St Peter’s Church in Upwell is a fascinating place, not least because of the roof angels. They’re thought to date from the early 15th century—perhaps even the first quarter of it. The wings you see now aren’t original, but the bodies and heads are, and they’ve watched over the congregation for centuries. Alongside them are demons from the same period, and they’re not the friendly kind either—sharp, unsettling faces that must have been enough to keep worshippers on the straight and narrow, or at the very least haunt their dreams.
I’ve always been drawn to those angels and demons, not just for their craftsmanship but for the imagination behind them. Where did those medieval woodcarvers get their ideas? Were they sketching from old folktales, from fevered dreams, or perhaps from their own fears? Whatever their source, they left behind figures that still have the power to fascinate—and to unsettle—six hundred years later.
The village of Upwell is shaped by water—quite literally. Well Creek runs right through the middle of it, and the houses and streets seem to cling to its banks. Back in medieval times, the creek wasn’t just a sleepy waterway but part of the River Nene itself. The Nene once met the Great Ouse before they spilled together into the Wash, and in those days, Wisbech, only five miles away, was actually a coastal port.
It’s hard to picture now, with Peterborough and London only a couple of hours apart by car, but when roads were slow, dangerous, and ruinously expensive, rivers were the lifeblood of trade. The Nene carried everything from produce to limestone from the Midlands out to sea, and then onwards to London.
All of that changed in the eighteenth century, when the river’s course was diverted between Peterborough and the coast, leaving Upwell—quite literally—on a backwater. Suddenly, its busy commercial days were behind it. But that earlier prosperity explains why such a modest village ended up with such an imposing church, one that still dominates the place today.
After the Reformation, it became mandatory for churches to display the royal arms, a reminder that the monarch now stood supreme over the church. Upwell, however, refuses to be obscure. The church doesn’t just have one royal coat of arms, it has two—and both are carved rather than painted on boards, which makes them feel far more alive.
On the north gallery is the first, a striking piece. The unicorn here steals the show, sporting what can only be described as a sardonic grin.
The second arms are mounted at the west end of the church. This one carries the insignia and motto of the Order of the Garter at its centre. The lion and unicorn here are noticeably leaner, fiercer creatures than the plumper, more complacent pair opposite them. Between the two, you get the sense that the sculptors were having as much fun as they were following the rules.
Before the Reformation, Norfolk’s churches were alive with colour and presence. Angels, carved in wood and stone, stretched their wings across hammerbeam roofs and gazed down from screens, their forms gilded and painted to catch the candlelight. Stained glass poured jewel tones across walls and floors, while images of saints, apostles, and martyrs stood richly adorned at every altar.
The Reformation brought a sweeping change. Angels were broken or stripped away, their faces hacked from wood and stone. Windows were shattered or whitewashed, the saints erased, and painted screens dulled to bare timber. What had once been a vision of heaven on earth was reduced to plainness, a quiet echo of the splendour that was lost
This is a carved stone coat of arms plaque, likely from a church or manor house, judging by the weathered condition, lichen growth, and the architectural setting behind it. Let’s break down the key heraldic features:
1. Shield Division - The shield is divided per pale (down the middle into left and right halves).
Dexter (left side, as seen by the bearer; right side to the viewer): A long cross with decorative finials on each arm. This looks like a cross crosslet or a variant of a cross potent. Crosses in heraldry often represent Christian faith or crusader ancestry.
Sinister (right side, as seen by the bearer; left side to the viewer): Pattern of small ermine spots (stylised black tails on white background, although here carved in relief). Ermine represents purity, dignity, and high rank. There’s also a small central device that looks like a star or flower.
2. Crest - Above the shield is a helmet (a knight’s helm, typical in heraldry), facing forward.
3. Mantling - Flowing decorative foliage surrounds the shield—this is mantling, stylised cloth meant to protect the helm from the sun.
4. Motto - At the bottom is a scroll with Latin text. It appears to read:
“Cruz fixus… luxor mihi” (though the erosion and lichen make it hard to decipher).
A likely reconstruction is:
“Crucifixus heror mihi” or “Crux fixa lux mihi”
→ meaning something like “The fixed cross is my light” or “The crucified is my strength.”
5. Meaning - The cross emphasises Christian devotion
