The King Who Dared to Dream

and Bath Abbey's extraordinary West Front

Bath is a stupendous city to visit, one of the absolute historic jewels in Britain’s tourist crown. Named for its Roman baths, the city once known as Aquae Sulis has a long and storied past, a status recognised in 1987 when it was justly created a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Roman connections are celebrated, and the fashionable creamy Georgian-era architecture, which includes the extraordinary Royal Crescent and Circus, are unsurpassed. There is a valid reason this charming city is visited by more than six million tourists a year.

In the centre of Bath lies the elegant Abbey Church of St Peter and St Paul, one of the last great Gothic perpendicular churches erected before the English Reformation. A Benedictine monastery first occupied the site in the eighth century, and was extensively rebuilt in mid to late twelfth century during the reign of the early Plantagenets.

By the advent of the Tudors, however, this once proud Romanesque abbey was crumbling, home to a dwindling community of errant monks that numbered just twenty-two. When the recently installed bishop of Bath and Wells, one Oliver King, arrived in Bath in 1497 to be enthroned, he was dismayed by what he encountered, and went to work.

Bishop King was a London-born and Eton-educated scholar who graduated from the university of Cambridge in 1457. He furthered his education across the Channel at the university of Orleans, becoming a doctor of Civil Law before entering the church. King showed promise in holy orders, and by 1473 had attracted royal attention when Edward IV appointed him Clerk of the Signet.

King’s competence in matters of diplomacy and his knowledge of the French language saw him created Edward IV’s ‘first and principal secretary’ for the French tongue in 1476. Four years later, he was promoted once more, becoming King’s Secretary, effectively in charge of all the king’s correspondence, a role with considerable responsibility and influence.

When Edward IV died in April 1483, it was expected King would continue to serve his master’s son, Edward V, but 78 days later, it was the elder Edward’s brother who was crowned king as Richard III. Oliver King was arrested, viewed as an enemy of the new regime, though as a churchman, came to no harm.

With the advent of Henry VII in 1485, King soon regained his position at the royal court, serving on several foreign embassies. In October 1492, high in royal favour once more, King was appointed bishop of Exeter, and three years later, on 6 November 1495, was translated to the see of Bath and Wells, which brought under his control Bath Abbey. On 29 September 1497, as the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy raced to its conclusion in the West Country, King hosted Henry VII in the city, during which the pair may have discussed the state of the abbey among other weighty matters of state.

Henry was a king keen to use the latest innovations in construction to project the grandness of his fledgling dynasty, architectural propaganda evident in building projects at Richmond Palace, Greenwich Palace, King’s College in Cambridge, and the Lady Chapel in Westminster Abbey to name a few prominent examples. It seems likely a discussion was had to begin something similar in Bath, under Bishop King’s aegis.

The comprehensive building programme that was soon underway at Bath, with Bishop King diverting much of the abbey’s income to the vast works. For two decades, masons and carpenters chipped and sawed away amid much commotion and noise, working with local limestone and timber that they fashioned to their own design. The leading masons commissioned for the job were royally connected brothers, Robert and William Vertue, who had worked for the king on Westminster Abbey, Greenwich Palace and the Tower of London. They promised the bishop ‘there shall be none so goodly, neither in England nor in France’, than what they had planned for Bath.

A grand ambition, the project only neared completion in the 1520s, by which point Bishop King, Henry VII, and the Vertue brothers were long dead, the former having died on 29 August 1503. The work was taken up by Prior William Birde, who helped see it through to completion, with support from King’s successor, Cardinal Adriano Castellesi.

The result was, and is, truly phenomenal, a unique façade resplendent in religious and royal iconography. The abbey’s West Front told a visual story that the sixteenth century pilgrim would immediately appreciate from a lifetime attending church and hearing sermons. Instantly recognisable are the two ladders, which begin just above the main door and which ascend high above the window. One each ladder, six angels are depicted going up and down the rungs. Two of the angels are, if you look closely, upside down, falling down the ladder.

This unusual feature is an architectural interpretation of Jacob’s Ladder, as recounted in the Book of Genesis. In the book, Jacob was charged with taking a wife from the House of Bethuel – during his journey, having travelled all night, he sourced some stones for a pillow and lay down to go to sleep.

That night, he dreamed about a ladder that was set upon the earth, but which reached all the way to Heaven. On the ladder, the angels of God ascended and descended. When Jacob woke, he understood that where he had lain was the gate of heaven – using the stones he had used for a pillow, he named the place Bethel, and vowed to build a house dedicated to God. It won’t be missed that Bethel and Bath sound similar.

Furthermore, Bath was a Benedictine Abbey, a monastic order founded in the early sixth century. Known as the black monks on account of the colour of their habits, one of the foremost rules of the order focused on the importance of the ascending the ladder to heaven through humility. To rise, one must be subordinate to the will of God, obedient to their superior, be patient through hardship, confess all sins, accept any task assigned and consider oneself inferior to all, not to speak until spoken to or readily laugh, and to speak simply and modestly. Through these deeds, one could reach heaven, but pride could see one descend the ladder. Every day, the monks of Bath would be reminded by the stone ladder on the exterior of their church to check their behaviour.

