At the beginning of last Century the Parish Church, dedicated to All Saints, was the only church in Tottenham, and although smaller than at present it was large enough for the number of worshippers. But as the number of inhabitants increased, although other churches had been erected, it was necessary to enlarge it, and in 1876 the new chancel was built, north and south transepts, an organ chamber, double vestries, and a north porch added, and what was formerly the old chancel absorbed in the nave, and the new roofs made considerably higher than the old. For my part, I like to think of the “Old Church,” as we used to call it, as it was when I was a child, with the high pews with doors to them, two of which were square, with seats all round, like a little room. One of these was allotted to the tenant of the Moat House, Tottenham Park. The centre alley of the nave was paved with grave stones, but they were so worn by time that in many cases the inscriptions were nearly obliterated. There was a gallery at each side, and one at the west end, where the girls from the Blue School sat. The organ was in this gallery; Mr. Stone was the organist for a great many years. On the wall of the gallery on the south side were placed all the Hatchments that had been taken from the large houses in the neighbourhood. The other gallery was private; built and presented to the church by three gentlemen of the congregation. The pulpit was a three-decker; the lower part was where the minister stood to read the lessons, and by the side was the sort of box, where the Parish Clerk sat. One of his duties was to say all the “Amens,” and also to read the alternate verses of the Psalms, etc. We children used to look forward with pleasure to hearing Psalm lxxiv., for when it came to the eleventh verse, to our great amusement, old James Filsell always said: “Why pluckest thou not thy right hand out of thy ‘buzzum.’” The Vicar then was the Rev. Thomas Newcome, who lived at Shenley; he was also Vicar of that parish, and it was only occasionally he came to Tottenham to take the service. He never failed to come on the 25th Sunday after Trinity, and my recollection of him is hearing him say, in loud and impressive tones, the collect beginning, “Stir up, we beseech Thee, O Lord, the wills of Thy faithful people.” The strong accent on the first two words always made them sound “Stour oop.”

We only had morning and afternoon service, and as it used to get dusk on winter afternoons the pew opener placed two flat brass candlesticks on the top of the last pew on either side of the aisle to light the congregation out. It was not a brilliant illumination, but it served every purpose.

The next Vicar was the Rev. W. J. Hall. During the latter part of his time some of the congregation wished to have an evening service, and offered to pay for a minister from London to conduct it; but on talking it over with Mr. Forster’s father, his remark was, “I am getting into years, Forster, and so are you; so we will not consent to it, and if any one wishes for an evening service there are other churches to which they can go.” But Mr. Hale, who succeeded Mr. Hall, willingly agreed to the request.

Over the Altar at the East there was a beautiful window of ancient painted glass divided into eight compartments, containing the representations of St. Matthew, St. Mark, St. Luke, with smaller figures of David, Isaiah, and Jeremiah. It was given to the Church in 1807 by John Eardly Wilmot, who then resided at Bruce Castle. The other windows were all plain glass.

The most remarkable monument in the Church, of fine white marble, against the upper end of the north wall, was erected to the memory of Maria, the daughter of Richard Wilcocks, of Tottenham, and the wife of Sir Robert Barkham, of Wainfleet, in the County of Lincoln, who died in 1644. The monument is ornamented with the busts of the deceased and her husband; Sir Robert being represented in armour, with a peaked beard and whiskers, holding a book in one hand; and his wife habited in veil, necklace, handkerchief, and stomacher, very richly ornamented with lace, also with a book in one hand and resting the other on a skull. On the base of the monument are on a black ground the effigies in white marble of four sons on one side and eight daughters on the other in praying attitude; the first on each side kneeling to a desk with a book on it. One of the children on either side is represented as deceased, and laid wrapped in a shroud, with a death’s head under the pillow.

Underneath the painted window the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments were written, and on either side of the Altar rails were two large boards covered with leather; on these was written in letters of gold an account of the bequests to the Parish.

