Like much else rebuilt out of brick dust, ash, and silt of soot; a holocaust in that word’s
true cast: a multiplex burnt offering, residue of scorched hollows, roast flesh,
hallows torched, when the City went up.
Roman and Saxon roused from half-houseled sleep where they had housed.
The font cover here a static fountain of detail divinely stressed.
All Hallows Barking: let her take precedence in this litany and purview of holy residence;
saint-neighboured neighbourhood, its subterrane of the uncanny; and lost
detritus of the not to be doubted many who were tried in faith, who stood forth
for one truth or another, of whom no record survives in the decommissioned
hives of ecclesiastical and common law, but of whom some ‘noble essences’
— Thomas Browne — remain.
St Andrew Holborn for some years appeared woe-begone, as did other Wren
masterworks after Blitz drama and trauma.
St Mary Abchurch, for example, that intricate reredos torn into two thousand bits,
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login
details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us,
including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine
, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews,
why not subscribe
to the website today?