presentment three periods in the history of the Church, the primitive, the mediæval, and the modern.” Inside the porch the quaint chambers on the left are restorations of what in earlier times were, it is conjectured, recesses for meditation and study. In front of us is the second doorway, delicately carved, and much weather-worn owing to exposure of the soft stone before the building of the porch. The first glance we have of the interior of the church, from just within this doorway, must impress us with a sense of the dignity of the building.
North Aisle.—As we turn to go down the north aisle we will see, set in the pavement, a plain, square brass above the grave of George Snayth, auditor to Archbishop Laud, who was buried here, to be near his master, in 1651. The church is singularly rich in pavement brasses, and, before the removals and mutilations of Puritan times, possessed an even more remarkable collection of these memorials. At the eastern end of the aisle we come upon the curious stone commemorating Thomas Virby, seventh vicar. This is the only tomb of a pre-Reformation vicar that remains in the building. Though the slab is worn almost smooth by the feet of so many generations, yet the outlines of an elaborate design can still be traced upon it. A rubbing taken recently showed a full-length figure, with a dog lying at the feet to the left. The fragment of brass towards the top of the stone bore, apparently, an engraving of the head and of the hands, raised to the chin, in an attitude of prayer. Virby was a remarkable man. In a fifteenth-century English Chronicle, edited for the Camden Society in 1856, it appears that “in the XIX yr. of King Harry, the Friday before midsummer, a Priest called Sir Ric. Wyche, a Vicar in Essex, was burnt on Tower Hill for heresy, for whose death was a great murmuring and many simple people came to the place making their prayers as to a saint and bare away the ashes of his body for reliques. Some were taken to prison [in the Tower]: amongst others the Vicary of Barking Church beside the Tower, in whose parish all this was done.” Virby was charged with scattering “powder and spices over the place where the heretic was burnt that it might be believed that the sweet flavour came of the ashes of the dead.” But evidently this was considered no very great offence, for Virby was subsequently set free, restored to his position at Allhallows, and died Vicar in 1453. Nearer the altar steps will be found the beautifully engraved brass, in the French style, of John Bacon, who died in 1437. A heart, inscribed with the word “Mercy,” and encircled by a scroll, lies in the upper part of the stone, and the figures of Bacon and his wife, cut out of “latten” or sheet-brass, and two feet one inch in length, occupy the sides. The treatment of the drapery of both figures is quite perfect, giving, too, an excellent idea of the costume of the time. The scroll bears the words, “Mater Dei memento mei: Jesu fili Dei miserere mei.” Bacon belonged to the ancient company of Woolmen, which seems to have been the leading guild of the Middle Ages; its members were usually adventurous and wealthy men. Brasses dedicated to men of his craft are very numerous; and this need excite no surprise when we remember how much of their trade was continental and particularly carried on in those countries where latten was milled. Bacon, we may surmise from his will preserved at the Guildhall, was a man of substance and of many acres. Near by will be seen an incised slab over the tomb of the wife of Wm. Denham, Alderman, Sheriff, and Master of the Ironworkers’ Company, who departed this life “on Wednesday at 5 of ye clok at afternown Ester Weke ye last day of Marche A° D° 1540.” The brass has disappeared.
