In the hamlet of Merther, nature is concealing a secret. Wrapped in robes of ivy and traveller’s joy, the ruins of a 14th-century church are hidden among a small copse. Little remains of the original building; the crumbling outer walls have been slowly succumbing to wildlife ever since the church closed 80-odd years ago.
Brambles, thistles, avens and bedstraw grow at the entrances. Only one of the windows remains intact; the sun glances through the lead-lined glass as ivy fronds spill over the empty windowsills. Inside, a congregation of sycamores has gathered in the nave, branches stretching towards the heavens while hard ferns, hart’s-tongues and brackens cover the floor. A few relics of the church’s heydays remain: an ivy-shrouded pillar stands like an altar in the chancel, and the outline of bezant crosses can be seen against the far wall of the south aisle.
