'The Gypsy Church', Bramdean - by Raine Geoghegan, photographs by Jack Lilleywhite
In August last year, Romani poet Raine Geoghegan, gave a performance of her prose and poetry at the iconic Church in the Woods, Bramdean, Hampshire - also known as 'the Gypsy Church'. Raine kindly wrote the prose-poem 'Shelter' exclusively for the Travellers' Times to mark her performance, which we are proud to publish below. Over to you Raine:
I first visited the Church in the Woods also known as ‘the Gypsy Church’ last year in July when I attended an afternoon service of hymns and stories officiated by the Reverend Christopher Durrant. I had met him at a local fete and had given him a copy of my pamphlet, ‘Apple Water: Povel Panni.’ His great grandmother Phyllis and great grandfather Jack Greek were first generation Romany Gypsies. He remembers them well and was delighted to have a copy of my book.
The beautiful old iron church was built in 1883 and was bequeathed to the local people by Louisa Frances Katherine Bishop, the widow of the Reverend Bishop who caused the church to be built. Katherine had given instructions that on her death she would give £2000 to her trustees to build the church and pay the vicar of Bramdean to give services to the local commoners, charcoal burners and Gypsies. Since that time every vicar has carried out her wishes and now the Reverend Christopher is continuing in that tradition.
On warm days the congregation sit outside on pews and the combination of prayers, hymns, stories and bird song evokes a sense of time gone by. In cooler weather the candles are lit and everyone sits down to the sound of the harmonium. A bell is rung fifteen minutes before the service starts and guides each person to the church. It’s not an easy place to find but that gives it a certain mystery. Anyone visiting in the wet weather will need to wear wellies as they trudge through the wooded path en route to the church.
On Saturday 19th August I gave a poetry performance in the church. This was a dream come true as the very first time I visited I had a strong desire to do just that, although I never mentioned it to anyone. Reverend Christopher had invited me to read my work and also to write a poem for the church. My husband Simon Callow accompanied me on guitar and I read poems, monologues and sang Gypsy lullabies. The little church was full of beautiful people and the atmosphere was one of joy and appreciation. Some people had travelled from afar while others were local. Following the performance I signed copies of my books and chatted to friends outside where the rain had stopped falling. It was a special day and I had a strong sense that my Gypsy ancestors were there with me. Both the church and the land that it sits on evoke that effect. It’s a sacred place and I would urge you if you’ve not yet visited to do so. I have been invited back sometime in the future to perform again. It’s a huge privilege and I am thankful. I’ll leave you with the prose poem that is my tribute to this special church.
SHELTER
In the Valley where Brooms grow stands the Church in the Woods, all are welcome.
Tracing a path through bramble and bush, our boots squelching in the mud, our ears attuned to the bell, we come to an opening and there in all its glory stands the weathered old tin tabernacle with splinters of sunlight accentuating its beauty. Entranced I move forward as if under a spell, a red kite circling above, the sound of the bell loud in my ears, people saying hello, nice to see you and as I sit outside on the pews I hear voices, more like whispers, perhaps the tongue of folk who once lived on the common:
‘We used to come ‘ere, me and romiphen, all dressed up in our best togs. We’d gillie the old hymns, didn’t know all the words on account of not being able to read properly but we prayed for goodness, daya would say ‘the Lord’s kushtie.’
‘Us Gypsies sat right next to the gadje’s, we married ‘ere, said goodbye to our romiphen, watched the water trickle down our chavies ‘eads when they were christened. With ‘and on ‘eart we loved this church.’
The voices faded and as I sang, ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind I sensed the presence of those who had long gone, some of whom may have been my own romiphen, hop pickers, peg makers, charcoal burners, any one of them and they had all sought shelter here in the Church in the Woods, a Church that Gypsies call their own, a church that welcomes everyone.
‘Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess, The beauty of thy peace.’
Duvel parik tute: God bless you.
Romani words: romiphen – our people; gillie – sing; daya – mother; kushtie – good; gadje’s – non Gypsy.
Bramdean is called ‘the valley where the brooms grow’
By Raine Geoghegan
Information on the Church in the Woods can be found at: Church in the Wood - Upper Itchen Benefice
Bio for Raine Geoghegan
Raine Geoghegan MA is a poet and playwright of Romani & Welsh ethnicity. She is a Forward Prize, twice Pushcart Prize & Best of the Net nominee. Her work has been published internationally both online and in print with Poetry Ireland Review; Travellers’ Times; Under the Radar and many more. Her essay, ‘It’s Hopping Time’ was featured in Gifts of Gravity & Light (Hodder & Stoughton, 2021). She has three pamphlets published with Hedgehog Press. ‘Apple Water: Povel Panni’ was listed in the Poetry Book Society Spring 2019 Selection. Her play ‘The Tree Woman’ was featured online with the Same Boat Theatre Collective in San Francisco. She is the Romani Script Consultant for the musical ‘For Tonight’. ‘The Talking Stick: O Pookering Kosh’ was published in June 2022 with Salmon Poetry Press. She has read at festivals in the UK, Ireland and Sydney.
A shorter version of this article first appeared in the Autumn/Winter 2023 issue of the Travellers' Times Magazine. A downloadable version of the magazine can be seen here: Magazine | Travellers Times
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