Gunther Anton

The first time I went into the village church at East Chinnock, I was bowled over by the stained glass windows. It's German glass, somebody told me. And the story was told again for my benefit. Gunther Anton was a prisoner of war during WW II, held nearby at the Houndstone Camp, Yeovil. During the week, he worked on a local farm, within the shadow of the village church, and he would join the congregation on Sundays and spend time in the building when he wasn't working. Restrictions were probably but lightly enforced, if at all, and he got to know local people. (There are stories circulating that he enjoyed a weekly pint at the pub with villagers.) Over the years, he built up a relationship with the village and its people. After the war, he returned to Germany, and resumed his work as a Master Glazier near Stuttgart. A project formed in his mind, with encouragement from the villagers, though apparently the Parochial Church Council was not initially very keen. Anton wanted to put stained glass windows into the church as an expression of his thankfulness to the little community in England whom he had got to know, and as an expression of gratitude to God for his life. Over the next 26 years, he supervised the installation of new windows. They are stunning in their clarity, their vibrancy and sense of life. They're all the more impressive because you don't expect to find them in a quiet little corner of Somerset.

Rural England

I found a bit of forgotten England when I officiated one Sunday morning at Pendomer, in Somerset. A tiny hamlet, set in open fields, nestlng not that far from the A30, it can't have changed much in hundreds of years. The 14th century church sits next to the former manor house and inside, as I waited for the small congregation to arrive, I had a look around. There's a handsome stone effigy to a knight of the fourteenth century, thought to be Sir John de Domer, positioned ostentatiously near the chancel in the way that the great and the good thought was due to them. The church notice board gave more information about the history of the church and hamlet, saying that Sir John had made his home here and bequeathed his name to the parish, making it known as Pen/Domer. He apparently came from Domer in north Hampshire, now called Dummer. I passed by Dummer when heading to Guildford the other week and made a detour through the village, noting an unremarkable metal name plate for the village. In a small way, I felt connected with Sir John, moving from Hampshire to the west country (but that's probably as far as that comparison will stretch).