The High Street, Hailes and Gloucester Street presently form the spine of this ancient town that can justly claim a thousand years of continuous occupation. At first sight Gloucester Street seems rather spartan and stark. It is a long curve of ancient cottages welded by time into a tight terrace of stone homes. Grapevines grow over the silvery gold walls. Stable doors are something of a tradition here. The frontages may seem quite bland, but each cottage holds secrets. Gothic doorways, massive timbers, gruesome gargoyles and mysterious carvings hide behind lace curtains. Inside, one may find cavernous Tudor fireplaces reappearing after long concealment. Newly rediscovered wells are sometimes revealed, and long lost wall paintings have been uncovered. There are still many more Winchcombe secrets to be found.

The town will not give itself to the passing motorist. It will not give itself to the tourist expecting a great architectural set-piece that can be inspected in fifteen minutes before speeding on to Stratford. Instant culture freaks will be disappointed. You must stop, look and linger. Take time to stroll down Vineyard Street to the Isbourne and cross the bridge into the grounds of Sudeley, then take the Old Brockhampton Road up into the glorious valley beyond the castle. Walk in the wood of Humblebee, the very woods that JRR Tolkien wandered before he created the magnificent “Lord of the Rings”, if you look over your shoulder you may see Strider or even Gandalf himself. Search out Spoonley Villa, hiding in its dense wood, and sit in Roman rooms on mossy ways of fine, fallen masonry. Gently pull back grubby plastic sacks and you will find mosaics beneath your feet, if you listen you can hear the Romans whispering.

Winchcombe Church is not disposed to be ornate and mystical. It is, instead, powerful, honest and uncomplicated. In this respect it reflects, in architecture, the spirit of the town. St. Peter’s has a friendly, thriving and supportive community. The flower displays are often stunning. Many superb evening concerts are held in it.

The tower is magnificent. It is not weakened by flamboyant detailing, and cradles a fine set of bells and a joyous band of ringers.

The church makes two concessions to ostentation in its glinting weathercock and set of gargoyles. Try making faces back at the forty or so gargoyles that decorate the exterior. How else can you respond to this huge collection of glowering, growling and grinning sculpture? They are famous across the land. There is a wicked suggestion that each figure represented a local character in the 1460’s.

Winchcombe is so far from the sea, but ironically, the most startling image within the church is the great boat on the Sea of Galilee that spreads across the east window. A favourite feature of many is the beautiful brass chandelier donated in 1753 that hangs in the nave.

The screen has jumped to the west end of the church. It does not seem all that interesting, until, you spot the naughty imp looking at you from the carvings.

The construction of the church first started in the 1470’s. A fruit of the co-operation between Sir Ralph Boteler, the Abbot, and a fair number of wealthy townsfolk.

The Monk’s Tale of “Kingly” little St. Kenelm being butchered on the orders of his grasping sister has been shot full of academic holes. Dates and documents refuse to tie up! The little chap was more like 37 than 7. The monks of Winchcombe, with all the savvy of “The News of the World” news desk, realised that the savage murder of an innocent prince of seven would catch the imagination of the populace and draw in lots of pilgrims, hungry for miracles, with “dosh”. Even now people stare at the stone coffins in St Peter’s with curiosity and take the story at face value.