The finely wrought canopied altar-tomb against the north wall, close by the Bacon brass, dates back to the fifteenth century. It is carved in Purbeck marble and at the back has two small brasses, one representing a man with five sons and the other a woman with seven daughters, all kneeling. Name and date are both gone, but a shield in the left-hand corner enables us to connect the monument with the family of Croke. Sir John Croke, it will be remembered, was one of the early wardens of Berkinge Chapel, a trustee to whom Edward IV. “conveyed lands for the support of the Chapel of St. Mary” and founder of a chantry here in 1477. This John Croke, “citizen, leather-seller, and alderman of London,” was a generous benefactor to Allhallows, leaving to it at his death many gifts and sundry legacies “to the altar of Allhallows Bkg., the works of the church, to purchase vestments and books, for the repair of the rood-loft,” and so on. It is quite probable that this memorial was used as a chantry altar, of which there were many in the church until 1547 and the beginning of “the years of spoliation.” A well-carved crest will be seen on the pavement stone covering the Marishall tomb, and, nearer the altar-steps, a grey marble slab of the year of the Great Fire lies over the grave of Sir Roger Hatton, Alderman, whose coat-of-arms may be traced near the head of the stone. On the north wall we find a memorial to Charles Wathen, “the indulgent parent of nine children,” one of which, Master William, “received his death-wound in battling with a pirate in the East Indies” and should therefore be somewhat of a hero to all boys in the adventure stage of their careers. A broken pillar on this wall was put up in 1696 in memory of Giles Lytcott, “the first Controller-General of the Customs of England and the English Colonies in America,” whose mother was the daughter of Sir Thomas Overbury, poisoned in the Tower. Pepys, in his account of the Fire of 1666, refers to an “Alderman Starling, a very rich man, without children. The fire at the next door to him in our lane (Seething Lane). After our men had saved his house he did give 2s. 6d. amongst thirty of them, and did quarrel with some that would remove the rubbish out of the way of the fire, saying that they had come to steal.” This “very rich man” was Lord Mayor in 1670, and his arms are depicted in stained glass on one of the windows of this aisle “as a remembrance of the escape of the church from the Great Fire.” Attached to the pillar behind the pulpit there remains an interesting relic in the form of an elegantly designed hat peg, the only survivor of many such pegs on the pillars of this church, dating back, it is believed, to the early seventeenth century. Above the Croke altar-tomb, to the left, there is to be seen the kneeling figure of Jerome Bonalia, an Italian, probably the Venetian Ambassador, who died in 1583 and, in his will, thus indicates his burial-place, “Volendo che il mio corpo sia sepoltra n’ella pariochia d’i Barchin.”
East End.—The eighteenth-century monument that partially hides the window at the east end of the north aisle covers the tomb of Thomas Gordon of Tower Liberty, who, according to the inscription, had the “singular felicity” to command “esteem, confidence, and affection in the tender and more delicate connections of private life.” But his is certainly the misfortune to be remembered by as ugly and depressing a memorial as could be imagined. Even in the year of its erection a vestry minute records “that the monument now erecting for the late Mr. Gordon is a nuisance”! In Machin’s Diary, 1556, it is stated that on “the vi day of September was bered at Barking Church Mr. Phelype Dennys, Squyre, with cote of armes.” This Dennis coat-of-arms may still be seen, now somewhat time-worn, on the wall between the Gordon monument and the altar.
The beautiful and softly-toned stained glass of the East window is modern. The work of Mr. J. Clayton, it commemorates the incumbency of Dr. Mason, the first Head of the present College of Clergy attached to this church. The altar-piece beneath, heavy in design and gloomy in effect, is an example of the art of 1686. Some elaborate carving is hidden beneath the coverings and frontal of the Communion Table: it is an excellent example of the skilful workmanship in wood that has been to some extent neglected since the days of Gibbons. For many years the brass altar-rails, erected in 1750, were so blackened by neglect that they were often mistaken for rails of old wood. By their individual gracefulness when examined at close quarters, and yet solid appearance when viewed from the nave, these beautiful rails form one of the most striking adornments of the building.
Clergy Vestry.—Permission to enter this room should be obtained from the sacristan, who will show the many interesting documents treasured here. On the wall, to the right as one enters the room, hangs an excellent painting of Dr. Gaskarth, twenty-seventh vicar, who was appointed in 1686. “A highly popular Vicar, generous, and of firm, but conciliatory manners. Under his auspices the church was twice thoroughly repaired. He was vicar for forty-six years and died in 1732, aged 86.” Those who have an interest in such matters are recommended to read the beautiful Latin lines inscribed in the registers where, under the date Dec. 1, 1703, Dr. Gaskarth records the burial of his wife. On the wall, to the left of the entrance, there are two interesting old maps, the lower one, which is more of a picture than a map, giving an excellent idea of the appearance of London before the Fire, and the small one, higher on the wall, a representation of Allhallows, standing almost alone on Tower Hill, before the parish consisted of more than a few rows of cottages. This is the valuable “Gascoyne survey, made in 1597.” On the wall to the left of the fireplace will be found a key-plan to all the tombs, brasses, and memorials of the church, placed here through the instrumentality of the then Churchwarden, Mr. Henry Urquhart. Would that earlier churchwardens had taken like interest in the place, and left us such plans of the building in their day! From the windows of the vestry there is to be had a glimpse of the graveyard, somewhat depressing, with its many ancient and fast-decaying tomb-monuments and headstones.
The registers of the church, stored in an iron room opening off this vestry, contain much that is of very great interest, and time spent in their examination will not be lost. There are thirteen books, the first beginning in 1558, with the accession of Queen Elizabeth, and extending to 1650.
