A County Divided: Puritan Strongholds and Royalist Knights

Herefordshire in the early 17th century presented a microcosm of England’s religious and political tensions. On one side stood the Harleys of Brampton Bryan, staunch Puritans who transformed their castle into a refuge for dissenting preachers persecuted by Archbishop William Laud’s reforms. Opposite them were the Scudamores of Holme Lacy, a family deeply entrenched in royal service, providing knights for the King’s tilts and tournaments well into the reign of James I.

The first Viscount Scudamore, Herefordshire’s deputy sheriff, embodied this royalist tradition. His passion for breeding superior horses—offered freely for the King’s use—reflected both feudal loyalty and practical ambition. Yet this seemingly Arthurian knight was also an Oxford-educated Renaissance man, blending chivalric ideals with Baconian scientific curiosity. His pursuits ranged from cultivating the famed Red Streak apple (the backbone of England’s finest cider) to an ambitious architectural project that would define his legacy: the restoration of Abbey Dore.

Abbey Dore: Resurrecting Sacred Space in a Protestant Land

Originally a Cistercian monastery dissolved during Henry VIII’s Reformation, Abbey Dore had fallen into shocking decay by the 1630s. When Scudamore acquired the ruins, the roof had collapsed so severely that the parish curate conducted services under an archway to shield his prayer book from rain. The altar stone, scandalously repurposed as a cheese press, symbolized the broader desecration of sacred spaces that Laudians sought to reverse.

Scudamore’s restoration was no mere renovation—it was theological theater. Inspired by Matthew Wren, the Laudian Bishop of Hereford, he cast himself as a modern-day Hezekiah cleansing the temple. Local craftsmen like John Abel (creator of Leominster’s famed Market Hall) repurposed medieval fragments into a Palladian-style chancel screen with Ionic columns, blending Gothic heritage with Renaissance aesthetics. The 1635 reconsecration on Palm Sunday—coinciding with Scudamore’s baptismal anniversary—featured processions and prostrations designed to restore what Laudians called “holy habitation.”

The Laudians’ Vision: Beauty as Theology

To Puritan neighbors like Sir Robert Harley, such ceremonies reeked of popery. The sight of bowed worshippers before a lavish altar seemed proof of “Popish Antichrist” creeping back into England. Yet for Laudians, this sensory worship was missionary work. They argued that:
– Plain Communion tables treated like hat racks fostered irreverence
– Calvinist sermons exhausted ears without uplifting hearts
– Architectural splendor could draw people back to the Church more effectively than doctrinal debates

As Scudamore rebuilt Abbey Dore, Laud was pursuing parallel projects nationwide—cleansing churchyards from being used as public latrines, restoring stained glass, and commissioning William Dugdale’s surveys of monastic ruins. This “Gothic Revival” (predating the 18th-century movement by over a century) sought to reconnect English worship with its medieval roots while avoiding outright Catholicism.

The Scottish Catalyst: When Restoration Sparked Revolution

Charles I fatally misjudged the national mood. Believing his reforms could unify Britain, he ordered Laud’s prayer book imposed on Scotland in 1637—a decision that ignited the Bishops’ Wars and set his downfall in motion. The same aesthetic theology that restored Abbey Dore’s altar stone would soon topple thrones.

Legacy: Cider, Stone, and the English Soul

Scudamore’s story encapsulates Stuart England’s contradictions:
– His Red Streak apples still influence cider-making today
– Abbey Dore stands as an early example of heritage conservation
– The Laudian movement’s failure proved that beauty alone couldn’t heal England’s divides

In Herefordshire’s landscape—where Puritan sermons once competed with the clink of cider glasses raised to the King—we see how the personal passions of minor gentry shaped national history. The Scudamores’ horses may have galloped into obscurity, but their vision of a sacred, ordered England continues to echo wherever old stones are tenderly preserved.