The Dean’s Door on the south side of London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral was designed by Christopher Wren (1632-1723). The carvings around the door were created by the team of Christopher Kempster (1627-1715), one of Wren’s favourite stonemasons, who was particularly famous for his distinctive work on the cherubs’ heads and foliage around the cathedral.
The steeple of St Mary-le-Bow, designed by Christopher Wren (1632–1723), is considered the most elegant among the dozens of Baroque churches in the City. Completed in 1680, it is an intricate four-stage structure made of Portland stone, topped by an elaborate stone spire. The lowest stage of the tower features doorways on the north and west sides, set within recessed, rusticated arches flanked by Doric columns. These columns support an entablature, while the doorways themselves are framed by Tuscan columns and topped with a Doric frieze.
The second and third stages are simpler in design, with large square windows on the second stage and round-headed windows on the third. The fourth stage, which houses the bell chamber, includes large round-headed openings divided by mullions and framed by Ionic pilasters supporting an entablature. This is topped by a parapet featuring a balustrade and corner pinnacles adorned with ogee scrolls and stone vases.
The spire itself is composed of four stages. The base is a circular drum surrounded by twelve columns with acanthus capitals, supporting a corniced entablature decorated with modillions and an open balustrade. Above this are twelve flying buttresses that support the second stage, a circular cornice. The third stage is square, with granite corner columns, and it supports the final stage—a tapering pinnacle crowned by a ball and a dragon-shaped weather vane.
A unique private London penthouse has been integrated into the ruins of Wren’s church, which features a notable tower that survived wartime destruction. Originally, the site was home to a church established in 1226 by the Grey Friars, a prominent Franciscan order in London. The medieval church was destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666, after which a new church, designed by Christopher Wren, was completed in 1687. Between 1703 and 1704, a steeple was added, likely under the direction of Nicholas Hawksmoor.
The reconstructed tower within the church ruins, rebuilt multiple times using the original materials, exemplifies the refined elegance of English Baroque architecture. This style is characterised by a restrained yet sophisticated use of classical elements, heavily influenced by Palladian principles, and eschews excessive ornamentation.
The tower of once existed Baroque church St Augustine of Canterbury Watling Street. 2 New Change, City of London, EC4M 9AD
In 1941, bombings destroyed the spire and much of the Wren’s church, leaving only the lower part of the tower. In 1966, architect Paul Paget (1901–1985) reconstructed the spire according to Hawksmoor’s original c.1695 design, replacing the pineapple finial with an onion dome.
St Giles-in-the-Fields, 60 St Giles High Street, London, WC2H 8LG
The origins of St Giles-in-the-Fields date back to the 12th century, when Queen Matilda, wife of Henry I, established a leper hospital on the site. In accordance with medieval practices of isolating leper colonies, the hospital was located outside the city walls and named after St Giles, the patron saint of lepers.
In the 17th century, the medieval structure was replaced by a red-brick church, consecrated by William Laud in 1623, but this building was later demolished to accommodate the current structure. The rebuilding, undertaken between 1730 and 1734, was designed by Henry Flitcroft (1697–1769), an architect aligned with the Palladian revival, a movement championed by Lord Burlington (1694–1753), one of the most influential patrons of the arts in this period. Burlington and his circle aimed to restore the classical purity of Andrea Palladio’s Renaissance architecture, in contrast to the elaborate Baroque style that had dominated the work of architects like Christopher Wren (1632–1723) and Nicholas Hawksmoor (1661–1736).
This architectural shift from Baroque to Palladianism (or Neo-Palladianism, as Inigo Jones introduced Palladio’s philosophy to English architecture in the early 17th century) reflects Britain’s broader cultural and political transformations. The Baroque style flourished during the late Stuart period and was characterised by grandeur, dramatic forms, and intricate decoration. By the 1720s, however, it had come to be viewed as excessive and politically associated with Tory and Catholic sensibilities. In contrast, the Whig elite, which held political dominance, favoured the more restrained, symmetrical, and rational Palladian style, perceived as embodying Enlightenment ideals.
