One
of my favorite places in London is a crypt. We had one of the best desserts we’ve
ever had there – Victorian sponge cake. You can eat meals, have a snack, drink
coffee or a glass of wine, and look down at the floor and read the memorial
stones for the people buried there.
It’s
the crypt
of St. Martin-in-the-Fields
Church.
We’ve
been to London on vacation twice in the past two years, and both times we’ve
been partially anchored by St. Martin-in-the-Fields. On the northeast side of
Trafalgar Square, it’s across the street from the National Gallery and National
Portrait Gallery, a short two blocks to the Leicester Square ticket kiosk, a
stone’s throw from Soho (if you’re so inclined), with a Charing Cross tube
station entrance across from the back of the church. Covent Garden is close; a
half-block walk and you’re in Whitehall or the Strand.
And
it’s not just the restaurant in the crypt that’s the attraction (although the
sponge cake is worth making a special trip for). We attended an evensong
service there during our first trip in 2012, and a concert in 2013. And it’s magnificent
building – a prototype for what we know in the United States as “the New
England church.”

Retired
Anglican priest Malcolm Johnson published his history of the church, St.
Martin-in-the-Fields, in 2005. It’s slightly dated, but it was on sale
in the church’s gift shop and it’s hard for me to resist a book like this,
particularly of a place I’m visiting.
And
so I learned about the saint and the church named for him.
St.
Martin was a soldier, born in 316 A.D. in what is now Hungary. He left the army
when he was baptized (pacifism was strong in the church at this time). He
eventually settled in what is now France, and established the first monastery,
which lasted until the French Revolution. He died in 397, and was buried on
Nov. 11, now marked as St. Martin’s Day.

The
church has been somewhat altered since 1723 – galleries added, clear glass
replacing the Victorian stained glass shattered during the bombing of World War
II. The area has also changed considerably – especially in 1832, when the Royal
Mews (stables) across the street was abolished and replaced by the national
Gallery of Art.
And
the people who lived here and/or worshipped here sound almost like a Who’s Who
of London history – William Hogarth, Thomas Chippendale, David Garrick, Thomas
Gainsborough, and a long list of kings and queens (St. Martin’s is officially a
“royal” parish).
A
considerable portion of the book is devoted to the 20th century and
the men who were the vicars. It was their vision and leadership that saw St.
Martin’s through two world wars and significant changes in the parish and in society
and culture at large. Today the church has numerous outreach programs, and
continues to be a draw for tourists all over the world (including two Americans
I know).
And,
as my wife will testify, it has great spongecake.
No comments:
Post a Comment