Holy Cross Church, Haltwhistle

Haltwhistle in Northumberland has the air of a border town. As well as dealing with the ancient historical wars between England and Scotland, this is was once bandit country, the Border Reivers making mock of law and order right up to the 1600s. The Church of the Holy Cross is a pleasant old place, but the an atmosphere of nervousness and edginess seemed to have soaked into its stones. Monuments to old warriors and belligerent lords line the walls and the thin, Early English lancet windows somehow add to the feeling of defence and need for security.

Of course, Haltwhistle is a pleasant, tourist town. It has bookshops and antique shops, cafes and pubs with walkers and cyclists lapping up the northern sunshine. Yet it once saw dark and dangerous times, with some of the older houses claiming to be peel towers and bastle houses, inside which locals could hide and sit out the latest raid or incursion.

The church in general is indeed a place of defence, relative security, and quiet waiting for safer times to come. The world is under the control of the evil one, and a community of like-minded refugees from its ancient rebellion is a welcome source of fellowship. Holy Cross might not be the prettiest church I have seen, nor even, when I come to think of it, one of the most fortified, but it doubtless kept bodies safe for periods of time, and souls safe for longer. Church communities are imperfect and seldom attractive, but they get us through hard times and difficult sieges.