In the Midlands of England stand Coventry and Lichfield cathedrals, one to the north, and the other to the south, of Birmingham. On the face of it, they’re as different as chalk from cheese. But they have one thing in common. Both have been subject to devastating attacks.
Coventry’s history is renowned. On 14 November 1940 much of the city was destroyed by Luftwaffe bombers, and the cathedral burned to the ground. After the war, the cathedral was rebuilt on adjacent ground, with the remaining walls of the wreckage preserved as a memorial. Lichfield’s history, on the other hand, is less well known. It was never destroyed, but severely damaged, almost exactly three hundred years previously. During the English Civil War, having no castle or city walls, Lichfield’s cathedral became the focal point of defence. Possession of the building swung to and fro between the two sides. It was besieged three times between 1643 and 1646; first by the Roundheads, then by the Cavalierss, and again by Roundheads. Neither side can escape blame for the ensuing destruction.
To say that Coventry is the more impressive sight is putting it mildly. The shell of the old cathedral, pierced by tracery lined windows, and complete with steeple topped tower adjoins the glass fronted porch of the new. Beyond the porch, the nave extends in a zigzag of sandstone, punctuated by honeycombed columns that light the interior space. Within the cathedral, glazed iridescent colour sparkles in sunlight.
At the far end, Christ in Glory surveys the scene from his seat in heaven, a brooding tapestry the size of an upturned tennis court. This is a scene to take your breath away.
On the wall hangs a bell, a gift from Germany presented on the fiftieth anniversary of the bombing. On it is inscribed the words PEACE – FRIEDE which, together with reconciliation, is the spirit in which the cathedral was built.
Over at Lichfield, three hunded years previously, the legacy of war had to be addressed. The stained glass windows had been smashed, and the roof stripped of lead. Cannon balls had been fired at the building (well, you could hardly miss!), and the central spire destroyed. Statues and monuments had also been destroyed. Not even the vicars’ communal boghouse had escaped the carnage. Rebuilding began in earnest in the 1660s. The cathedral was reroofed, the spire rebuilt, and the glass replaced. One hopes that the vicars got a new boghouse. But the walls were still defaced by carvings and Puritan inspired whitewash covered the wall paintings.
What we see today is a product of subsequent restoration, particuarly from the nineteenth century when Sir Gilbert Scott got his hands on it. With more money than taste, the Victorians went overboard, cramming the west front with a crowd of coiffed and bearded characters, memorably described by one writer as an advertisement for a hairdressers. Inside, a flourish of fussy detail adorns the choir. The nave has got off more lightly and, if a visitor were to whizz in from the fourteenth century, he would immediately recognise the simply lined Gothic pillars and arches.
All things considered, comparing the two cathedrals, Coventry – scene of the most shocking drama – has seen the more drastic restoration. As a tourist attraction and an architectural masterpiece it wins hands down, and you have to admire the way that it bears no grudges. Lichfield is the portly and badly dressed relation. It has its treasures, a collection of Anglo Saxon manuscripts displayed in the Chapter House but - when we visited – the Chapter House was inexplicably closed. Knowing Lichfield’s history, perhaps cavalier treatment of intruders was to be expected.
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