to be a noble because he supported Henry VIII just in time, just when Cardinal Wolsey fell out of favour. And he got even richer during the Reformation, when the King gave him the church endowments and rectorial tithes â that meant that the Rector could always be one of the younger Lovelidge sons. Then in the Civil War the Lovelidge of the time â he was a Sir Thomas Lovelidge â changed sides and threw his lot in with the Parliamentarians, just when it looked like they were going to win. That way he got to keep Walston Hall, and he saved the east window of the church from getting destroyed by taking it out and moving it to the Hall. And later on, at the Restoration, his son was a great supporter of Charles II â one of the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber.â
âI think thatâs called being pragmatic,â observed Stephen. âThat family had a real talent for holding on to power.â
âBut it didnât help them in the end. The last Sir John Lovelidge only had one son, called Thomas, and he was killed in France in 1915 when he was just nineteen. Mr Staines said his father died of a broken heart,â she finished, frowning. âIsnât that sad? And since there were no more Lovelidges, the estate was sold.â
âIt sounds as if you got quite an education this afternoon, sweetheart.â He reached across the table and stroked her hair. âIâm glad you enjoyed it.â
âI didnât ever like history at school,â Becca admitted. âBut Mr Staines makes it all come alive. The Lovelidges seem like real people to me now.â
Stephen was sufficiently interested in what Becca had told him to spend some time inspecting the Lovelidge tombs in the church when he had a few minutes to spare after lunch on Wednesday afternoon. There was no sign of Harry Gaze, so he was able to wander about undisturbed.
The first Sir John, confidant of Henry VIII, shared an elaborate tomb chest in the chancel with his wife Anne; the full-sized effigies, still bearing traces of their original paintwork, were in remarkably good condition and reminded Stephen of the Larkin poem about the Arundel tomb, and the survival of love.
Subsequent Lovelidges had taken over the Lady Chapel for their family monuments and Stephen strolled there next to take a closer look at them. The Elizabethan Sir Thomas and his wife Lettice, sporting enormous ruffs, knelt in a curious position, half in and half out of the south wall, hands tented prayerfully in front of them. The Sir John who had been Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Charles II, as proclaimed on his monument, had also evidently spent a fair amount of time in his own bedchamber: heâd had three wives, all of them, confusingly, named Sarah, who had presented him with a total of twenty-three children, most of whom had died at birth or in infancy. The monument showed them all in half-relief, Sir John at the centre, flanked by three women and a bevy of tiny shrouded babies. The matter-of-factness of it was startling.
The monuments became ever more elaborate as succeeding generations of Lovelidges tried to outdo their ancestors at self-commemoration. An eighteenth-century Sir John, reproduced life size in marble, reclined voluptuously, his bewigged head propped up on his hand, while a cloaked allegorical figure of Grief knelt at his feet, head bowed in mourning. According to the florid inscription, he had been nothing short of perfect: liberal, kind-hearted, civic-minded and a wonderful husband and father, as proclaimed by his relict Augusta, daughter of Lord Hollingsworth of the county of Shropshire. Later, Victorian Lovelidges preferred weeping angels to allegorical figures and there were quantities of them in evidence. But as far as Stephen was concerned, the simplest monument was the most moving. It was a small tablet set into the wall; the dignified block lettering said âCaptain Thomas Lovelidge, only son of Sir John Lovelidge and
âI think thatâs called being pragmatic,â observed Stephen. âThat family had a real talent for holding on to power.â
âBut it didnât help them in the end. The last Sir John Lovelidge only had one son, called Thomas, and he was killed in France in 1915 when he was just nineteen. Mr Staines said his father died of a broken heart,â she finished, frowning. âIsnât that sad? And since there were no more Lovelidges, the estate was sold.â
âIt sounds as if you got quite an education this afternoon, sweetheart.â He reached across the table and stroked her hair. âIâm glad you enjoyed it.â
âI didnât ever like history at school,â Becca admitted. âBut Mr Staines makes it all come alive. The Lovelidges seem like real people to me now.â
Stephen was sufficiently interested in what Becca had told him to spend some time inspecting the Lovelidge tombs in the church when he had a few minutes to spare after lunch on Wednesday afternoon. There was no sign of Harry Gaze, so he was able to wander about undisturbed.
The first Sir John, confidant of Henry VIII, shared an elaborate tomb chest in the chancel with his wife Anne; the full-sized effigies, still bearing traces of their original paintwork, were in remarkably good condition and reminded Stephen of the Larkin poem about the Arundel tomb, and the survival of love.
Subsequent Lovelidges had taken over the Lady Chapel for their family monuments and Stephen strolled there next to take a closer look at them. The Elizabethan Sir Thomas and his wife Lettice, sporting enormous ruffs, knelt in a curious position, half in and half out of the south wall, hands tented prayerfully in front of them. The Sir John who had been Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Charles II, as proclaimed on his monument, had also evidently spent a fair amount of time in his own bedchamber: heâd had three wives, all of them, confusingly, named Sarah, who had presented him with a total of twenty-three children, most of whom had died at birth or in infancy. The monument showed them all in half-relief, Sir John at the centre, flanked by three women and a bevy of tiny shrouded babies. The matter-of-factness of it was startling.
The monuments became ever more elaborate as succeeding generations of Lovelidges tried to outdo their ancestors at self-commemoration. An eighteenth-century Sir John, reproduced life size in marble, reclined voluptuously, his bewigged head propped up on his hand, while a cloaked allegorical figure of Grief knelt at his feet, head bowed in mourning. According to the florid inscription, he had been nothing short of perfect: liberal, kind-hearted, civic-minded and a wonderful husband and father, as proclaimed by his relict Augusta, daughter of Lord Hollingsworth of the county of Shropshire. Later, Victorian Lovelidges preferred weeping angels to allegorical figures and there were quantities of them in evidence. But as far as Stephen was concerned, the simplest monument was the most moving. It was a small tablet set into the wall; the dignified block lettering said âCaptain Thomas Lovelidge, only son of Sir John Lovelidge and
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