Taking the baptisms first, we are reminded that before the beginning of the records now remaining there was, about the year 1555, the christening ceremony of the famous Bishop Andrewes, “a native of this parish,” in the church. As the Bishop constantly prayed for Allhallows Barking, “where I was baptised,” this fact is beyond dispute though the actual entry is lost. In 1609 we come upon the name of Francis, son of Sir James Bourchier, Knt., under February 5. Bourchier was father-in-law of Oliver Cromwell, and a City merchant of considerable importance. He possessed an estate at Felsted in Essex, and a town house beside Tower Hill, “then a favourite residence of the lesser aristocracy.” In 1616 we find that a son of Sir William Apsley, Lieutenant of the Tower, was baptised here, showing the close connection that has always existed between this church and the Tower. But the most interesting of all the entries is that against October 23, 1644, when William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania, was brought to the font in Allhallows. His father, an officer of high rank in the navy, at that time “dwelt upon the east side of Tower Hill, within a court adjoining to London Wall,” and William, his eldest son, was born within that house, now demolished, within Tower Liberties. It is worth while to note that it was not until quite late in the eighteenth century that double Christian names were given to children brought to baptism.
With regard to marriages, the register begins in 1564, and in 1650 there is a curious entry, under March 28, which states that “a cupple being married went away and gave not their names”! In 1763 Samuel Parr, father of the celebrated Dr. Parr, married “Margaret Cox of this parish, spinster.” This Margaret was “the daughter of Dr. Cox, formerly Head-master of Harrow School.” Another interesting entry is that referring to John Quincy Adams, afterwards sixth President of the United States, who was thirty years old when, on July 26, 1797, he married Louisa Catherine Johnson of this parish. Judge Jeffreys also married his first wife here, but the entry has disappeared.
The Burial Register is most remarkable of all. In 1563, a plague year, there were no less than 284 burials, mostly women and children, and nearly 22,000 people died in that year in London alone. Other periods of plague and consequent excessive mortality were the years 1582, 1593, 1625, and 1665. In 1625 “394 persons died in this parish, being six times the average mortality.” The Calendar of State Papers for this year contains a record of “a petition from the minister and churchwardens of Allhallows Barking, praying that some part of the cloth for mourning for the late King, distributed among the poor of divers parishes of London, may be given to this parish, one of the poorest within the city walls and sorely visited by the plague.” The plague of 1665, most disastrous of a long series, is too well known, from sundry descriptions, to need more than mere mention here. Before the earliest date in this book of burials there was placed “in the graveyard of Barking church the headless body, very indecently interred,” of Bishop Fisher, executed on the East Smithfield side of Tower Hill in 1535. Reference has already been made to Fisher in connection with his imprisonment in the Bell Tower, and the removal of his body, after it had lain for some time in this churchyard, to St. Peter’s, on Tower Green. Another victim of Henry VIII.’s wrath, Henry Howard, the poet Earl of Surrey, was, in 1547, buried beside the church after a mock trial and subsequent execution on Tower Hill. His remains, also, were removed and taken, in 1614, to Framlingham in Suffolk. Lord Thomas Grey, brother of the Duke of Suffolk and uncle of Lady Jane Grey, was “heddyd on Tower Hill, April 28, 1554, and berried at Allhallows Barking.” In Queen Mary’s luckless reign, “a plot to rob the Queen’s Exchequer was discovered and the leaders sent to the Tower.” Machin’s Diary thus records the event: “On the eighth day of July, Henry Peckham and John Daneel were hanged on Tower Hill. Their bodies were cut down and headed, the heads carried to London Bridge and the bodies buried in Barkin church.” Continuing our inspection of the Burial Register, we come upon the most interesting entry of all. Under the date January 11, 1644, we read: “William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, beheaded T——.” The last word has been almost erased. We can but conjecture that the word was “Traitor,” and that some later hand scratched out all but the initial letter. But why was that letter left if every trace of so hateful a word was to be obliterated? Laud was buried in the Vicar’s vault under the altar, but his body was taken to St. John’s College, Oxford, in 1663. Laud’s body, “being accompanied to the grave with great multitudes of people, who in love, or curiosity, or remorse of conscience had gathered together, was decently interred in Allhallows Barking ... and had the honour of being buried in that church in the form provided by the Common Prayer Book after it had been long disused and almost reprobated in most of the churches in London.”