did not that this monument is an important insight into both the Tudor and the pre-Reformation aristocratic mindsets.
There’s not much more to say here; the pictures will speak for themselves. But do remember to walk around the outside of the east end of this church, notice all of the Babington iconography and reflect that what you are seeing, when you discount the modern nave, tower and so on, is to all intents and purposes what was once a standalone chantry chapel that has somehow survived those mad Tudors!
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