Formerly the Vestries used to be held in the Vestry-room, but as the population increased, and there was more business to be done, the accommodation was not sufficient, and so they were held, first at the Lecture Hall, and afterwards at the Drill Hall, and now at the Bruce Grove Board School.

The bell that is known as the saints or vestry bell was given to the Church in 1801 by Humphrey Jackson, Esq., M.D., who lived for many years in White Hart-lane. This bell has upon it an ornamented cross on which are fleur-de-lis and on the upper part the inscription “Sit nomen Domine Benedictum I.H., Fecit, 1663,” together with two medals and an ornamental border. On the lower part there are other medals, on one of which is a representation of the Virgin and Child. This bell was the alarm bell to the garrison of Quebec, and was appropriated by some drunken sailors during the siege of that place by the force under General Townsend. It is believed there is a quantity of silver in its composition, which accounts for its melodious sound.

In former years some poor pensioner was allowed to make a home in the room over the porch. The last was Betty Fleming. She kept a great many cats, and used to place saucers with milk for them all round the churchyard. She died in 1790, aged 100 years, having lived in that room forty years.

A dog would not be permitted to enter a church now, but I remember when Charles Bradford (old blind Charlie as he was called) was led in by his dog, and it remained with him all the service, so quiet that no one would have known it was there.

One Sunday evening in the summer of 1876 there was a terrific storm. All through the sermon it had been getting darker and darker, and when the last hymn was being sung the storm broke out in great fury, the last verse had to be omitted, and the Vicar gave the Benediction. The noise was deafening; the hailstones were immense; they smashed the Lanthorne light, and glass was flying in all directions. Outside the water was so deep that those who attempted to leave the church were obliged to come back. To add to the confusion one lady went into hysterics. Some one covered her with a waterproof so that she should not see the lightning. Fortunately I had a bottle of strong smelling salts with me, which I sent to her, and after a time she recovered. Everyone, I believe, was frightened; some were deadly pale, and it was a great relief to all of us when the storm abated. But many people had cause to remember it as it did so much damage, destroying the crops in the market gardens and smashing such quantities of glass.

At one time the churchyard was sufficient, not only for Tottenham, but for Wood Green as well, and one could wander over the grass and amongst the graves. There were not any very curious epitaphs; one I thought very beautiful was on a stone erected to the memory of a pupil at Bruce Castle. It commenced, “Far from his native home the little Sulliot came.” On another was written, “Charlotte, we shall meet again.” The stone was erected by a man who lost his wife. But after a time his grief subsided, and he married again, whereupon he caused these words to be erased.

When the Church was altered the churchyard also underwent a considerable change. The paths were diverted, and many of the stones were removed to another part. One lady strongly objected to having her family vault touched, and applied to the Secretary of State to uphold her in her refusal, which he did. Her reply to the Vicar when he asked her to reconsider her decision was, “Cursed is he who removeth his neighbour’s land-mark.”

My grandmother was buried at the time there were body-snatchers, and my mother was so afraid of her body being disturbed, that, although she employed two men to keep watch, she went accompanied by her maid at various hours of the night to see that they were doing their duty, and always found them at their post. It was a very lonely walk, but her love for her mother made her brave. There was a watch-box on the north side of the tower, and for a fortnight or three weeks after a burial old David Hummett, who was one of the Charlies, kept watch. I have heard that somewhere about this time a lady was buried in Edmonton Churchyard wearing some very handsome rings. This was much talked about, and some men for the sake of the booty dug up the coffin that night, and opening it, commenced to cut off her fingers as they were unable to remove the rings. To their horror she sat up. They made off as quickly as they could, and she walked home to her husband’s house and rang at the bell and he opened the door to her. What he felt no one can tell; at any rate it must have been a shock to his nerves. She lived for some years after, and this account was given to my mother by the nurse who attended the lady when her baby was born. She was in a trance, so the men’s greed was fortunate for her, as it saved her life.