The Fake Knights


I let myself into the little church as an afterthought.

With a history stretching back to the 13th century, the church where Benjamin Disraeli is buried has the smell of an old place. But at first glance, the resting place of one of England’s great Prime Ministers could date from the late Victorian era. Apart from that Very Old Smell, and a suspiciously ancient font, there was little to betray its origins.

St Michael and All Angels,Hughenden, Β is a shrine to a man Queen Victoria adored, and we all know Victoria’s views on mourning, don’t we? It has magnificent stonework and is stuffed with Disraeli memorials.

I sighed. I don’t really like Victorian churches much. A temporal snob, I tend to go for the pre-1800 class of church. More stories.

Still, I pottered around. Had a bit of a poke about. And when I came to the curtained dark door into the vestry, my way was not barred, and I thought: well, why not?

And there it was. The rest of the church’s lifetime, stuffed into a very small corner in the north chancel.

Knights? You’ve never seen such knights. To all intents and purposes half the officers who led Englishmen on the Crusades were shoehorned into this tiny space. There were three effigies: splendidly outfitted. Recumbent soldiers in the armour of a knight circa 1265, lying there, one with his feet on a great lion; another with his legs crossed, a sign indicating he had been on the crusades. Coats of arms emblazoned pillars and figures alike; a fetching blue chequered and scarlet confection with a griffin clutching what looked like a baby.

And there were more: knights on stones set into the wall, knights lying underneath the arch.

Hercule Poirot – or possibly his Hollywood scriptwriters -once said , standing on the Orient Express over the mutilated corpse of a moneyed import/exporter, “There are too many clues in this room.”

Exactly. You couldn’t have got another knight in here without building a mezzanine. And they shouted the same coat of arms over and over again, and used blatant leg crossing to bawl the crusades at passers by who happened to make it to the North Chancel.

And I was right. Thanks, Hercule. Historians have dated these things, and they all come from the 16th century.

They are commonly held to be the work of a family called Wellesbourne, who wanted to cement a history they fancied for themselves. They were related, they insisted, to Simon De Montfort: you know, the knight who led a rebellion against Henry III. And opened parliament up to ordinary citizens from the towns.

So the Wellesbournes went to incredible lengths to make up the missing relations. They had them sculpted, and plastered them with arms and identifying features and have thus sealed themselves as a family of naughty fakers.

I have not mentioned, though, one figure I passed.

It gave me such a start and made me wish, immediately, that I was not alone in this hushed church, even on a sunny day.

It was the most lifelike, emaciated cadaver, only half covered in a shroud. Death lay there, in stone, but he appeared that any moment he might open those sockets and stare at me. This was a deceased, gruesome masterpiece. A wraith waiting to happen.

I steeled myself, of course, and took pictures; but always with a faint dread that the subject might suddenly, through desiccated teeth, with a death-rattle, utter “Cheese.”

He is not fake. He is 13th century, and so is his shroud.

All that glitters is not gold. And death conquers all; the most authentic of all the grew warriors this world has ever seen.


24 thoughts on “The Fake Knights

  1. Dear Kate, Halloween here in the states is mostly children dressed up in costumes depicting their favorite super heroes or princesses and going house to house seeking “treats.” Many homes have Halloween decorations in the front yard. I can just picture a house with a cadaver laid out on the front lawn, under drooping tree limbs. It would be voice activated and as soon as one of the children said, “Look at that!” the cadaver would slowly rise and say, “Cheese!” What a hoot! Peace.

    1. They did, Gale. Nothing is sacred, is it? Of course, we have no way of knowing what retribution they suffered at the hands of this fearsome memorial. I feel a ghost story coming on.

  2. Spooky! 😯 And what a cache of cadavers to plunder into, camera in hand.

    “I’ll take the Spook behind shroud #1!”
    “Ack! It’s curtains for you.”

    You are very brave to wander beyond the vestry proper into the realms of catacombs and fakery.

  3. How did the poor real one end up among the fakes? Was he there since the 13th century, forgotten? The best candidate to lend credence to the imposters? Could you find out anything about him?

  4. Have been reading up on the middle ages recently and it will not come as too much of a surprise that the “wars” these knights fought in were less Braveheart-style epic battles and more knights rolling up into villages and slaughtering everybody. Not sure why anyone would want to fake knights as family members as the modern equivalent would be faking members of the crips or the bloods.

  5. The nights are works of art and rather impressive. It’s hard for me to think of them basically crowded in a good-sized closet! I would think they’d be on display somewhere more visible. They do tell a fascinating story about a family’s false sense of importance and pride. I enjoyed looking at the photos!

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