St Bartholomew-the-Great

Push open the door and the noise of Smithfield falls away. The air inside is cool and a little damp, with a faint smell of old stone and candle wax. Your eyes need a moment to adjust. Then the arches appear — thick, rounded, heavy as tree trunks. This is St Bartholomew-the-Great, and the stone around you has stood here for close to nine hundred years.

The church was founded in 1123 by a man named Rahere. He was a courtier at the court of King Henry the First, the son of William the Conqueror. Some accounts describe him as an entertainer, perhaps even a jester. Whatever his role, he was a man of the royal household. Then something changed his life.

According to the traditional story, Rahere went on pilgrimage to Rome and fell seriously ill with fever. He vowed that if he survived, he would build a hospital for the poor. Legend has it that Saint Bartholomew then appeared to him in a vision. The saint told him to build a church at Smithfield, just outside the city walls of London. Rahere recovered, came home, and kept his promise.

He founded two institutions side by side. One was this priory, run by Augustinian canons, a community of priests who lived under a shared religious rule. The other was a hospital. That hospital still exists — it is Saint Bartholomew's Hospital, known to Londoners simply as Barts. It stands just across the square, and it has cared for the sick on the same site since the twelfth century.

Now look again at the architecture. This is Norman building, sometimes called Romanesque, the style that arrived in England with the conquest of 1066. Its signature is the round arch, set on massive cylindrical pillars. There is very little decoration. The strength of the stone does the work. Few places in London let you stand inside Norman architecture this complete.

Here is something most visitors miss. The church you are standing in is only part of the original building. In 1539, King Henry the Eighth closed the priory during the Dissolution of the Monasteries, when he broke with Rome and seized monastic property. The long nave, where ordinary worshippers once stood, was pulled down. What survives is mainly the choir, the eastern section where the canons sang their daily prayers.

So when you walk back out through the churchyard toward the street, you are walking where the nave once stood. That small open space was once covered by a roof and lined with columns. The church was kept as a parish church for the local community, and that decision saved it. It went on to survive the Great Fire of London in 1666, which stopped short of Smithfield, and the bombing of the Second World War.

Look up to the south side of the choir and you will see a small projecting window, high in the wall. This is Prior Bolton's window, added in the early sixteenth century by one of the last priors. It let him watch the services from his lodgings. Below it is a carved rebus, a picture puzzle on his name: a crossbow bolt piercing a barrel, which was called a tun. Bolt and tun — Bolton.

On the north side of the sanctuary is the tomb of Rahere himself. A painted effigy of the founder lies under a carved stone canopy. The monument was made long after his death, in the later medieval period, but it marks the man who began everything here. Small figures of canons kneel at his side, holding open books. Look closely at the colours, which are still bright against the grey stone.

The centuries after the Dissolution were not kind to the building. Parts of it were rented out for very worldly uses. The Lady Chapel, at the far east end, was turned into houses and workshops, and later held a printing business. In 1725, a young American named Benjamin Franklin worked there as a typesetter. Decades later he would help write the founding documents of the United States.

Other spaces were used as a blacksmith's forge, a stable, and even a factory. By the nineteenth century, the church was in poor condition. A long restoration followed, led by the architect Aston Webb, who also designed the main front of Buckingham Palace. He removed later additions and repaired the medieval fabric. Much of the calm space you see today comes from that careful work.

Near the entrance, look for the font. It dates from the fifteenth century and is one of the oldest in the City. The painter William Hogarth was baptised in it in 1697. Hogarth grew up nearby and later made famous satirical prints of London life. Close by, a gilded sculpture of Saint Bartholomew by the artist Damien Hirst shows the saint holding his own flayed skin, a reference to the way he was martyred. It is a striking modern meeting with an ancient story.

You may also feel you have seen this place before. Film crews have used the church many times. It appeared in Four Weddings and a Funeral, in Shakespeare in Love, and in several other productions. The dark stone and deep shadows suit a camera well. But the building remains a working church, with services and music throughout the year.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment between the great pillars. Notice how the light falls from the high windows and fades before it reaches the floor. Listen to the quiet. When you step back out, pass under the gatehouse onto West Smithfield. Its timber front was hidden for centuries behind later cladding, until bomb damage in the First World War exposed it again. Look up at it as you go — and then look back at the doorway, where nine centuries of London continue behind you.