The church, built entirely of Portland stone, features a 160-foot steeple with Doric pilasters and an octagonal tower surmounted by an Ionic spire. The interior, with its Ionic columns and semicircular-headed windows, conveys a sense of restrained elegance, setting it apart from earlier decades’ more ornate Baroque churches.
The current St. Paul’s Cathedral, the fifth on its site, took 35 years to complete. The initial plans, designs, and technical solutions had to be altered multiple times for various reasons. It was the lifelong project of Christopher Wren (1632-1723), who oversaw the cathedral’s construction from 1675 to 1710, spanning the reigns of five monarchs.
The western towers of St. Paul’s, constructed between 1685 and 1710, define the main processional entrance. The final designs of these towers were only completed at the end of this period, with records showing delays and struggles that affected the installation of the clocks.
Construction above the plinth of the upper entablature began in 1705. The topmost attic stage was modelled by Christopher Kempster (1627-1715) in 1707, and the gilded copper pineapples, designed by Francis Bird (1677-1731), were cast in 1708 by the French Huguenot ironworker Jean Tijou (active between 1689–1712). Each clock tower features a gilded copper pineapple atop, possibly symbolising welcome. However, only the southwest tower received a clock face. Weight holes were constructed in 1694 but were never used; the clock was installed in the southwest tower in 1707, with weights suspended above the main body. The second tower, lacking a clock, retains its empty weight hole, which reminds us of the unfinished initial plan.
St James’s Church, Piccadilly, designed by Christopher Wren and consecrated in 1684, exemplifies his skill in integrating well-developed ideas inspired by Renaissance, especially Palladian and ancient classical forms like Rome’s Basilica Nova, within an English context. Drawing on shared architectural concepts, Wren combined centuries-old English architectural traditions with insights from Italian schools, creating designs that were both international and distinctly English.
The church’s layout follows a classic basilican form, with a single, spacious nave, a vaulted ceiling, and prominent Corinthian columns supporting arches that divide the interior into an open, cohesive space. This design provides a clear line of sight across the interior, aligning with the Anglican focus on preaching, congregational participation, and clear auditory and visual access to the service. The barrel-vaulted ceiling in the nave adds an airy quality to the interior, enhancing acoustics and creating a sense of openness.
St James’s exterior, built with red brick and Portland stone accents, reflects Wren’s refined choice of materials, balancing durability with aesthetic appeal. The church’s modest tower, topped with a simple spire, serves as a focal point without overwhelming the building, embodying the English preference for restrained elegance over grandiosity.
A distinctive feature is the outdoor preacher’s pulpit, designed to allow sermons to reach a broader audience. This reinforces the Anglican Church’s role as a community gathering space and connects the indoor worship experience with the world outside. Inside, the church features exquisite woodwork by Grinling Gibbons. His Baroque-style carvings, including the reredos and marble font, add artistic richness, complementing the architectural simplicity of Wren’s design.
Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt?
Yvo Reinsalu
October 2024
The Banqueting House , Whitehall, London, SW1A 2ER
The Banqueting House ceiling in Whitehall is among the most politically charged works of art of the Stuart period, conceived at the intersection of royal propaganda, architectural innovation, and a rapidly shifting political landscape.
Commissioned by Charles I in 1629 from Peter Paul Rubens, the nine monumental canvases were intended to glorify the reign of his father, James I, and to present the Stuart monarchy as divinely sanctioned. Rubens painted them in Antwerp in 1634; they were installed in 1636 within the beamed ceiling specially designed by Inigo Jones to accommodate them. The central panels proclaim the ‘Peaceful Reign of James I’, ‘The Union of the Crowns of England and Scotland’, and ‘The Apotheosis of James I’. Around them, the side panels depict allegories of virtuous kingship and the suppression of vice—‘Abundance Suppressing Avarice’, ‘Wise Government Holding a Bridle above Intemperate Discord’, ‘Minerva Spearing Ignorance’, ‘Hercules Crushing Discord’—flanked by ornamental scenes of genii bearing garlands or playing with animals.
