Grasmere Church, as it stands at present, is itself the sole guide we have to its age and the method of its building. No document exists, prior to the Restoration, that concerns the fabric. It was then apparently the same as it is now. As one steps within the portal, and sees through the gloom its strange double nave, the rude spaces broken through the thick intersecting wall, and the massive, split, misshapen timbers that support its roof, one wonders who were its planners and builders. Here surely in this strange and original structure we see a work conceived and carried out by the very men who worshipped within it. Sturdy, strong, and self-dependent, they would seem to have asked little or no aid either in money or skill, for the rearing and decoration of their church. Yet its builders, when they came to remodel, if not to rebuild their ancient place of worship, must have known edifices of statelier plan. There was Kendal, their great centre, with a church that must always have kept abreast of the time in architectural beauty, and which—from the earliest fifteenth century at least, showed the dressed columns of stone, the soaring arches, and chantried aisles which yet remain. St. Martin's of Windermere, too, in the next parish, possessed a duly proportioned nave, chancel, and aisle; and the columns—built though they were of undressed stone—rose to support a clerestory and the evenly-timbered roof. Hawkshead again (whither the dalesmen often repaired to market or fair) owned a church that was ruder than the others, indeed—since its huge cylindrical piers support circular arches, and the timber of its roof is rough-hewn—but had a well-proportioned plan for nave and aisles.

These places, it is true, had advantages over Grasmere. Kendal was in contact with the great world and with the heads of the church, who visited it regularly. It had, besides, access to freestone. Windermere, like Hawkshead, had to let the intractable slate of the neighbouring mountains suffice for the main structure: hence the great piers without capitals and the plaster finish of their interiors. But Windermere had an advantage in its nearness to Kendal; and Hawkshead in its association with the abbey of Furness, which was easily accessible from there. Grasmere, on the other hand, was probably ignorant of the beauties of the Abbey Church of St. Mary's at York, to which it was attached. The church was practically shut up within the remotest chamber of the mountains, and could only be reached by 17 miles of bad road from Kendal, over which no wheels could travel. But with no freestone near, with only the hard mountain slate to rive, or the boulders of the beck to gather; without traditional skill and with very little hard cash, our builders of Grasmere proceeded—when need came—to alter and enlarge their House of God by such simple methods as house and barn "raising" had made familiar to them. Thus we read the story of the structure as it stands at present, and see that the builders had clearly little help from the outer world. We see, too, that this structure was an alteration of an earlier one; which was not itself the first, for the first stone fane probably replaced a wooden one, either here or on Kirk How. It was doubtless of that simple oblong form, without chancel or tower, which was technically known as a chapel,[124] and of which specimens have remained among the mountains to this day. But an ecclesia parochia, possessed of daughter chapels, could not be permitted by the higher powers—whether of church or manor—to retain so lowly a form. The manorial lords may have interested themselves in its reconstruction, though there is no evidence of the fact. In any case, it is likely that the Abbey of St. Mary would take the necessary steps to bring it up to the requirements of its position, and of the worship to be conducted within its walls. The visiting brother would carry accounts of the remote little church to York; and a monk skilled in architecture could be brought over to plan a new building, and to direct its construction. The customary model for a small parochial church would be adopted, which allowed a chancel for priests officiating at the mass; then a nave without aisles for the worshippers, lighted by narrow windows—for before glazing was possible the opening had to be guarded from weather by wooden shutters—and to the west a tower, in which to hang the bells that should call the parishioners from far.

