Quoth the Matron

Holy House, Anglican Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham, May 2015

Continuing the theme of yesterday’s feast of Our Lady of Walsingham, today I’m sharing the original version of the Walsingham Pilgrim Hymn, written by Sir William Milner (1893-1960) and sung to the tune Lourdes, with its familiar refrain of the Aves. The hymn was revised by Father Hope Patten’s successor as Administrator of the Anglican shrine, Father Colin Stephenson, in 1960 (after Sir William’s death that year, and two years after Hope Patten’s death - canny timing, that). The version below is taken from the third edition of the The Pilgrims’ Manual, dated 1949 (the first edition was published in 1928, but the hymn predates this, as Father Cobb, in his history of the shrine, indicates that the first issue of Our Lady’s Mirror in 1926 mentions the hymn). In my 1949 manual the hymn is prefaced with these brief words of explanation: ‘This processional is based on the mediaeval legend, long loved by our Catholic forefathers’.

Comparing the two versions is an interesting exercise in literary taste, history, memory, and mixed emotion. The older form of the hymn is longer by five verses and, for those who enjoy the stuff of legend, it happily fleshes it out somewhat, particularly on the detail of Richeldis’ vision of the Virgin and the miraculous circumstances of the erection of the Holy House at the hands of Our Lady herself, with Lady Richeldis’ chaplain receiving an honourable mention. Also notable is that whereas the updated version of the hymn references Henry VIII as a ‘king who had greed in his eyes’ (the older version speaks, more poetically, of his ‘covetous eyes’) in relation to the treasures and wealth of the shrine, the older version sounds a more merciful note of regal rehabilitation (‘But his soul did repent, when he came for to die/And to Walsingham’s Lady for mercy did cry’). This is lacking in the present form, which feels, to me at least, notwithstanding the historical accuracy, just a tad heart-rending (especially when the accompanying organ sounds an ominous note during the verse; though I do realise that this is much enjoyed by others of a more mischievous disposition).

Father Stephenson’s version also includes a curious verse which, like the above, as an Anglican I always considered peculiar given the shrine’s place within the life of the established Church of England. Now, as a Catholic of the Ordinariate, it’s certainly much easier, theologically, to sing (‘And this realm which had once been Our Lady’s own Dower/Had its Church now enslaved by the secular power’), but its continued presence within the canon of the Walsingham Pilgrim Hymn of the Anglican shrine is even more baffling in light of the happy existence of the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham. Sir William’s version makes no mention of this emasculation, thus rendering it more coherent for those Anglicans who have not (yet) taken up the generous offer of the Ordinariate which, if nothing else, promises that liberty for the Church from the slavish excesses of the secular power... 

Of course the older version had its critics long before Father Stephenson amended it. Michael Yelton, in his excellent history of Father Hope Patten and the Anglican shrine, notes that Sir William’s words ‘have often been criticised for their banality,’ and references Bishop Henley Henson’s (then-Bishop of Durham) attack on it as ‘pitiable rubbish’. But in these days of revived traditional worship in its hieratic register of English (think Divine Worship: The Missal...), I rather like it. It won’t catch on too widely, of course, because the present version, now nearly sixty years old, is much-treasured, not least because there are some memorable and even fun verses to be found therein (‘Then lift high your voices, rehearse the glad tale/Of Our Lady’s appearing in Stiffkey’s fair vale’, and ‘So crowded were roads that the stars, people say/That shine in the heavens were called Walsingham Way,’ for example). Nonetheless, perhaps Sir William’s old hymn can be dusted off and brought out in an Ordinariate context from time to time where the rhyming of ‘meads’ with ‘bedes’ is happily married in verse, and where the use of such old-fashioned phrases as ‘celestial-crowned’, ‘full wondrous’, ‘for to die’, ‘right soon’, ‘forthwith goodly store’, and the like might be regarded as (albeit antiquated) treasures to be shared... Anyway, judge it for yourself. 