Yet this celebration of the Stuart dynasty’s divine mission came at a moment of growing political strain. Charles I’s personal rule without Parliament (1629–1640), his rigid belief in divine-right monarchy, and his taste for courtly spectacle all coloured the work’s reception. The ceiling’s triumphalist message, designed to project stability and unity, would soon be read against the reality of mounting unrest. By 1649, Charles I was executed outside the very building that housed Rubens’s paintings, turning the ceiling into an uneasy relic—once an emblem of dynastic glory, now a silent witness to the collapse of the vision it proclaimed.
James Thornhill’s Painted Hall in the Royal Naval Hospital in Greenwich is a magnificent tribute to the British monarchy. It features King William III, Queen Mary II, Queen Anne, and King George I, surrounded by nearly 200 figures in various compositions. Thornhill prominently included his self-portrait, emphasising his involvement in creating this masterpiece.
The monarchs are depicted not merely as historical figures but in an elevated, almost divine light, highlighting the notion of the divine right of royals—a significant theme in Thornhill’s era. The Baroque style, renowned for its dramatic, elaborate visuals and complex allegories, here exemplifies its capacity to convey a multitude of political statements, both subtle and explicit. Thornhill masterfully employs mythology to elevate the stature of the monarchy and assert political narratives aligned with the era’s ideologies. The artwork aims to underscore the legitimacy of the Protestant succession, especially during the pivotal transition from the Stuart to the Hanoverian line, culminating in the reign of George I.
Thornhill’s political and social rise is notable. He was knighted in 1721, appointed court painter by King George I in 1718, and elected a Member of Parliament in 1722. His 19-year dedication to the Painted Hall in Greenwich showcases his artistic prowess and new status, which solidifies his connections to the royal court.
James Thornhill (1675/1676-1734), The Arrival of George I at Greenwich, 1727, Oil on plaster, The Painted Hall, Greenwich, London ,(This part of the grisaille mural on the north wall, upper hall).
The Painted Hall of the Old Royal Naval College commemorates George I’s arrival at Greenwich from Hanover in 1714, marking his succession to the British throne. Painted by James Thornhill, the scene features George I in a horse-drawn chariot, accompanied by St. George on horseback and a procession of allegorical figures symbolising Religion, Liberty, Truth, and Justice. This artistic portrayal uses the grisaille technique to evoke the style of ancient Roman bas-relief carvings and includes figures dressed in Roman military attire. In the lower-left corner, a soldier representing the rebels of the 1715 uprising cowers before the royal procession. The mural celebrates the beginning of a stable and peaceful era following Queen Anne’s reign and subtly notes the absence of George I’s estranged wife, who was imprisoned in Hanover for adultery.
Eastbury Manor House, Eastbury Square, Barking, Greater London.
Eastbury Manor House in Barking, Essex, is one of the most compelling survivals of Elizabethan domestic building in London, remarkable not only for its preservation but for what it tells us about the ambitions of its founder. It was raised in the 1570s by Clement Sysley (c.1520–c.1580), a London merchant of substance but not of noble birth, who sought through architecture to secure his family’s place in the social hierarchy of Tudor England. In a period when brick was still associated with wealth and prestige, Sysley’s decision to commission a large manor in warm red brick, patterned with grey diaper work, was a clear declaration of status. Its tall chimneys and broad windows—glass itself being costly—spoke of prosperity and modern taste, aligning his household with the new architectural language that defined Elizabethan aspiration.
The house was more than a dwelling: it was constructed as a text of symbols. The most striking emblem is the heart motif built into the façade, interrupting the geometry of the brickwork with a deliberate sign that has prompted multiple interpretations. It may have stood for love, for the heart of the household, or even for the pastime of card play—whatever its precise intention, it demonstrates the Tudor delight in embedding meaning within design. Such motifs were not mere ornament but devices that allowed a building to participate in the wider culture of allegory, where surface decoration invited the viewer to read beyond what was visible. Local tradition has long spoken of further concealed signs, hidden beneath or within the house, an echo of the period’s fascination with secret messages and emblematic thought.
