Our Churches and Chapels - Atticus
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The singers, who collected themselves around a square, conical-
headed table, in a shy-looking corner, gave vent to their feelings
without music books. They had hymns before them, and these they held
to be sufficient. Their performances were rather of a timid
character; but this might be to some extent accounted for by the
fact that the conductor was absent. When they started a tune they
sighed, blushed, held their heads down, and looked up shyly into
their eye lids; but when they had proceeded a little and got the
congregation into a sympathetic humour, courage came to them, and
they moved on more exactly and courageously. About a dozen preachers
have been tried since the pulpit was vacated by the Darwen
gentleman; but the exact man has not yet been found, and until his
advent the congregation will have to solicit "supplies," and be
content with what they can get. None of the members can preach;
nobody in the congregation can preach; and their only hope at
present consists in the foreign import trade. The congregation has a
homely, unpretentious, kindly-hearted, social appearance, and when
in the midst of it you feel as if you were at home, and as if the
tea things had only to be brought out to make matters complete.
There are no loud talkers, no scandal-mongers, no sanguine souls who
get into a state of incandescence during prayers or sermons here. A
respectable, homely, smoothly-elegant serenity dominates in it.
Two services are held in the chapel on Sundays, and on a Wednesday
evening there is a prayer meeting. A Sunday school, opened in 1855,
is held in the building, and is attended by about 50 children. At
present, the general business of the chapel is rather dull; and
there will be no perceptible improvement in it nor in the number
attending it until a regular minister is appointed. Listening to
stray sermons is like feeding upon wind--you may get filled with it,
but will never get fat upon it. We hope the Zoarists will by and by
be successful; that, having escaped to their present quarters, they
will keep them,--an effort has been once or twice made to purchase
the building for a public-house; and that they will never, like the
party who first fled to Zoar, become troglodytes.
ST. LUKE'S CHURCH.
With the district in which this Church is situated we are not much
acquainted. With even the Church itself we have never been very
familiar. It is in a queer, far-of unshaven region. Aged sparrows
and men who like ale better than their mothers, dwell in its
surroundings; phalanxes of young Britons, born without head
coverings, and determined to keep them off; columns of wives,
beautiful for ever in their unwashedness, and better interpreters of
the 28th verse of the 1st chapter of Genesis then all the Biblical
commentators put together, occupy its district. Prior to visiting
St. Luke's Church we had some idea of its situation; but the idea
was rather inclined to be hazy when we desired to utilise it; we
couldn't bring it to a decisive point; and as we objected to the
common business of stopping every other person in order to get a
perplexing explanation of the situation, the question just resolved
itself into one of "Find it out yourself." Exactly so, we mentally
muttered on entering Ribbleton-lane; and we passed the thirty feet
House of Correction wall to the right thereof, with an air of
triumph, redolent of intrepidity and independence. To the left of
the lane entered we knew St. Luke's was located; but doubt
overshadowed its precise whereabouts. The first street in that
direction down which we looked contained, at the bottom, six coal
waggons and a gate. Those unhappy-looking waggons and that serious
gate couldn't, we said, be St. Luke's. Another street to the left;
but at the end of it we saw only a tavern, some tall rails, and an
old engine shed. Convinced that St. Luke's was not here, we
proceeded to the head of the third street, and down it were more
rails, sundry children, a woman sweeping the parapet, and the gable
of a mill. At the extreme end of the next a coal office and a gate
met us. Number five street showed up the fading placards of a news
shop, and the cold stillness of a Sunday morning factory. Down the
sixth avenue we peered eagerly, but "more factory" met us. The
termination of its successor consisted of pieces of timber, three
arches, and some mill ends. We had hope as to the bottom of the
next; but it was blighted and withered in its infancy as we gazed
upon 25 tree trunks, a mill, and two tall chimneys. Additional wood,
an office, and an entire mill formed the background of the street
subsequently encountered. Extra mill buildings closed up the career
of the road beyond it; ditto beyond that; partially ditto
afterwards, the front of the picture being relieved by a few thirsty
souls, looking plaintively at a landlord, who stood with a rolling
eye upon door step, anxious to officiate as the "Good Samaritan,"
but afraid to exercise his benevolence. After this there would
surely, we thought, be something like the church we were seeking.
