St Dunstan-in-the-East

War wounds, explosions, a burning inferno, the Devil himself and a plucky, if a little unexpected, hero.

I could easily be describing the next Michael Bay movie. Instead, this is the story of a ruined church nestled in the heart of the City of London - St Dunstan in the East.

The church is now a shell of the building it used to be. The years have not been kind, and destruction in both the Great Fire of London and the Blitz has left it a hollow and dilapidated structure. However, it was once a construct of pride in the South East of London, built and named after an old fan-favourite Devil-defeating Saint of England - St Dunstan.

A brief disclaimer, mostly to save overdoing the words ‘allegedly’ or ‘according to myth’, the below is a story being retold. Cultural folklore is fascinating, entertaining and often surreal and Dunstan’s documented life fits that bill perfectly - exaggerated or not; whatever you believe.

Dunstan - The man, the myth

The 10th-century celebrity (I know, quite the appellation) began his religious career being earmarked following a seemingly ‘miraculous’ recovery from a mystery illness. He grew up in what would now be considered a hedonistic weekend away - Glastonbury with a group of Irish Monks. However, there were no substance-induced late-night chats with a neighbouring camper revelling in their favourite band’s setlist for our protagonist. Dunstan excelled in the ways of obedience in the church to such an extent that he was singled out by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself and elevated to the court of the King. This...this is where we bid farewell to any normality in Dunstan’s life…

His Church pals may have been gracious and benevolent but his new Crown Court colleagues lacked quite such decorum. With Dunstan’s likeable demeanour winning the friendship of the King, their relationship attracted intense negative attention from his now jealous associates. Initially, a plot was hatched, so imaginative that it was befitting of a series of American Horror Story. Witchcraft, black magic, betrayal - you name it. Alas, something went wrong. Perhaps it was complication, lethargy or just timing, but no witches were summoned, no potions made, instead, Dunstan was beaten to within an inch of his life, bound and shoved in a cesspit. So much for the welcome pack of a mouse mat, pens and a branded stress ball.

Dunstan, understandably quite fed up with the King’s court and their heavy-handed welcoming techniques, left and returned to Glastonbury, where he lived in a 5x2 cell as a hermit. To each their own. Here, his legend and canonisation were founded. Working as a blacksmith, Dunstan was visited by the Devil himself...twice. Firstly, disguised as a beautiful woman, the Devil tried to lead him astray, and if not for his hooved shoes visible below his dress, he may have succeeded. However, Dunstan noticed and, with red-hot tongs, pinched the Devil’s nose, scaring him away. He returned some time later as a weary traveller in need of a horseshoe. Dunstan, once again saw through the disguise, and fitted the Devil's cloven hoof with a horseshoe, causing him great distress. Dunstan let him go and removed the horseshoe on the proviso that the Devil never returned to bother any house that displayed a horseshoe above the door.

And that is how the origin of the lucky horseshoe arose - ‘true’ story! You’d think the Devil would have learnt to wear shoes after the first encounter. Cloven hooves aren’t the most subtle physical attribute, particularly with keen-eyed Dunstan, who, by this point, was probably quite rightly suspicious of people.

The Devil's Revenge

The Church itself was built 400 years later, long after Dunstan’s death and held its quiet little part of London until, coincidentally, 1666 - the year of the Devil. When possibly the worst batch of bread in British history ignited the bakery on Pudding Lane, the City of London was engulfed in a devastating inferno. Unlike its namesake, the Church failed to outwit or outmanoeuvre this manifestation of the Devil. It, along with over 13,000 houses and 90% of the populace’s homes, was severely damaged.

Unfortunately, it never fully recovered from the damage it sustained. It was tidied up the following year but never restored. Christopher Wren added a steeple towards the end of the century, which remains today. However, the fire damage caused structural issues from then onward, and the old church was demolished for a new building in 1871. The structural damages were amplified 10-fold almost exactly 70 years later.

My final reach of this ‘Devil analogy’ comes in human form - Adolf Hitler, the personification of evil. In 1941, Hitler’s aerial bombardment of London, known as the ‘Blitz’ (German for lightning), was at its absolute peak. 30,000 tonnes of explosive and incendiary bombs were dropped on the City. 40,000 civilians lost their lives, up to 130,000 were injured, and 2 million homes were destroyed. Houses were flattened, factories and production lines were crippled and water mains burst and flooded Tube tunnels below, drowning their sheltering inhabitants. The final nail in the coffin for the active Church was hammered in during this abhorrent and deliberate attack on those unable to defend themselves. No restoration came, no investment, no ‘patching up’. The Church stayed hollow, a scar in the City forever, until 1971 when it was rather uniquely turned into a botanical garden where I am sure it will endure for years more. The tribute to Dunstan remains, just as it did through the fire and through the bombing and life has flourished from the burnt earth. I make that 4 times that Dunstan thwarted the Devil. After all, good triumphs over evil.

Penny for a Thought?

I’ve decided to start with this Church as it’s my favourite place in London. There’s something deeply soothing about sitting in the old architecture, yet still surrounded by nature and hidden in one of the busiest areas of Europe, unbeknownst to most passersby. It’s a tough old building which proudly shows its war wounds. There are scorch marks present on most of the walls. The windows, where gorgeous stained glass would have once sat, are now empty cavities. It sits as a silent sentinel, a testament to the phoenix-like London and to the British resilience of the Second World War. It's a superb reminder that no matter how busy and desperate the world may seem, there is always a quiet corner for you to sit, reflect and find peace.