Get to know: Hampshire churches that have recorded religious life in changing times

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In June 2025, we were delighted to welcome Professor Irving Finkel from the British Museum, sharing a 4,000-year-old flood story, written on a clay tablet in ancient Mesopotamia, that actually predates the biblical account of Noah’s Ark. It’s a detailed record of how to build a boat to survive a divine flood and at its core is the idea of preserving what matters: people, knowledge, belief. Not through storytelling alone, but through physical materials like clay and architecture.

And while the churches we look at in this blog don’t hold cuneiform texts, they do preserve sacred content in their wall paintings, inscriptions, carved fonts, and structural design. Each one reflects the ways communities used architecture to transmit meaning.

We hope you enjoy this blog, which offers an overview of what our members discovered.

This small Norman church contains a rare and specific link to reform-era religious destruction — a Latin inscription dated 30 June 1550, scratched into the chancel arch.

The inscription appears to mark the church’s compliance with the Edwardian legislation requiring the removal of all religious images. It's possible that wall paintings once depicted scenes like Noah’s Ark existed; imagery that would have been erased under the new rules.

So, just as the Ark Tablet records a command to prepare for destruction, this inscription records a government-mandated cleansing of religious space. It’s unusual to find a parish church that documents this so directly in its own walls.

The church stands just outside Kings Somborne, set within what was once a Norman castle bailey, a historically significant setting.

It was built in the early 12th century, with a 13th century chancel addition. The exterior is modest: flint rubble, chalk dressings, a small brick porch from 1701, and a simple bell gable. Architecturally restrained, but with strong historical depth.

Inside, the church is simple and compact, with whitewashed walls and a clear view from nave to chancel. The interior reflects centuries of use, with a mix of early furnishings, exposed stone details, and a strong sense of spatial continuity. Despite later alterations, it retains the character of a small rural parish church rooted in its medieval origins.

There is a fragment of a 13th-century wall painting near the chancel window — all that remains of what was probably a much more extensive scheme.

The Latin inscription on the chancel arch has been carefully documented by the Hampshire Medieval Graffiti Project. It confirms the church’s compliance with the 1550 legislation, down to the exact deadline.

Other surviving features include a 12th-century Purbeck marble font — a clear link to the symbolic use of water — a 17th-century alms box, and early wooden furnishings that offer insight into parish life before and after the Reformation.

This is a Victorian church, built in 1866, and it’s one of the most refined examples of sacred storytelling through design. The building was directly inspired by Sainte-Chapelle in Paris; it’s full of colour, light, and careful symbolism.

The church is set in the Itchen Valley, just east of Winchester, close to the River Itchen, which is an area historically affected by flooding.

It was designed by Henry Conybeare, a civil engineer and church architect, for his brother, who was the local rector. The exterior is visually striking, with brown-grey rubble stone, Bath stone dressings, a rose window, tall lancet windows, and a slender spirelet. Small in footprint, but architecturally ambitious.

Inside, the floor is paved with encaustic Minton tiles, laid out in geometric patterns. The stained glass, especially the large west window, fills the nave with coloured light — designed to create a visual atmosphere that supports contemplation and liturgical focus.

There’s a Caen stone font, inlaid with marble — a material and symbolic nod to baptism, ritual cleansing, and visual storytelling. 

The interior also includes a cast-iron pulpit, a carved chancel screen, and detailed polychromy.

The church is known for its acoustics and is used today for occasional services and chamber music performances.

Finally, we come to St Peter ad Vincula, Colemore, which is a quieter, more rural church, but one of significant interest.

Its thematic link to Professor Irving Finkel's lecture is baptism. In both Babylonian and biblical narratives, water represents destruction and renewal, and in Colemore, that idea is preserved through the survival of a 12th century Purbeck marble font, used for generations of baptisms.

The church stands in open countryside, in what was once the medieval village of Colemore, now deserted.

It dates largely from the 12th century, with very little later modification. The building is constructed of flint rubble with ashlar dressings, and features a small west bellcote and early round-headed windows. Its restraint and authenticity make it a valuable survival.

Inside, it’s quiet and unembellished.

The Purbeck font is substantial, with a deep bowl and corner shafts;  placed centrally and still clearly the focus of the space. 

There is also a 13th century piscina, a chancel arch that maintains the liturgical division of the church, and a Kempe stained glass window in the east wall depicting St Peter.

Its simplicity is part of its integrity. It’s a rare example of a church that has been largely left alone.

So, stepping back — these three churches are significant not just because of their architectural interest, but because they are part of a longer story of survival.

And while we’ve been focussing on ancient floods and symbolic cleansing, it’s worth acknowledging that real, physical flood risk is becoming more of a problem today.

Just last year, the Trust had to carry out emergency work at St John’s in Lancaster, where persistent water ingress threatened the roof. Across the country, rising damp and poor drainage are putting vulnerable materials at risk — including wall paintings, carved timber, and historic plaster. These are objects that can’t be replaced.