The Charterhouse started out as a field called Spital Croft owned by St Bartholomew’s Priory. It was leased in 1348 to become a burial ground for plague victims, and then bought by Sir Walter Manny, who enabled a Carthusian monastery to be built on the site — despite the objections of St Bart’s, the Bishop of Ely, and the Dean and Chapter of St Paul’s. It did very well from 1372 until the Reformation.
The monastery closed in 1538, and looked after Henry VIII’s tents for a while before being bought in 1545 by Edward North, who began to create a well-appointed mansion out of the place. Elizabeth I held her first Privy Council here in 1558 as she took the throne. North sold the site to the 4th Duke of Norfolk in 1565, and then was executed for the Ridolfi plot treason in 1572. The site was bought by Thomas Sutton in 1611 to create a school for 40 poor scholars, and an almshouse for 80 “decayed gentlemen”.
The school left for Godalming in 1872, but the almshouse continues. We provide independent living for single people over 60 with a social, housing, or financial need. The Charterhouse is a little different from most other almshouses, because the “Brothers” (male or female, and of any faith or none) live independently. We have CQC [Care Quality Commission]-registered facilities to enable us to provide care into older age. Our strategic aim and challenge is to be a community of excellence for the care of older people, because, as they say, “Growing old is not for the fainthearted.”
To share the wonderful history of the Charterhouse, we have a small museum, and our chapel is open to the public. We also provide guided tours, which can be booked through our website. There’s daily morning prayer and evening prayer and a eucharist on Sundays, and we’re about to install our second woman organist. We also have a thriving events and filming company, and we’ve been in many a period drama, from Downton Abbey to Mary and George.
I’m at breakfast and lunch most days, and I’m present on site. No, I’m pleased to say that I’m not actively fighting lawsuits from potential sons-in-law, like in Trollope’s The Warden — although I do have two teenage daughters. I have two roles: that of Master (more Trollope) and chief executive (less Trollope). It wasn’t the easiest sell to them when we moved here two years ago, but I’m very proud of them: they’ve integrated very well with the Brothers, and really enjoy participating in the life of the Charterhouse.
After morning prayer and breakfast with the Brothers in the Great Hall, I set about the typical range of meetings one would expect when running a charity. I might sneak morning coffee with the Brothers in the Old Library, but then more meetings and lunch at 1 p.m. Lunch is a formal affair in the Great Hall, with a gavel and a bell and grace before and after, and we often have guests. On most Sundays, a topical poem is read after, and we’ve had short musical recitals, too.
After lunch, more meetings. Walking through the Old Library between 3 p.m. and 4 p.m. means I can nick a sandwich from the Brothers’ afternoon tea. Evening prayer is at 5.30 p.m. followed by supper. Then there’s usually some kind of event or dinner going on in the City during the week. I’m a non-executive lay canon of St Paul’s Cathedral, and part of their worshipping community, which is an enormous privilege.
I worked for the Churches Conservation Trust [CCT] for 15 years. I set up the award-winning Regeneration Team at the CCT which helped find new uses for the urban churches in the portfolio. They continue great innovative work raising money to repair and adapt historic churches.
I became director of one region, which grew to two regions, and then chief executive from 2017 to 2022, when we devised a new strategy focusing on community engagement.
Historic churches have a profound relationship with the place where they are, and they’re the most democratic of historic buildings. Communities do value them, and will find ways to help support them, but management and care has become more complex and expensive.
Perhaps we need a deal around funding the fabric of these buildings between the local community, the Church of England, and the Government. The fate of English parish churches is the greatest heritage challenge we face, but there’s little public debate about it.
I’m a council member of Future for Religious Heritage, a European network, and our recent poll shows that that 81 per cent of Europeans think religious heritage is key for the present and future of their community; 77 per cent see it as an integral part of their country’s cultural heritage; 86 per cent consider it a highly valued asset for their local community; and 79 per cent welcome the possibility of opening historic places of worship to tourism as well as to extended uses or re-uses in compatible and respectful ways (News, 12 April).
The Church is people, but ancient sites, where prayer has been valid for generations, are powerful symbols. To support the vast numbers of historic churches in this country, people are necessary, and people tend to respond to leadership. With a decline in clergy in rural areas, where most historic churches are located, a downward spiral begins. Churches require investment, and the Church of England has to decide if it wishes to invest. Interestingly, there have been several historic church buildings which have received investment from Strategic Development Funding.
The greatest atheists report very moving spiritual experiences in churches. In essence, humans have set these buildings apart for something special, and other humans can sense this — they’re thin places.
I’ve been involved in many projects over time. They’re always a team effort of great skill and commitment. The first major project I took on was Holy Trinity, Kentish Town, where we raised the money to fix the roof and secure an ongoing income stream for the church through leasing the church hall. There have been many projects since, and I’ve always liked inventing things like “champing”.
Champing was one of those silly ideas that got some traction. My boss said: “If anyone pays to sleep in one of our churches I’ll eat my hat.” Now, active churches can participate as well, and a couple of years ago it was turning over £150,000 . . . so we made him a marzipan hat.
I had a very happy suburban upbringing in a loving Christian household. We went to church a lot, and we seemed to go on a lot of canal holidays. God was always around in our house when I was growing up. From my teens, though, I left God, and only in my thirties did I realise the importance of faith.
My family would say that too many things make me angry. I don’t like being late, and I really do not like anything that’s unfair, and there’s plenty of that in the world.
I really love being with my family, and we have a holiday together each year. Last year was the first Charterhouse Christmas for the whole family, and it was brilliant.
My daughters’ arguing is the best sound. It shows they have spirit and are interacting, and I’ll very much miss this when they leave home.
I have plenty of hope for the future. Communities can make many things better when they work together and recognise the value of what we share rather than what makes us different.
I spend a lot of time praying for the Brothers of the Charterhouse. (I promise I’m not contractually obliged to say that.)
I choose to be locked in a church with John Wesley. Wesley’s ministry mostly involved preaching outdoors, but he started school at Charterhouse in 1714, aged 11. I’d love to know what his experience of the place was, and if it inspired his ministry. The amount he achieved in his lifetime is staggering, and perhaps he could inspire me to be more productive.
Peter Aiers was talking to Terence Handley MacMath.
thecharterhouse.org
champing.co.uk