But not so; a swampy wide road and more of the irrepressible mill
element constituted the whole of the scene presented.
It is, however, a long lane which has no turning, and at last we got
to a small corner shop, below which were two clothes props, one
being very much out of the perpendicular, an open piece of ground,
numerous bricks in a heap, and a railed round edifice rising calmly,
sedately, and diminutively. This was St. Luke's--the shrine we had
been looking for, the Mecca we had been in search of. Plenty of
breathing space has the church now: on three of its sides there is
a wide expanse; but the cottage homes of England are steadily
approaching it, and in time the building will be tightly surrounded
by innumerable dwellings, whose occupants, we hope, will feel the
spiritual salubrity of their situation. St. Luke's has a serene,
minutely-neat exterior; is proportionate, evenly balanced, and
devoid of that tortuous masonry which some architects delight to
honour. It is a meekly-conceived, yet substantially-built little
church, with a rural placidity and neatness about it, reminding one
of goodness without showiness, and use without sugar-coated detail.
A modest spire, very sharp-pointed, rises above the tower at the
western side. At the angles of the tower there are pinnacles,
supported not by monstrosities of the common gargoyle type, but by
pleasant featured angels, duly pinioned for flying. There appears to
have been a "rage" for windows at this said western end. From top to
bottom there are fifteen; four being moderately large, and the bulk
of the remainder remarkably small.
The interior of the church is particularly plain; is stone-coloured
all round; has an unassuming, modestly-serious, half-rural
appearance; has no tablets, no ornaments, and no striking colouring
of any kind on its main walls. It consists of a nave (depending upon
fourteen arches) and two aisles. The centre is pretty high, has a
narrow, open roof, and is moderately crowded with timber. The sides
are small, but in sitting in them you do not experience that buried-
alive sensation, that bewilderment beneath a heavy ceiling
elaborated with hugely awkward prop-work and pillars, which is felt
in some church aisles. Here, as at St. Mark's, there is a strong
belief in the healthiness of red curtains at the various entrances.
The chancel is high and open, and has rather a bare look. Within it
there are three windows, filled in with stained glass, of sweet
design, but defective in representative effect. The colours are
nicely arranged; but with the exception of a very small medallion in
the centre, referring to the Last Supper, they give you no idea of
anything living, or dead, or yet to be made alive. The windows were
put in by the late T. Miller, Esq;, C. R. Fletcher Lutwidge, Esq.;
and J. Bairstow, Esq., and they Cost 90 pounds. At the western end
there are three stained-glass windows, which look well. The colours
are rich, and the designs artistic. Two of them, we believe, were
fixed in memory of the late Mrs. Winlaw. The vestry stands on one
side of the chancel, and in the doorway of it there is a red
curtain, intended to keep out the tail end of whirlwinds and
draughts in general. When we looked into this vestry, the idea
flashed upon us that its occupant must be a specially studious and
virtuous gentleman, for upon the mantelpiece there were 14 large
Bibles, surmounted by three sacramental guides. But earth is very
nigh to heaven, and when we saw a series of begging boxes flanking
the books, and a looking-glass, which must at some time have cost
tenpence, we retreated.
From the centre of the chancel, the church looks very imposing:
indeed, you get a full view of all its architectural details here,
and the conclusion previously arrived at, through what you may have
seen from other points--namely, that the edifice is simple, bucolic,
and prosaic--is entirely changed. The reading desk is a commendable
article, and with care will last a considerable period. The pulpit--
circular-shaped, and somewhat small in proportions--has a seemly
appearance; but it looks only a homely-built affair when minutely
inspected, and might be pulled in pieces quickly by a passionate
man. Two or three curious articles are associated with it. At the
base, there is quietly lying an aged gutta percha pipe, the object
of which we could not make out; and in the pulpit there is another
gutta percha pipe, with an elongated, funnel-shaped top, put up,
probably, for some very useful purpose--for whispering, or speaking,
or sneezing, or coughing--which alone concerns the preacher, and
need not be further inquired into by us. There is a thermometer
opposite the pulpit, which, probably, is intended to test the
atmosphere of the church, but which may, for aught we know, be
serviceable to the minister in moments of extreme mental coldness,
or in periods of high clerical enthusiasm. If he can regulate the
sacred temperature of either the reading desk or the pulpit by this
thermometer, and can, in addition, utilise the gutta percha tubes as
exhaust pipes, then we think he will derive a tangible advantage
from their presence. Near the entrance to the centre aisle there is
a somewhat handsome stone font, octagonal in shape, carved on four
of its sides, and resting upon a circular pedestal, which is
surrounded by eight small pillars. Not far from and on each side of
the font there is an official wand, carried at intervals, with a
decorum akin to majesty, by the beadle.
