The sun was already low in the sky when we – myself and my two eldest children – arrived at St. Mary’s church in the vale of Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire. Perched on an isolated chalk hillock on the outskirts of the village of Edlesborough, the impressive 13th-century building enjoys gorgeous views of rolling fields edged by the Chiltern hills.
Once we’d carried our bags up the grassy path to the porch, we found the keys in a key safe (thanks to an instructive ‘welcome’ email) and pushed open the heavy wooden door to the church. As my eyes adjusted to the dark interior, I spotted comfy-looking camp beds draped with blankets, lanterns, folding chairs with cushions and strings of fairy lights festooning pews. A cosy mini ‘camp’ area had been set up for us, complete with kettle, cutlery, mugs, a water cooler, tea, coffee and hot chocolate. Once we’d bagsied beds, we headed back outside to check out the churchyard before dark.
While I enjoyed the views and the way the evening sun shone through the blackthorn creating dappled shadows on honey-coloured gravestones, it was the novelty of the chemical toilet in a tiny shed that was an instant hit with the kids, who took it in turns to test the facilities repeatedly, with much hilarity. I was grateful it was spotlessly clean and had motion-sensitive lights.
Ancient surroundings
Back inside, I admired the ornate interior. With medieval floor tiles, 15th-century misericords, a stunning four-tier pulpit, grand Victorian wall paintings and stained-glass windows, there was plenty to feast the eyes upon. I took my time, luxuriating in the unusual privilege of being able to slowly drink in every tiny detail and study every element in peace, unhurried.
I always enjoy snooping around old churches that I stumble across while walking, but it occurred to me that because I’m usually not stopping for long, I rarely – if ever – fully immerse myself in a place. Quietly taking in the whole church – bit by bit – was almost meditative. I noticed tiny imperfections in stone pillars, read every ledger stone, each epitaph, ran my fingers along worn prayer stalls and perched in every pew. The golden-hour sunlight streamed through stained glass, creating pools of vivid colours on the cool flagstones.
We made pancakes for supper on a camping stove among the graves and sat on folding camp chairs in front of an enormous yew tree, soaking up the last of the warm evening sun. Then, when it got darker, the kids donned their onesies and played hide-and-seek inside, racing around the nave, chancel and organ like hyperactive cherubs. Next, they made shadow shapes on the vast walls outside, dancing in front of the floodlights that illuminate the building, before lying down on the soft grass, staring up in awe at the moon and stars in the huge clear sky above our chalky hillock.
After hot chocolate and the traditional fuss about cleaning teeth, we all collapsed into our cosy camp beds. The church felt cold, as predicted, but thanks to four-season sleeping bags, thick socks, extra blankets and provided hot water bottles, we were warm and comfortable all night long.
Once the kids were asleep and I was lying in the dark bell tower, I admit, my mind began to wander. Was that a ghost in the gloom or a statue? Was that strange noise just the water cooler? Or perhaps it was an angry spirit, determined to haunt the cheeky champers? Ancient beams and pews creaked loudly as they cooled, every sound echoing. Sure, there were battery-powered candles flickering in the darkness, but there were also shadowy corners and, every so often, something would flutter to our lantern before darting off into the darkness again, perhaps a huge moth – or a bat? I thought about the skeletons beneath us, all the souls who had entered the doors over the centuries, joyful, grieving, in pain, desperate, alive, dead…
Fortunately, as a tired mother of young children, exhaustion triumphed over any paranormal spookery and, despite the creaks, I decided pretty quickly that the space felt peaceful enough, was probably awash with prayers and positive vibes as well as old bones, and promptly fell asleep.
The morning sun completely transformed the church once again, flooding the space with cool, blue light and highlighting another raft of architectural features I hadn’t fully appreciated before. Breakfast pastries for the younger champers and a hot coffee for me gave us the energy to pack away all our kit and tidy up. The dew glistened on tiny violets in the churchyard and I spent a long time watching birds sweep across the beautiful surrounding fields below.
A return visit
I’d certainly go champing again. It was easy to book and reasonably priced – a real adventure that was fun for all ages and created lasting family memories, but it affected me more profoundly than I was expecting. As well as being a wonderful way to experience an ancient building close-up, my champing stay brought me some unexpected inner peace. I relished the tranquillity of our stay. It’s not often we truly switch off, lose track of time and simply reflect. Champing was a gentle reminder to slow down and live in the moment.
A church is a place that brings our attention to our own mortality and, by doing so, reminds us to embrace life in all its glory. You don’t get that from a hotel or an Airbnb do you?
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Top photo credit: Joseph Casey