On either side of Bath’s ladders are a dozen carved figures, believed to represent at least some of the twelve apostles, some identifiable like Andrew, Bartholemew and Philip, with others depicting John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary. These generally are original, completed before 1523, some of their faded features belying identification. A few are modern replacements. Flanking the West Door, and thus guarding the gateway to heaven, are elaborate statues of saints Peter and Paul, the former holding keys and the latter a sword.

More original features are the Heavenly Host, a group of weathered angels above the window, and emblems of the Passion (carvings of Jesus’s bleeding heart, pierced hands and feet, and crown of thorns) in the corners above the door. A collection of Tudor royal badges, meanwhile, at face level, can be appreciated up close. These are the crowned Beaufort portcullis, of Henry VII’s maternal ancestors, and the Tudor Rose, merging the white rose of York with the red rose of Lancaster. These are over 500 years old.

The centrepiece of the West Front today is not an original feature, but likely replaced a similar feature that was lost or destroyed at some point during the 18^th or 19^th century. This is the 1900 carving of a robed and crowned Henry VII, situated front and centre looking down across the square, sceptre and orb in hand. Directly beneath Henry are his royal arms, featuring the quartered arms of England France, supported by the Welsh dragon and the Richmond Greyhound.

Bishop King had been restored to his positions and given great opportunity by King Henry and there is good reason to believe the churchman wished to show his gratitude. The connection of the Tudor king also served as useful dynastic and political propaganda, not too subtly projecting Henry’s divinely sanctioned authority across the city and the region. Having come to the throne a usurper, Henry never wasted any opportunity to spread the message that his claim to kingship had been approved by God’s judgment in battle, which the bishop was only too happy to help communicate to his congregation.

The fundamental message of the West Front, in its conception by King and execution by those that followed, was clear – salvation was attained through the Church and the intercession of the saints, and poor conduct could lead to damnation. Bath Abbey, like Jacob’s Ladder, was Heaven’s Gate on Earth, and its royal connections also intended to remind the people of the importance of obedience to earthly rulers.

Interestingly, a later tradition credited Bishop King’s rebuilding of the abbey to a dream he had one evening, much like the biblical Jacob. This seems to originate from the pen of the renowned Elizabethan courtier Sir John Harrington, a Somerset writer famous for inventing the flush toilet.

Writing nearly a century later, Harrington notes that he had heard of tales told that one evening King was lying down late one night, ‘musing or meditating’, after completing his devotions and prayers for the prosperity of Henry VII and his children. King ‘saw a vision of the Holy Trinity with angels ascending and descending a ladder, near to the foot of which there was a fair olive tree supporting a crown’. A voice apparently bellowed ‘Let an Olive establish the crown, and let a King restore the church’.

Bishop King took ‘exceeding great comfort’ from this vision, believing it referred to himself and his Tudor sovereign. The olive was a symbol of ‘peace and plenty’, with Henry VII having a reputation for preferring peace to war. Of course, Olive and King was a clear reference to the bishop as well. This then, according to Harrington at least, provoked a deep desire in Bishop King to overhaul the church, which, as we have seen, was accomplished over the next few decades.

It is not likely this was true, of course, and there’s grounds to believe that Harrington was spinning a tall tale in an effort to persuade would-be benefactors to help fund a new roof for the church. But either way, Oliver King did initiate the resurrection of Bath Abbey. It is to be lamented that the elaborate works were only nearing completion when the English Reformation thundered into being and changed the face of English religion forever.

On 27 January 1539, the abbey was surrendered to the crown and dissolved, the building seized, and the monks scattered. Thankfully, the abbey, England’s last major medieval gothic church, did not suffer the same catastrophic ruin as that inflicted on other ecclesiastical buildings, perhaps because of its Tudor associations, though it was stripped of its iron, glass, and lead. Three years later, the dilapidated abbey was sold to someone named Humphrey Colles, and later was, as John Harrington wrote despairingly, a church that ‘lies still…spoiled and wounded by thieves’

Fortunately, Elizabeth I sought the restoration of the abbey, intending it to serve as the parish church of the city. This was accomplished in 1583. The abbey has been heavily restored across the centuries by many benefactors, including Elizabeth I. Repairs were undertaken in 1833, 1865 and 1900, and then again in 1960 and 1992. This has ensured that Bishop King’s vision has stood the test of time, able to be savoured by new audiences every summer, drawn to Bath from across the globe.

If the modern visitor pays close attention, they will see Oliver King commemorated on the west front that he is responsible for. On both the north and south side of the front can be viewed a large carved crowned olive tree, restored completely in 1960. This is a rebus, or visual pun, of Oliver King’s name, in full view of millions of tourists every year. The king who had a dream…maybe.

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