Wood Carvings in English Churches: I. Stalls and Tabernacle Work. II. Bishop's Thrones and Chancel Chairs

In Short

This volume serves as a comprehensive, scholarly survey of the ecclesiastical woodwork that once defined, and in many places still defines, the interior of English churches. Moving from the elaborate, tiered canopies of great cathedrals to the modest, sturdy chairs of parish chancels, the work maps the transition of style from the Gothic era through the Renaissance. By documenting these overlooked artistic treasures, the text preserves a record of craftsmanship that has frequently been lost to neglect, fire, or the shifting fashions of later centuries.

The Story

The narrative begins with an invitation to look closely at the "virgin soil" of English stallwork—a subject previously bypassed by art historians. The argument proceeds by dissecting the anatomy of the choir, explaining how stalls were not merely decorative but functional tools for the clergy, monks, and choristers who once populated them. The journey starts in the grand settings of collegiate and monastic churches, where the development of canopies, misericords, and traceried panels tracks a clear arc of ambition. The early, simpler designs give way to the "ogee" arches of the fourteenth century, before reaching the peak of fifteenth-century complexity, characterized by forests of pinnacles and intricate figure sculpture.

As the text moves forward, it confronts the reality of decline and change. The narrative explores how the Black Death influenced artistic output and how the Reformation, followed by later Victorian "restorations," stripped away much of this inheritance. The focus then shifts from the grand, towering stalls of cathedrals like Lincoln and Ripon to the humbler, yet equally significant, woodwork of parish churches. Here, the story reveals that the desire for beauty was not restricted to centers of power; village churches also housed fine craftsmanship, reflecting the local importance of chantry priests and parish choirs.

The final act of the argument concerns the evolution of the seat itself, specifically the bishop’s throne and the chancel chair. The narrative traces the lineage of these items from their ancient origins in Early Christian basilicas to the later, often domestic, adaptations found in English parishes. It debunks popular myths—such as the romanticized origins of certain "ancient" chairs—with the cold, clear light of historical evidence. Throughout this survey, the focus remains on the interplay between the ecclesiastical requirement for order and the artist’s impulse for expression. By the end, the reader sees the English church interior not as a static environment, but as a living record of shifting social structures, liturgical needs, and the enduring, if sometimes fragile, legacy of the woodcarver’s art.

How It Unfolds

The architectural foundation The account opens by establishing the function of choir stalls, explaining the logistical necessity of seating for clergy and choristers. It details the specific layout of rows and desks, setting a baseline for the later discussion of stylistic variations.

The rise of the canopy The narrative progresses into a chronological study of canopy design, contrasting the austere models of the thirteenth century with the "ogee" exuberance of the fourteenth. It highlights how these structures became increasingly complex, culminating in the elaborate, multi-storied designs found in major minsters.

The influence of patronage A significant beat focuses on the role of individual donors, such as merchants and bishops, whose wealth and ambition drove the evolution of stallwork. The text explains how these patrons pushed craftsmen to outdo the designs of neighboring cathedrals, leading to a competitive tradition of artistic excellence.

The shift to parish life The focus pulls back from the cathedral to the parish church, examining the role of chantry priests and the logistical demands of village music. This section argues that the same artistic standards present in great monasteries were mirrored, albeit on a smaller scale, in the countryside.

The survey of the throne The final movement investigates the history of the episcopal seat, mapping its journey from early marble prototypes in Mediterranean basilicas to the oak chairs of English chancels. The text concludes by clarifying the provenance of these pieces, separating late-period furniture from truly ancient relics.

The People

The book is populated by figures who exist as stewards of art rather than as protagonists in a traditional sense. The craftsmen are the primary, if often anonymous, agents; they are the ones who turned oak into "loose and airy lightness" or loaded gables with tiny, precise angels. Their ambition drives the narrative, as they strive to surpass the work of their predecessors at Ripon or Nantwich.

The patrons, such as Bishop John Langton or the donor John Beswick, appear as the catalysts for these efforts. Their desire to leave a mark on their respective cathedrals provides the impetus for the creation of stalls, thrones, and screens. They are often defined by the heraldry they left behind—coats of arms and initials carved into the wood—which serves as the primary evidence for the historian.

Then there are the figures of tradition, such as Sir Thomas More, who appear in anecdotes to bridge the gap between the mundane and the spiritual, illustrating how the choir was a space for both professional devotion and lay participation. Finally, the historians and antiquarians act as the objective observers, stripping away the layers of myth—such as the improbable claim that a specific chair was once used by St. Augustine—to reveal the actual, often more modest, history of the objects. They serve to keep the reader grounded in the evidence of surviving records and physical remains.

In Its Own Voice

"In England a great amount of magnificent stallwork still remains; on the stallwork indeed and the concomitant screens time and labour and money were lavished without stint in the last two centuries of Gothic art."

This observation sets the stage for the author's argument that English church woodwork has been historically underestimated.

"There is no instance of a man before Gibbons who gave to wood the loose and airy lightness of flowers, and changed together the various productions of the elements with a fine disorder natural to each species."

The author quotes Horace Walpole to highlight the exceptional quality of Grinling Gibbons' work at St Paul’s Cathedral.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is a study of how liturgical necessity translates into material culture. It argues that the interior of a church is a deliberate construction, where every carved bench, canopy, and throne serves a specific purpose in the enactment of the Divine Office. The underlying question is one of preservation: how does a society value its own history when its aesthetic tastes change? The text acts as both a defense of the Gothic tradition and an exploration of the tension between the functional requirements of the clergy and the creative impulses of the makers. It is about the persistence of beauty in the face of inevitable entropy and the importance of reading the physical evidence of the past with precision rather than sentimentality.

Why Read It Today

This book is for the reader who finds solace in the quiet corners of old churches and wants to understand the "why" behind the intricate details they see. It is a deeply rewarding, if sometimes demanding, companion for the architectural tourist or the history enthusiast. Because the author writes with the rigor of a scholar, the prose is dense with technical terminology and references to specific locations, which might initially feel intimidating. However, the warmth of his enthusiasm for the subject makes the learning process feel like a guided tour with an expert who has spent a lifetime looking closely at things others pass by.

What stays with you is the realization of just how much history is hidden in plain sight. After reading this, you will never look at a choir stall or an old chancel chair the same way; you will begin to see the "ogee" curves and the "poppy heads" as signatures of the people who shaped them centuries ago. It is a book that demands patience, but it rewards that patience with a profound sense of connection to the past. While some of the attitudes reflect the period in which it was written, the core of the work—a deep, observant respect for human craftsmanship—remains entirely relevant to any reader who values the preservation of beauty.