Though centuries have diminished Eastbury’s original splendour, crucial fragments of its decorative scheme remain. Surviving wall paintings disclose something of the visual environment in which Sysley and his family lived. Floral arabesques, pastoral vignettes, and heraldic motifs reveal both the impact of Renaissance decorative vocabulary and the persistence of local vernacular taste. In these painted surfaces, Sysley presented himself as a man not only of means but of cultivated sensibility, able to bring the sophistication of metropolitan fashion into a suburban setting. Such decoration functioned as an extension of the house’s symbolic architecture: a medium through which identity, aspiration, and permanence could be projected.
Eastbury is therefore more than an isolated architectural relic. It belongs to the broader narrative of Elizabethan domestic building, when wealthy merchants and courtiers alike used architecture as a means of self-fashioning. Houses such as Eastbury show how new men, enriched by trade and city enterprise, translated their fortunes into brick and glass, ensuring their presence in the cultural landscape. In Sysley’s case, the manor endures as the single most eloquent testimony of his ambition, one that continues to speak across the centu
St Benet Paul’s Wharf, Queen Victoria Street, City of London, EC4V 4ER
St Benet Paul’s Wharf, located in the City of London, traces its origins to 1111, when a church dedicated to St Benet, the Italian monk Benedetto da Norcia (480-547), was established. Over time, the church became known as St Benet’s Paul’s Wharf, named after the nearby hythe. The original structure and adjacent Baynard’s Castle were destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666.
The current structure was rebuilt under the direction of Christopher Wren (1632-1723), Robert Hooke (1635-1703), and Edward Strong the Elder (1652-1724), and was completed in 1683. The church’s exterior features red bricks and Portland stone dressings, providing structural integrity and a striking visual contrast not typical of 17th-century Baroque churches. Inside, the almost square layout and flat ceiling, also very austere and unusual for a Wren church, create an elegant, rather Protestant appearance.
The galleries, supported by Corinthian columns, add classical grandeur. Most of the original 17th-century furnishings remain intact, including the altar table, reredos, and pulpit designed by Grinling Gibbons (1648-1721). The baptismal font also dates from this period.
St Benet’s is unique among the few Wren’s churches in the City of London that survived the bombings of World War II. It narrowly escaped demolition in the 1870s and was preserved as a Welsh Anglican Church in 1879. This tradition continues today, with services conducted in Welsh. For the more than 300,000 Welsh-speaking people living in London, it is one of only three places in Greater London offering regular services in Welsh.
In 1971, a vagrant’s arson attack damaged the north side of the church. The replacement lighting fixtures from the 1970s create a rather uncomfortable contrast with the well-preserved Baroque settings. This juxtaposition reflects the church’s survival through historical conflicts and its vulnerability to damage in recent peaceful times.
The Church of St Michael Paternoster, College Hill, London, EC4R 2RL
St Michael Paternoster Royal, standing on College Hill, has been part of London’s ecclesiastical fabric since at least 1219. Its name carries traces of medieval commerce and urban life: Paternoster recalls the rosary sellers of Paternoster Lane, while Royal derives not from monarchy but from the nearby street Le Ryole, once associated with Bordeaux wine merchants trading in the City. The church is most famously linked to Richard Whittington (c. 1354–1423), the legendary four-time Lord Mayor of London, who endowed funds for its rebuilding in the early 15th century and established a collegiate foundation and almshouse in its shadow, binding his name permanently to the site.