St. Luke's Church was opened on the 3rd of August, 1859; the cost of
it--land, building, and everything--being 5,350 pounds. The late J.
Bairstow, Esq., was an admirable friend of St. Luke's; he gave 700
pounds towards the building fund, and 6,000 pounds for the
endowment. The church will accommodate 800 persons. Three-fourths of
the sittings are free. The average attendance on Sundays, including
school children, is 250. Considering that there are about 5,500
persons in the district, this number is only trifling. When we
visited the church there were 280 present, and out of this number
160 were children. We fancied that the weather, for it was rather
unfavourable, might have kept many away, but when we recollected
that we had passed groups of men standing idly at contiguous street
corners, discussing the merits of dogs and ale, as we walked to the
church; and saw at least 40 young fellows within a good stone throw
of it as we left, hanging about drinking-house sides, in the
drizzling rain, waiting for "opening time," and talking coolly about
"half gallons," we grew doubtful as to the correctness of our
supposition. If men could bear a quiet drenching in the streets,
could leave their homes for the purpose of congregating on the sides
of parapets, in order to make a descent upon places essentially
"wet," we fancied that moderately inclement weather could not, after
all, be set down as the real reason for a thin congregation at St.
Lukes. The fact is, there is much of that religion professed by the
horse of Shipag in this district--working on week days and stuffing
on Sundays is the creed of the multitude.
The congregation worshipping at St. Luke's is formed chiefly of
working people. In summer the scholars sit in a small gallery at the
west end; in winter they are brought into 28 seats below it. They
seem to be of a rather active turn of mind, for in their management
they keep two or three men and a female hard at work, and continue
after all to have a fair amount of their own way--not, perhaps,
quite so much of it as three youths who sat before us, who appeared
to extract more pleasure out of some verses on a tobacco paper than
out of either the hymns or the sermon--but still enjoying a good
share of personal freedom, which children will indulge in. There is
a service at St. Luke's every Wednesday evening; but it is not much
cared for. Only about 30 attend it, and it is not known to what
extent they enjoy the Proceedings. The instrumental music of the
church has apparently been regulated on the Darwinian theory of
"selection." What it was at the very beginning we can-cannot say;
but towards the commencement it appears to have been emitted from a
small harmonium; then a little organ was procured, and it came from
that; then a large organ was obtained, and from that it now
radiates. Some day a still larger instrument may be procured; but
the present one, which used to do duty in Christ Church, Preston, is
a respectable, good-looking, tuneful apparatus; and it is played
with ability by an energetic, clerical-looking young gentleman, who
receives a small salary for his services. The members of the choir
manifest tolerable skill in their performances; but they lack power,
and are hampered at line ends by the dragging melody of the
scholars.
