played by Max Von Sydow

London My friend Leonie is a very tolerant person. She’d have to be, since she knows me, the kind of person who walks all the way to Westminster Abbey, looks at the crowds, looks at the entrance charge, and still slightly off kilter from the plinth experience and a complete wuss suggests that perhaps we don’t go in. This wasn't the way I wanted to finally see Elizabeth I's tomb. If she was annoyed with me, she didn’t show it. Instead she suggested we have a look at Westminster Cathedral instead and didn’t seem too surprised when I said that thought they were the same building.

I did, I really did, I'm that ignorant. I thought Westminster Cathedral was another name for Westminster Abbey, just as the Anglican Cathedral in Liverpool is often referred to as Liverpool Cathedral and the Metropolitan goes by the name of Paddy’s Wigman. I’m happy to have been put right. But I am pleased to see that the Cathedral’s own website describes the creation as “one of the greatest secrets of London” – it’s own obscurity a tourism selling point.

Westminster Cathedral is a smaller version of how I’d always imagined the Metropolitan Cathedral would have turned out, especially if you compare the brick finish of architect John Francis Bentley’s building with the completed crypt of Lutyan’s scheme for Liverpool. It has the same high, mysterious ceilings, the many chapels leading out from the nave, the unexpected impression of a wealth of interior space, eschewing of gothic architecture in favour of something rather more Byzantine.

The first thing which draws your eyes is that ceiling; in the main body of the church these are simple, undecorated domes, black with what I presume to be soot, shadowed in such a way that in places it’s almost like looking into the unknown. Everywhere else, in those chapels, are mosaics, dozens of them depicting bible stories and other Catholic iconography, a visual feast. We’d stumbled into lunchtime mass, so we couldn’t have a decent look around for fear of disturbing anyone, but the impression is awe-inspiring, no matter how long you spend there.

When he was working in London, William Shakespeare mostly worshipped at just two churches because of their proximity to his theatres. The more famous is Southwark Cathedral which was just a short walk from the Globe Theatre, or as the church was known then, St. Saviours. The present building has been repaired and reconstructed a few times since the 16th century, the nave having been replaced at least twice, which means, like the best medieval churches, the history of the place is held within the fabric of its structure.

The church had an uneasy connection with local actors; though it was the place were the company worshipped (their names appearing on the parish registers and many would be buried within its walls) the chaplains would denounce the theatre from the pulpit. These days, it’s this connection which is the main tourist feature, and Shakespeare is commemorated by a monument in the south aisle, above which is a stained glass window depicting scenes from the plays including a very resolute Hamlet. There’s also a plaque offering thanks to Sam Wanamaker, whose determination led to the Globe reconstruction just down the Thames.

When Shakespeare and company decamped to Blackfriars Theatre (set up in a monastry), their church became St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe. Its curious name derives from a house purchased by Edward III in 1361 which he used as the storehouse for his accoutrements, the “Royal Wardrobe”. That original church, the one Shakespeare would have known (and the wardrobe) were destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666. The shell of what exists now was one of the fifty-one baroque churches designed by Sir Christopher Wren in its wake, the interior a 1950s reconstruction after the original was gutted during the Blitz (in 1940).

Off the main road, hardly sign-posted, it’s not an easy place to find; by then Leo, or the person with the sense of direction, had gone home, and I took a few false turns and was given directions to the wrong church before I gave in and caught a taxi with a driver who only had a vague notion. As you can see from the photograph, it’s a forbidding place, the kind of gloomy edifice you’d expect to see an Ingmar Bergman film when the main character (played by Max Von Sydow) is falling out of love with God and is clamouring for answers but finds none. Look at this crucifix which is in the grounds. I can’t imagine you’d find much comfort here:



But them I’m not a religious person, and I know that people visit churches for different reasons. Perhaps the interior is different; though the church is closed during August, I was able to glance inside a bit, and saw some rather jolly wood panelling and the impression that as with many baroque churches, there is more than initially meets the eye. Like Westminster Cathedral, this could be another of London's secrets waiting to be rediscovered.