After the Great Fire of 1666, St Michael was among the last of Christopher Wren’s City churches to be reconstructed. Work began only in 1689, under the supervision of Edward Strong the Elder (1652–1724), Wren’s master mason, and was completed in 1694. The addition of its striking steeple between 1713 and 1717, probably by Nicholas Hawksmoor (1661–1736), further enhanced the skyline: an elegant Portland stone tower capped with an unusual open octagonal spire, a form Hawksmoor would echo in other London churches, giving it a distinctive silhouette.
Inside, the church preserves much of its late 17th-century Baroque character. The reredos, framed by Corinthian columns, anchors the sanctuary with a sense of theatrical dignity, while carved figures of Moses and Aaron—brought here from the demolished church of All Hallows the Great in 1894—add a sculptural richness. Surviving wartime bombardment with less devastation than many of its neighbours, St Michael Paternoster remains a layered monument: medieval patronage, post-Fire Baroque ingenuity, and fragments of vanished City churches converge here, making it a rare survivor that gathers multiple strands of London’s religious and civic past within its walls.
Ham Street, Ham Street, Ham, Richmond, Surrey, TW10 7RS
Ham House stands as one of the most complete and evocative survivals of 17th-century domestic architecture in London, a rare place where the Jacobean age still seems to breathe within its walls. Built between 1608 and 1610 for Sir Thomas Vavasour, Knight Marshal to James I, the house preserves the austere symmetry of early Stuart design while bearing witness to the ambitions and shifting fortunes of its later owners.
In the 1630s, William Murray, confidant of Charles I, reshaped the interiors to reflect the refined tastes of the Caroline court. The addition of Solomonic columns in the North Drawing Room spoke directly to the fashion for ornate Italianate forms, while still harmonising with the house’s Jacobean core. The more radical transformation, however, came with John Maitland, Duke of Lauderdale (1616–1682), and his formidable wife, Elizabeth Murray, Countess of Dysart (1626–1698). From the 1670s they turned Ham into a residence of international sophistication. French influences were deliberately woven into its design: an enfilade of State Apartments, a ceremonial axis running through the house, echoed continental models, while innovations such as one of the first large-scale uses of sash windows—probably introduced by the architect William Samwell (1628–1676)—proclaimed a modernity unprecedented in English domestic life.
Other features underscored this spirit of experiment. The Duchess’s bathroom, an early attempt at integrating comfort and privacy into aristocratic living, and the library—now the earliest surviving in a private house—testify to the Lauderdales’ fascination with both intellectual and material culture. Yet these changes did not erase the house’s Jacobean identity. Instead, they layered it with Baroque invention, creating an architecture of continuity rather than rupture, where each phase of taste could be read against what came before.
St Etheldreda’s Church , 14 Ely Place , London , EC1N 6RY
Hidden within Ely Place, once a Cambridgeshire enclave in the capital that retained its own peculiar legal status and postal identity until the 1960s, St Etheldreda’s is one of the most remarkable survivals of medieval London. Dedicated to Etheldreda of Ely (c. 636–679), the Anglo-Saxon queen-turned-abbess who founded Ely’s first religious community, the chapel was built in the late 13th century as part of the London residence of the Bishops of Ely. It is one of the very few buildings in the city to have endured from the reign of Edward I (1272–1307), remarkably escaping both the Great Fire of 1666 and subsequent waves of urban redevelopment.
The chapel’s history is inseparable from the figures who occupied Ely Place. John of Gaunt (1340–1399), Duke of Lancaster and son of Edward III, made Ely Place his London home after the destruction of his Savoy Palace in the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. In 1576, Sir Christopher Hatton (1540–1591), favourite of Elizabeth I, secured a lease of much of the property through royal pressure on the Bishop of Ely, embedding Ely Place in Elizabethan court politics. Such associations underscore the chapel’s role as a witness to the shifting power networks of medieval and early modern England.
By the 17th century, the chapel had fallen into neglect, and after the Reformation it ceased to serve its original liturgical function. Its revival came in 1873 when the lawyer William Lockhart (1820–1892) purchased and restored it, re-establishing it as a centre of Roman Catholic worship in London at a time when Catholic emancipation was reshaping the city’s religious landscape.