Sing the glories of Mary, celestial-crowned,
All-loving, all-lowly, o’er women renowned,
Ave, Ave, Ave, Maria! Ave, Ave, Ave, Maria!

​Chant the story, full wondrous, how Nazareth’s Home
For England was builded in Walsingham’s combe.

’Twas when Edward Confessor, ruled over our land,
The saintly, the gracious, ’neath God’s high command,

To Richeldis, a matron full blameless in life,
Who sought for the Star that leads safe through our strife.

Our Lady, all-clement, was pleased to appear,
And her voice, sweetly sounding, Richeldis did hear:

‘I come now to ask you, dear daughter of mine,
On the lands of your fathers to build me a shrine:

‘See, build from this model my arms now enfold - 
’Tis Nazareth’s homestead, more precious than gold,

‘Where Jesus, my Lord, on my bosom once laid;
Thrice holy the house where His baby feet played.

‘And this shrine’s dedication the honour shall tell
Of that mystical season when came Gabriel,

‘To announce unto me that on Christmas’​ fair morn
Of my womb should the Lord of Redemption be born.

‘And the spot that I choose where the House shall arise,
By a sign shall be plainly revealed to your eyes’​.

Next morn when Richeldis went abroad in the meads
​With her chaplain conversing, and saying her bedes,

Lo! springs bright as crystal burst forth from the plain
Where but now the green pastures unbroken had lain.

‘The sign that was promised, see, father, revealed!
O God, for Thy goodness our thanks we now yield,’

Thus in joy quoth the matron. Forthwith goodly store
Of oak-trees was hewn, and of rushes galore.

Right soon the good timbers in order were laid,
And the walls, newly rising, stood forth in the glade.

When lo! in the night came a bright angel-band,
And the work was completed by Mary’s own hand.

In the morn when the builders to work did proceed,
They found not the chapel, half built, in the mead:

For garnished, completed, from where it had been
Full ten score of paces translated ’twas seen:

In wonder they stood and in awe at this sight,
As they gazed on the fruits of that wonderful night.

And there, where Our Lady had founded it sure,
The chapel for centuries long did endure.

Came pilgrims in thousands, this wonder to view,
To praise our dear Lady, her help to pursue.

The Canons of Austin its guardians became,
And a glorious Minster their labour did frame:

Then lofty was builded God’s altar of grace;
And hard by the Lord’s dwelling, His Mother had place:

And the shrine was with heavenly radiance dight,
With gold and with gems as the firmament bright:

Here stood the fair image, miraculous styled,
Of Mary, soft cradling her glorious Child.

Here love of their Mother, their vows for to pay,
Came the faithful, nor even went empty away;

Here the sick and the suff’ring, invoking her aid,
At the shrine, in the waters, full often were laid:

And Mary her Son in high Heaven besought,
And many a healing miraculous wrought;

And many the graces and favours bestowed
On those who in faith took the pilgrimage road.

And last came a king and his virtuous queen
To pray that their bed might be blessed with a wean;

Who, alack, on the shrine cast his covetous eyes
And the gold that shone fairer than stars of the skies.

The order went forth: and by impious hands
That shrine was despoilèd, and stolen the lands;

But his soul did repent, when he came for to die,
And to Walsingham’​s Lady for mercy did cry.

Yet though all seemed as ended, the Dark Ages through
Faithful hearts turned to Mary to offer their due:

Though no more stood the shrine so resplendent to see,
And thin stream of pilgrims still sought grammercy.

Till at last, when full measure of penance was poured,
In her Shrine see the honour of Mary restored:

Again ’neath her image the tapers shine fair,
In her children’​s endeavours past wrongs to repair.

Again in her ‘House’ her due honour is taught:
Her name is invoked, her fair graces besought:

And the sick and the maimed seek the pilgrimage way,
And miraculous healing their bodies display.

Oh Mother, give heed to the prayer of our heart,
That your glory from here never more may depart.

Now to God the All-Father, and Son, with due praise,
And Life-giving Spirit, thanksgiving we raise.

​Sir William Milner