The incumbent of St. Luke's is the Rev. W. Winlaw--a grave, sharp-
featured gentleman, who comes from the north, and, like all his
fellow-countrymen, knows perfectly well what time it is. Mr. Winlaw
was originally an Independent minister, and he looks like one to
this day. He was a fellow-student of the Rev. G. W. Clapham,
formerly of Lancaster-road Congregational Chapel, Preston, and now a
minister of the Church of England. Mr. Winlaw was the successor of
the Rev. J. H. Cuff (father of Messrs. Cuff, of this town), at an
Independent Chapel in Wellington. In 1855 he was ordained by the
Bishop of Manchester to St. Peter's, Ashton-under-Lyne. In 1867 he
came to Preston, as curate of St. Paul's, and in 1859 he was
appointed incumbent of St. Luke's. Mr. Winlaw is a slender,
carefully-organised, cute, sharp-eyed man; is inclined to be
fastidious, punctillious, and cold; is a ready speaker; talks with
grammatical accuracy and laboured precision; is rather wordy and
unctuous; can draw out his sentences to a high pitch of solemnity,
and tone them off in syllabic whispers; has an active physiognomical
expression--can turn the muscles of his face in all directions;
shakes his head considerably in the reading-desk and pulpit, as if
constantly in earnest; is keenly susceptible, and has strong
convictions; couldn't be easily persuaded off a notion after once
seeing it in his own light; seems to have smiled but seldom; has
sharp perceptive powers--looks into you with a piercing eye; cares
little for the odd or the humorous--has a strong sense of clerical
dignity; would become sarcastic if touched in the quick; is earnest,
cautious, melancholy, and felt-hatted; has good strategic powers;
can see a considerable way; is vigorous when roused, maidenly when
cool, cutting when vexed, meek when in smooth water; is generally
exact in composition, and clear in style; but preaches rather long
sermons, and has a difficulty in giving over when he has got to the
end. In one of his sermons we heard him say, after a five-and-twenty
minutes run, "In conclusion," "Lastly," and "Finally;" and we had
almost made up our mind for another sermon after he had "finished,"
but he decided to give over without preaching it. Mr. Winlaw, in the
main, is a fair speaker, with a rather eccentric modulation, is a
medium, gentlemanly-seeming, slightly-inflated, polished, precise
minister, who has earned the confidence of his flock, and the
goodwill of many about him. Like every other parson he is not quite
perfect; but he appears to be suitable for the district, and with a
salary of 300 pounds per annum is, we hope, happy. Day and Sunday
schools adjoin the Church. At the former, there is an average
attendance of 180; at the latter of 400. A capital library is
attached to the schools. Orange and other societies for the
maintenance of Protestantism, and the support of "Our glorious
Constitution," exist in connection with the church, and the members,
who are rather of the high-pressure type, enjoy the proceedings of
them muchly.
EMMANUEL CHURCH AND BAIRSTOW MEMORIAL CHAPEL.
Preston has been developing itself for several years northwards.
There was a period, and not very long since, either, when nearly the
whole of the land in that direction was a mere waste--a chaos of
little hills and large holes, relieved with clay cuttings, modified
with loads of rubbish, and adorned with innumerable stones--a
barren, starved-out sort of town common, where persecuted asses
found an elysium amid thistles, where neglected ducks held high
revel in small worn-out patches of water, and upon which rambling
operatives aired their terriers, smoked in gossiping coteries, and
indulged in the luxuries of jumping, and running and tumbling; but
much of this land has been "reclaimed;" many dwellings have been
erected upon it; and in the heart of it stands Emmanuel Church--a
building which ought to have been opened some time since, which
might have been opened 90 days ago if two or three lawyers had
exerted themselves with moderate energy in the conveyancing
business, and which it is expected will be consecrated and got ready
for the spiritual edification of the neighbourhood in a few weeks.
The locality assigned to Emmanuel Church used to form part of St.
Peter's district; but that church having enough on its hands nearer
home, it was decided to slice off a portion of its area, and start a
new auxiliary "mission" northwards. Thomas Tomlinson, Esq., of
London, gave land at the end of Brook-street sufficient for a new
church and schools; subscriptions for the erection of the necessary
buildings were afterwards solicited; sums of money were promised;
but enough could not be obtained to carry out the entire work, so
the building committee, acting upon the sagacious plan that it is
easier at any time to lift a pound than a ton, concluded to make a
start by constructing schools. This was in 1865. After the lapse of
a short time the schools were completed, and up to the present (Dec.
1869) worship has been held in them.
The schools are strong and good; the principal room wherein the
religious services are held has a tincture of the ecclesiastical
element in its interior architecture; but either those who attend it
or those who exercise themselves about its precincts are of too
active a disposition, for nineteen squares of glass in its windows
are cracked, and this rather "panes" one at first sight. There were
about 240 persons, 80 or 90 being children, in the building when we
paid our Sunday visit to it.