Severe wartime damage during the Blitz necessitated major repairs in the 1950s, when the restoration sought to recapture something of its medieval spirit. Efforts were made to strip away later accretions and return the church to an interior closer in form and atmosphere to its 13th-century origins. Today, despite Victorian and post-war interventions, St Etheldreda’s retains an unmistakable medieval character: its lofty Gothic windows, narrow proportions, and enduring stone fabric evoke the ecclesiastical culture of medieval Ely transplanted into the heart of London.
Southwark Cathedral
London Bridge, London
Founded in 1106 as an Augustinian priory, Southwark Cathedral preserves its medieval roots in a way few London churches can. Despite the sweeping 19th-century reconstruction under George Gwilt (1818–30) and later Arthur Blomfield (1890s), and the less sympathetic post-war extensions, the church retains an unmistakably ancient character. This endurance lies in the survival of its medieval monuments and fabric: effigies of the Middle Ages, carved memorials to merchants and clergy, painted and gilded bosses in the vaulting, and the richly varied funerary art of the Baroque, much of it by Flemish sculptors who reshaped London’s memorial culture in the 17th century.
The cathedral’s layered fabric situates it at the intersection of England’s religious and political life. The priory was long tied to the Bishops of Winchester, whose palace stood nearby, and within its walls lie monuments that trace the city’s devotional and intellectual history. Among them is the tomb of Bishop Lancelot Andrewes (1555–1626), translator of the King James Bible, a striking reminder of the cathedral’s national importance.
One of the most evocative survivals is the late 13th-century effigy of a knight with crossed legs. Once taken as evidence of crusader status, it is now understood more broadly as a symbolic expression of knightly identity. Much like the building itself, the effigy embodies the tension between tradition and reinterpretation, the weight of history reframed by later centuries.
Strawberry Hill House, 268 Waldegrave Road, Twickenham, Greater London
Strawberry Hill House is less a conventional villa than a deliberate performance in architecture — a theatrical experiment in Gothic revival conceived by Horace Walpole (1717–1797) and his circle of amateur designers. Built in stages from 1749, it presents itself as a medieval fantasy but reveals, on closer inspection, the ingenuity and pretence of 18th-century aristocratic taste. Its pointed arches, rose windows, and vaulted ceilings were not carved from stone but conjured from papier-mâché, timber, and plaster, materials manipulated to simulate antiquity while keeping costs within reach.
The design was never unified but a patchwork of borrowings. Walpole and his collaborators lifted motifs from Rouen Cathedral, Worcester Cathedral, Henry VII’s Chapel at Westminster Abbey, and even Prince Arthur’s tomb, weaving them into a setting that balanced historical reverence with playful invention. The result is an architecture of quotation, a house that looks back to the Middle Ages while being entirely of its own century.
In the 19th century, Lady Frances Waldegrave (1821–1879) expanded the fantasy further, adding the Round Tower and Tudor chimneys modelled on those of Hampton Court. By then, Walpole’s celebrated collection of paintings, antiquities, and curiosities had already been dispersed in a great sale of the 1840s. The present interiors, furnished with copies of Old Masters and reconstructed decorations, mirror the building’s essence: an impressive spectacle built as much on illusion as on substance.
Strawberry Hill House endures not as a Gothic monument in the medieval sense but as one of the Enlightenment’s most original architectural experiments, a self-conscious invention of the past that reshaped the future of taste.
St George’s Bloomsbury, designed by Nicholas Hawksmoor (1661–1736), stands as one of the most audacious architectural statements of 18th-century London. Completed in 1731, it was the last of Hawksmoor’s six churches erected under the 1711 Act of Parliament and remains the most eccentric—a work in which antiquarian erudition, architectural invention, and political symbolism are brought together with unsettling boldness.
