Tiny Chapel

Today is another small post, but after some of the crazy adventures I've been having on my other blog, a few small ones are pretty welcome. Out in the countryside sits a tiny derelict chapel, and it's about as rural as it gets. I can't find much of it online. People describe a multitude of countryside walks and their routes, and it always says something like "Just up the road is a derelict chapel," but it doesn't offer much else. People acknowledge it, and treat it like just another landmark.

Slipping inside is pretty easy. There's no feat of dexterity, flexibility or stealth. I know some people like to make their urbex sound like Mission Impossible. I'm a bit more genuine. The door was unlocked. 

 

The chapel itself is quite pretty. 

I'm not religious. I regard God as the antagonist of the series of stories in which he features. The humans are happy just doing their own thing, and he comes along every few years and says "Do what I say, or I'll slap you," and next thing you know, someones dead, and we're told "That's where wanking gets you."

But I still think churches and chapels are pretty. I don't know why. There's just something attractive about them. Perhaps some part of me likes the idea of everyone uniformly facing one person and being told that everything will be okay, while getting a sore ass.

From prolonged sitting on the uncomfortable pews. Minds out of the gutter, people.

At a glance, the building appears to be structurally sound, but the bits of ceiling lying on the floor would indicate that it is slowly falling apart.

The chapel was built in 1875, although it was rebuilt in 1891. One slither of documentation mentions an older chapel just down the road closing around 1875 when the congregation moved here. The chapel is still labeled on maps in the 1940s and 1970s, which is quite surprising, really. I can't imagine it having much of a congregation by that point. 

 

Such rural chapels often served tiny isolated hamlets and farms in the era before motorised transport. Back then, a trip to town was something of a novelty. These rural communities were self-contained and isolated from the world. People would walk to the chapels on Sundays, not just out of religious beliefs but out of a social need too. This was where they caught up with their friends. 

With the introduction of motorised transport, and even the railway, the wider world was suddenly a lot more accessible. People had more opportunity to spread their wings a bit. And as a consequence of that, the tiny rural chapel gradually fell out of use and became redundant. There are literally hundreds out there, just unloved and crumbling away.

Street View shows the chapel still derelict in 2009, but I can't find the exact year of it closing.

 

In the entrance, coat hooks next to a stained glass window.

There's some nice features in the slowly collapsing ceiling.

And at the back of the chapel, two doors lead to a back room.

Well this is a sorry sight. Someone really hated this harmonium.

A children's toy. The kind you find in Doctors waiting rooms.

I'm not sure what purpose the back room would have served. Perhaps it was a little Sunday School. Perhaps while the parents attended service, their crotchfruit were entertained here. That would explain the toy.

Out on the chapels exterior we have a very British view of the chapel, with both a King George V Postbox, and a classic red phone box in shot. The post box was allegedly installed between 1910 and 1936. The phone box has a bit more significance. In rural areas, many old phone boxes have been preserved as defibrillators or even mini libraries, but this one is rare in that it still functions as a phone box. Street View from 2009 shows it with a sign saying "Coins not accepted," indicating that it was out of service. In fact BT allegedly had every intention of removing it, until someone argued for it being retained, saying that with such poor mobile signal in this area, an active phone box was actually pretty vital in an emergency. The phone box was subsequently restored.

 

The same can't be said for the poor chapel. Seriously, how have I managed to find more of a story for a damn phone box than I have for an entire chapel?

But that's just how it is sometimes. Sometimes things don't need an epic tale attached. Sometimes a chapel is just a chapel. But that doesn't mean it's not important. I always try to put myself into the shoes of the people who a place mattered to. In spite of my own feelings on religion, this chapel was important to someone once. A hundred years ago there were people who looked forward to coming here as part of their weekly routine. And with these small rural communities being so tight knit, there was probably a vicar who enjoyed catching up with his congregation too. 

That's all I've got for today. I'm sticking on this local blog for a little while longer. My next post will be a cottage and then another chapel. In the meantime, to make sure you don't miss an update, follow me on Instagram, Reddit, Facebook and Twitter. 

They're all shit, but the other option is to just regularly check back and hope I'm productive. 

Thanks for reading!