The congregation was of the working class species. At the north-east
corner seven or eight singers, somewhat vigorous and expert in their
music, were stationed; a female who played a little harmonium was
near them; and in one corner, in a small pulpit run up to the wall
as tightly as human skill could devise, was a condensed Irish
gentleman, whom nobody seemed to know, but who turned out, in the
end, to be an Oswaldtwistle minister, who had exchanged pulpits with
the regular clergyman. He was a cute, well-educated little party;
but awfully uneasy--was never still--moved his head, arms, and body
about at the rate of 129 times a minute (we timed him with a good
centre-seconds watch), talked much out of the left corner of his
mouth; was full of rough vigour and warm blood; would have been a
"boy" with a shillelagh; and yet he got along with his work
excellently. We couldn't help smiling when we saw, during the
preliminary portion of the service, another surpliced gentleman join
him. Just when the lessons came on a stout, plump-featured, and most
fashionably-whiskered young man stepped into the pulpit, crushed the
little Oswaldtwistle party into the north-eastern Corner of it, and
poured out for about twenty minutes a sharp, monotonous volume of
sacred verses. The scene underwent further development when, during
the singing, both stood up side by side. The pulpit, would hardly
hold them; but they stuck well to its inner sides, cast tranquil
fraternal glances at each other, once threw a Corsican brother
affection into the scene, looked now and then fierce, as if feeling
that each had as much right to the pulpit as the other, and finally
marched off with a twinly love beaming in their eyes, to the vestry
adjoining, from which in a few minutes the Oswaldtwistle minister
emerged in a black gown, and entered the pulpit, whilst his
companion followed, in a buttoned-up black coat, to the front of the
communion rails, where he took a seat and became very quiet. The
sermon was briskly condemnatory of unbelief, for ten minutes, then
got immensely pungent as to Popery, and ended in a coloured star-
shower concerning the excellence of "the good old Church of
England." We couldn't help admiring the preacher's eloquence; and a
man who sat near us, and at the finish said, "Who is that fellow?"--
a rather vulgar kind of query--seemed to be fairly delighted with
him.
The Church, in which the services will soon be held, stands close to
the school. It is a curious piebald-looking building; is made of
brick with intervening stone bands and facings; and is something
unique in this part of the country. In the south of England--
particularly in the metropolitan districts--such like buildings are
not uncommon; but hereabouts architecture of the Emmanuel Church
type seems odd. The edifice, although quaint, and rather poor-
looking at first sight, owing to its bricky complexion, will bear
close examination; indeed, the more you look at it and the better
you become reconciled to its proportions. In general contour it is
symmetrical and strong; in detail it is neat and compact; and,
whilst the colour of it may indicate some singularity, and strike
you as being eccentrically variegated, there is nothing in any sense
improper about the character of its materials, and as time goes on,
and familiarity with them is increased, they will cease to look
whimsical and appear just as good as anything else. The general
architecture of the building is of the early English type; the
design, &c., being furnished by Messrs. Myres, Veevers, and Myres,
of Preston. At the west end there is a rather prettily shaped tower,
surmounted at each corner with a strong stone pinnacle; the extreme
height being 100 feet. A few yards above the centre of the tower
there are angular projections--stretched-out, dreadful-looking
figures, a cross between vampires and hyenas--and you feel glad that
they are only made of stone, and in the next place that they are a
good way off. The man who carved them must have tightened up his
courage to the sticking point many a time during the completion of
these uniquely-unbeautiful figures. The principal entrance to the
church is at the western end, where there is a pretty gabled and
balconied porchway, elaborated with carvings, some of which are
being executed at the expense of patriotic youths, who pay for a
yard or two each, as they are in the humour, and expect an
apotheosis afterwards. The doors at this end open into an inner
vestibule, which is well screened from the main building, and may be
used for class purposes, the rendezvousing of christening parties,
or the halting plate of sinners, who go late to church, and hesitate
until they get desperate or highly virtuous before proceeding
further. In a corner at the north-west there is a beautiful
baptismal font, made of Caen stone, ornamented with emblematic
figures and monograms, and supported by four small columns of Leeds
stone. The font is covered up by a piece of strong calico, in the
shape of a huge night-cap, and the arrangement suits it, for however
closely covered down the cap may be, no grumbling of any sort is
ever heard. The building is cruciform in shape, and has a strong,
yet tastefully-finished, galleried transept, approached by
collateral doers, which also give ingress to the church on the
ground floor. The entrances are so arranged that everything in the
shape of that most objectionable of all things--a draught--is
obviated. It is expected that sufficient wind will be brought to
bear upon the question by the organ blower, without admitting
additional currents through the doors.