The church’s steeple is its most striking feature: a great pyramid recalling the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, surmounted not by a Christian cross but by a statue of George I. This startling choice reflects both Hawksmoor’s fascination with classical antiquity and the Hanoverian monarchy’s desire to assert dynastic legitimacy through architectural spectacle. At its base, Hawksmoor originally placed sculpted lions and unicorns—the heraldic supporters of the royal arms—further reinforcing the political dimension of the design. Removed in the 19th century, they were only reinstated in 2006, restoring something of the original charged symbolism.
The south front is dominated by a massive Corinthian portico, said to be inspired by the Temple of Bacchus at Baalbek in Lebanon. Hawksmoor had earlier contributed illustrations of Baalbek to Richard Pococke’s travel accounts, and his use of this reference here reflects his unusual ability to rework archaeological precedent into an entirely new London idiom. Unlike the polite Palladianism of his contemporaries, Hawksmoor’s architecture draws its power from stark contrasts, unexpected sources, and a sense of grandeur bordering on the theatrical.
Inside, the church was no less ambitious. Among its most remarkable furnishings is the vast chandelier—originally from the Catholic church of Kaatsheuvel in the Netherlands, now on loan from the Victoria and Albert Museum—that embodies the late Baroque taste for opulence between 1680 and 1730. Such elements reveal Hawksmoor’s willingness to blur cultural and confessional boundaries in pursuit of visual impact.
St Botolph without Aldersgate is one of the three remaining medieval churches dedicated to St Botolph in the City of London. It was also one of four churches erected at the City gates, symbolising St. Botolph’s role as the traditional patron saint of travellers before St. Christopher assumed the title. The church’s origins can be traced back to around 1050, with its first documentation appearing in 1291. Remarkably, it withstood the Great Fire of London. From 1788 to 1791, Nathaniel Wright led significant reconstruction, preserving only the old east wall—this effort aimed to fix structural damage and facilitate the adjacent street’s expansion.
This Georgian-era reconstruction introduced wooden galleries, a domed semi-circular apse, and intricate plasterwork alongside an organ installed in 1788 by Samuel Green. Despite these major changes, the church maintained its 16th and 17th-century memorials, including a notable baroque tribute to Sir John Micklethwaite, a physician knighted by Charles II. Integrating memorials from the 16th and 17th centuries within a primarily Georgian architectural framework reflects a profound respect for historical continuity. It bridges the past with the present and future congregations, honouring the contributions and spiritual paths of those who came long before us.
The Church of St Vedast Alias Foster, London
This small Baroque church embodies the resilience of time and highlights the crucial need to preserve ancient churches, which are vital to the fabric of London’s historical narrative. These sacred spaces serve as guardians of the memories of the communities that have shaped the city over two millennia.
Saint Vedast is one of the rarest saints venerated in medieval London. The church dedicated to him, known as Saint Vedast-alias-Foster, likely dates back to around 1170, possibly established by merchants or Augustinians from Arras. Saint Vedast (died c. 540), also known as Vaast, Waast, or Gaston in French and Foster in English, was an influential early bishop in the Frankish realm. He was pivotal in converting Clovis, the Frankish king, and restoring the Christian Church in regions ravaged by frequent invasions. As the Bishop of Arras in northern Gaul during the 6th century, he was buried in Arras Cathedral and is remembered for his charity and meekness.
St. Vedast’s Church, though damaged in the Great Fire of 1666, was rebuilt under the supervision of Christopher Wren’s office between 1670 and 1673. This restoration retained some elements of the medieval south wall. The tower, reconstructed between 1695 and 1698, was crowned with a Baroque spire, probably designed by Nicholas Hawksmoor and completed in 1712, with construction overseen by Edward Strong the Younger.
Heavily damaged during the 1940s, the church underwent a significant restoration led by Stephen Dykes Bower beginning in 1953. Bower reimagined the interior in the style of a collegiate chapel, adding a plaster ceiling inspired by late seventeenth-century design. The church also incorporated furnishings from other London churches destroyed in the Blitz, including the richly carved All Hallows Bread Street pulpit and the font and cover from St Anne and St Agnes