Such doubtless was the existing church in its first state, and of it there may remain the tower, the porch, the south wall, and one window. There are indications that before its enlargement it was more ornate then now. Freestone was used, though sparingly, to emphasize the chief architectural points. The opening into the tower, piercing four feet of solid wall, has a moulding of freestone (now battered away) to mark the spring of its slightly-pointed arch; while a string-moulding is discernible in the north wall of the nave, which may once have accentuated the window heads. The windows—if we may suppose the one left between porch and tower to be a relic of the original set[125]—were simple openings finished by an "ogee" arch. The font may be as old as the window, if not older. Its mouldings, which originally followed the rim and divided the bowl into a hexagon, are almost obliterated; and though no doubt it suffered during the Commonwealth, when it was degraded from its sacred use, the damage may not be wholly due to that cause. The freestone used in the building was unfortunately friable, and must have suffered at every alteration—such as the piercing of the north wall by arches, and the building up of the tower-arch for a vestry. It could not be replaced by the remodellers; and they seem to have intentionally chipped and levelled it, and then freely whitewashed it over, with a general view to tidiness. They even went beyond this; for when the east wall was reconstructed in 1851, a stone carved with the likeness of a face was found built into it. This is now in the Kendal Museum. The piscina, too, now refixed (and, unfortunately, redressed), was found, covered with plaster, lower down in the same wall.

The worn, maltreated freestone might, if we knew its origin, tell something of the tale of the building. A well-squared yellow block, recently laid bare in the porch, is certainly not the red sandstone of Furness.

Now should the age of the fabric, decorated thus simply though judiciously, be questioned, it must be owned that there is nothing to indicate its being older than the fourteenth century. It is true that a western tower with no entrance from outside was a feature of many Saxon churches, but such towers continued to be built for parish churches until a late date. The rough masonry of the Grasmere tower is due to the material; and the massive boulders used in the foundation were no doubt gathered from the beck, whose proximity must have been highly convenient for builders who were poorly equipped for the quarrying of their slate rock. The "ogee" or trefoiled arch was a development of the Decorated style of architecture, which evolved the form from the elaborate traceries of its windows.[126] The Decorated style is roughly computated as lasting from the open to the close of the fourteenth century, and the period of its use coincides fairly with the time when our church fell under the influence of the monastery.

A church of primitive size would be sufficient for the folk of the three townships, while they lived in scattered homesteads and were all bent upon husbandry, with short intervals of warfare with the Scots. But it would become too small for a growing population that throve in times of peace upon the wool trade.[127] With walk-mills in the valleys, and families growing rich as clothiers, some extension of the church would be necessary; and this extension seems to have been started in a fashion strangely simple. Leaving the walls of the edifice intact with its roof, a space almost equal—for it is but one yard narrower—was marked off on the northern side, enclosed by walls and roofed over. The intervening wall could not be removed, because the builders were incapable of spanning the double space by a single roof. It was therefore left to sustain the timbers of the two roofs, and through its thickness (over three feet) spaces were broken in the form of simple arches. Thus—though one is called an aisle—two naves were practically formed, separated by the pierced wall. The date of this enlargement is uncertain. If we place it in the era of the prosperity of the townships from the cloth trade, it could have been done no earlier than the reign of Henry the Seventh, and no later than the early days of Elizabeth; while a supposition that it was not taken in hand until the dissolution of the monastery had thrown the men of the three townships on their resources is strengthened by the character of the work.

How long the enlarged church remained under a double roof cannot be said. Trouble would be sure to come from the long, deep valley, where snow would lodge and drip slowly inside. Clearly there was urgent need for action and radical alteration when the powerful Mr. John Benson, of Baisbrowne, made his will in 1562. A clause of this runs: "Also I giue and bequeath towardes the Reparacions of the church of gresmyre XXs so that the Roofe be taken down and maide oop againe."

But how to construct a single roof over the double space? This insoluble problem (to them) was met by the village genius in a singular manner. The arched midwall was not abolished. It was carried higher by means of a second tier of arches whose columns rest strangely on the crowns of the lower. These upper openings permit the principal timbers to rest in their old position, while the higher timbers are supported by the abruptly ending wall. Thus a single pitched roof outside is attained, sustained by a double framework within. The result is unique, and remains as a monument of the courage, resource, and devotion to their church of our mountain dalesmen.

[Since this chapter was written the stone face—p. 104—has been returned by Kendal to Grasmere.—Ed.]