The History of England’s Cathedrals
By Nicholas Orme
Yale, 320 pages, $30
Readers of Professor Orme’s earlier books, such as Going to Church in Medieval England, will have a good idea of the level of scholarship to expect in this book; they will not be disappointed. This is a fine account of the history of cathedrals, from the mists of Roman Britain to today. Rather than considering all the individual buildings, the book looks at what they have in common — how and when they were founded; how they have been used; and their involvement beyond their precincts.
In August 314, the year after the Edict of Milan had tolerated Christianity, a church council met in the city of Arles, in Gaul. We know the names of three British bishops in attendance — Adelfius, Eborius, and Restitutus — and that two of them were associated with York and London. They presumably had buildings housing their cathedra, but nothing survives from that time, unlike in countries such as Italy and Egypt. When Augustine and his monks arrived in Canterbury in 597, they used the Church of St. Martin, which is partly constructed of Roman materials (its dedication probably reflects that Berta, Ethelbert’s Christian queen, came from Tours, St. Martin’s home city).
The re-evangelization prospered gradually, and as Orme points out, by the time of Bede (731) there were around 20 bishops across the country, though there were some areas without cathedrals, like the West Country, as a map of dioceses in circa 800 shows. Orme points out that some Saxon bishops looked after dioceses based on kingdoms rather than city-states, which led to much larger dioceses than in the Mediterranean world.
True, but medieval France combined the very small dioceses in Provence (presumably founded in Roman times) with the very large dioceses of central France (Bourges, Clermont-Ferrand, Limoges). Few traces of pre-Conquest cathedrals remain — North Elmham (Norfolk); Rochester (Kent); and Hexham (Northumberland) are examples of surviving fragments. And of course there is St. Albans, a building that only became a cathedral in 1877 and has some reused Saxon stonework in the transepts (and even some Roman tegulae, roof tiles).
A greater number of cathedrals became monastic foundations from late Saxon times into the Norman age, and a number of bishoprics were relocated. Moreover, among the Saxon bishops, only Wulfstan of Worcester retained his see after the Norman Conquest. The Normans wanted bigger cathedrals than the existing Saxon buildings, so rebuilding campaigns began at once. We see the fruits to this day in places like Durham, Ely, and Norwich.
Just as many of the great early Gothic campaigns in French cathedrals arose out of the ashes of fires at earlier cathedrals (just think of Chartres), similar things occurred in England. Just after the martyrdom of Thomas Becket in 1170, a fire gutted the choir of Canterbury Cathedral in 1174. The Frenchman William de Sens was chosen as the master mason for the rebuilding.
With the entry into the Gothic age, building campaigns led to some justly famous buildings, whose splendor lives on — Wells, Salisbury, Lincoln, Lichfield, York, and Canterbury, for example. Gloucester’s choir gives us a pioneering example of the very English Perpendicular style, in what was at the time an abbey. The pilgrimage to Becket’s shrine at Canterbury was at this time a big source of revenue, and this pilgrimage was not atypical. Cathedrals became huge buildings, with many chapels, clearly shown in the plan of Exeter Cathedral. These were necessary for the proliferation of services, which in turn required large numbers of clergy.
The Reformation in England kept bishops and cathedrals, though it got rid of monasteries, which changed the way in which some cathedrals ran. And of course the services on offer changed, as they did in parish churches. Some former abbeys became cathedrals, like Peterborough and Bristol, so the boundaries of some dioceses changed. One hundred years later, they survived the desire of some Puritans to demolish them (just as the French cathedrals mainly survived the revolution).
Hard on the heels of the Restoration, the Great Fire of London ensured that London needed a new cathedral. The Long 18th Century saw things remain largely unchanged until the growing population saw the establishment of new dioceses. And these were not just Anglican cathedrals (Manchester, Liverpool, Newcastle, Wakefield, Southwell, St. Albans, Truro), but a goodly number of Catholic cathedrals, following the “restoration of the hierarchy.”
Obviously new cathedrals had to be built for the new Catholic dioceses, the most majestic being Westminster; in the Anglican case, some parish churches were “upgraded,” though there was a new build that gave us J.L. Pearson’s magnificent building at Truro. And at Liverpool, construction of both the Anglican and Catholic cathedrals did not begin until the 20th century, which saw the creation of yet more cathedrals, including upgrades (Derby and Leicester), replacements (Coventry), and new builds (Guildford).
Orme raises the question of maintenance of these massive buildings, together with the question of who provides the money. It is a remarkable thing that in England, a country with an established church, the cathedrals are expected to raise the income. In France, a land with strict separation of church and state, the state maintains the cathedrals.
This somewhat breathless review concentrates on the buildings, but Orme does not do that, putting flesh on the bones, explaining the roles of the people (clergy and laity) who made the buildings live — as well as describing some of the personalities. If you want to know about what cathedrals have done for the best part of 2,000 years, this is your go-to.
