The Reverend Fergus Butler-Gallie explores the crucial role the church played in supporting a nation in conflict as the Abbey marks the 80th anniversary of the end of the Second World War in Europe.
3 minute read
It’s always struck me as an under-examined fact that the most significant image of the Second World War in Britain is a church. The defining photograph of the Blitz is the dome of St Paul’s, surrounded by smoke and rubble; Wren’s masterpiece’s survival against the odds became an iconic shorthand for Britain’s determination to beat Nazism.
Much has been written about the role of London’s cathedral during the Second World War. Less, however, has been put to paper about the role of the other, Christian place of worship at the heart of the capital. Yet Westminster Abbey had at least as eventful a war as her English Baroque sister down the road.
The Abbey, perhaps more than any other religious building in the country, became a symbol during the Second World War. Whilst St Paul’s became a totem of defiance and later on the ruins of Coventry would stand for reconstruction and reconciliation, the Abbey became a symbol of twin hopes: for peace and for victory.
Indeed, this role started even before the war itself. In April 1939, it hosted a vigil for peace as the situation in Europe worsened with the full occupation of Bohemia and Moravia. As preparations for the conflict began, the Abbey played an unlikely commercial role. Its air raid shelter featured in advertising for ‘gas filtration and ventilation’ apparatus showcased in The Times in the autumn of 1939.
When war broke out in September that year, a key part of the Abbey’s service was to give an air of ‘business as usual.’ It continued to be the centre of the nation’s worshipping life even as sandbags and sirens became the norm for Londoners. In 1940, it saw the consecrations of the Bishops of Shrewsbury and Rochester. At both services, the now rarely sung hymn ‘What are these that glow from afar’ was used. It was notably absent in subsequent services after the Luftwaffe’s use of incendiary bombs intensified.
It was not the only curious hymn choice in the early months of the conflict. In May 1940, the Abbey held the Empire Youth Service which involved the singing of the hymn ‘Praise the Lord! Ye heavens adore him’. The hymn is usually sung to the tune Austria by Haydn, which of course was known to the world then as Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles. No record, alas, exists about which music was chosen on this particular occasion.
Whilst normal services continued, they invariably included parts of the liturgy that reflected the reality of war and the patterns of Britain’s fortunes in the conflict. In the midst of Britain ‘standing alone’ a service for the British Legion on 12th May 1940 contained a prayer that was particularly poignant given that at this juncture Britain faced the very real prospect of defeat. It included the hope that:
‘laying aside all hatred and bitterness we may pass through suffering and sacrifice to victory over all the powers of evil through him who died and rose again’.
At the war’s darkest hours, the Abbey was ready to play its part. Indeed, it became the focal point for the prayers of a whole Commonwealth, hosting inter alia the memorial service for the Commonwealth ministers of state and chief of the Australian general staff who lost their lives in the Canberra air disaster.
Of course, the shift from summer to autumn marked a major change in the conduct of the war as the Battle of Britain gave way to the Blitz. The Abbey was no longer just the heart of the nation’s worship; it was now on the front line of its warfare.
The first air raids to affect the Abbey happened in September 1940. On the night of the 12-13th the building suffered its first damage, although privately the Abbey’s surveyor reported to the Dean and Chapter that this was ‘more likely to have been one of our own shells rather than an enemy bomb’.
Initially the damage was light: on 27th September Dean Stanley’s marble nose was splintered. Things became more serious as time progressed. On 14th October two heavy bombs hit the precincts, with six people in Church House killed. By the time of the funeral of Neville Chamberlain in the winter of 1940 an insert about air raid warnings was included in every order of service. Senior royal and governmental figures would be rushed to the crypt; others would be sheltered ‘so far as space allows’.
Canon Alan Don reported on the most serious raid to hit the Abbey on the night of the 10th-11th May 1941: 'There were multiple bombs including one that burned through the lead roof of the Lantern, sending timbers and molten lead onto the paving beneath. That the Abbey's treasures survived more or less intact was largely due to the ' efforts of the Surveyor of the Fabric, Sir Charles Peers, who had spent the previous two years preparing what he called ‘the most precious of the abbey’s possessions’ for just such an eventuality’.
The Duke of Buccleuch allowed many of the medieval memorials to be stored at Boughton House. The copy of the coronation chair was sent to Winchester Cathedral, the original to Gloucester. A disused part of Piccadilly tube station hosted the wax effigies of Queen Anne, Lord Nelson and Charles II. Other things proved impossible to remove — the tomb of Mary Queen of Scots, the shrine of the Confessor and the wall painting of the Incredulity of St Thomas were protected with wood whilst sandbags were packed around Henry VII’s tomb.
Alongside protections for the memorials, an air raid shelter was constructed in the infirmary garden but with the foresight that ‘in future it may serve as a garage’. Even with such forward planning, Peers found the task of having to strip the Abbey of its treasures ‘hateful and degrading’. However, his final report of the war in July 1944 records the almost miraculous fact that ‘for another year although bombs have fallen at no great distance from the Abbey precincts, no actual damage has been recorded’.
That the Abbey could remain a symbol of hope was in no small part down to the efforts of those who loved it and its treasures. The fact it still stood when peace came might be considered a monument in itself.
The Reverend Fergus Butler-Gallie is an author and priest. His book ‘Twelve Churches’, a history of Christianity told through a dozen places of worship around the globe, will be published in August 2025.
This article was originally published in the Abbey Review, the annual magazine which delves into our 1,000-year history and explores life behind the scenes here at the Abbey today. Sign up to our free email newsletter to receive the latest edition direct to your inbox.
At different times of the day, or in different seasons, the light falling in the Abbey will light up something that you have walked past a million times and never seen before.