The queues for the relics of St Bernadette last autumn were somewhat shorter than for the earthly remains of Queen Elizabeth II. The impressive turnout at Westminster Cathedral made me wonder what happened to the other potential crowd-pulling sacred body parts in this country. The last major attraction was St Thérèse, transported from Lisieux 13 years ago. Where are the home-grown alternatives, and who is benefitting from them? My indignation grew to the point of pondering a campaign for restitution within the UK. Then it be-came clear that the iconoclasts had done such a good job there was almost nothing to restitute. By destroying rather than stealing, the Protestant relic hunters had left none of the messy trails of claims that exist everywhere from Athens to Benin and Easter Island.
Looking for those rare survivors of Reformation and Puritan purges takes the pilgrim to Walsingham, with two major shrines in one small parish. Perhaps one shouldn’t be surprised that it’s the Anglican site which has accumulated an impressive array of relics. Among them is a tooth of St Valentine that is recognisably a tooth. The Henry VIII-Thomas Cromwell team would surely be seething if they knew the residue of idolatory that remains.
The Catholic Slipper Chapel would be more to their liking. The main attraction is a 19th-century copy of the famous statue of Our Lady of Walsingham. As reported in the Catholic Herald a while back, it’s possible that the original has been residing incognito at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The V&A hasn’t changed its description in the meantime, and there is no certainty about what happened to the venerated woodcarving. If it was punished with a public burning, as was reported at the time, nobody is sure where. I can state with confidence that the sentence on what Reformers called the “Witch of Walsingham” was passed at Lambeth Palace, past which those countless mourners of Queen Elizabeth II inched their way towards the Palace of Westminster.
At England’s other great place of pilgrimage, Canterbury, Henry VIII’s men were so thorough with the relics of St Thomas Becket that there is remarkably little left. Becket’s bones were supposedly ground to dust, while Henry purloined some choice wares for his personal collection. Just around the corner is the Catholic Church of St Thomas of Canterbury, Canterbury. The Anglicans may have grabbed the best building in town but some choice relics – including Saints Thomas Becket and Oscar Romero – are with the Catholics.
To view more of the UK’s few surviving reliquaries, with or without relics, you’ll need to make a pilgrimage to the British Museum, the V&A and Anglican dioceses throughout the land. Some are on display, while most are not. When they are, you can be certain that prayers and spiritual offerings will not be welcome. The only venue I can think of that obliged religious devotees recently was the Royal Academy’s Oceania exhibition in 2018. Visitors from that region could save the £20 admission fee and leave tributes before their chosen deity. Sadly, I saw none at the one Catholic statue on display.
No such concessions were made for followers of St Thomas Becket at the British Museum last year, nor were there any protests about looted artefacts, as happens with the Benin bronzes there. Much of the Becket memorabilia was lent by Catholic institutions anyway. Similar loans can also be found in the permanent displays at the biggest national collections.
Don’t those objects that have not been cosseted by the likes of Douai and Stonyhurst deserve to be returned to their original owners? As with the Benin bronzes and other treasures, the difficult question is exactly to whom they should be returned. The great cathedrals and monasteries have either unwillingly changed ownership or been obliterated, and the Catholic hierarchy is probably not looking for extra possessions to house.
Perhaps Britain should have a museum dedicated to looted art. There could be no better place to have such a showing. This is a land of unmatched proficiency in the field, with a government fully resistant to restitution. The UK authorities won’t even set free an item that I’ve been working with, which was legitimately bought at auction here by a museum in Asia. Despite being pilfered from India 200 years ago, it is deemed to be part of national pride rather than shame. The owner might accept a prime spot in the museum of looted art in lieu of an export licence.
It’s hard to imagine Britain ever transforming the Royal Collection’s “complex ways British monarchs have interacted with peoples across the world” into a shining beacon of goodwill and cross-cultural understanding. We could start with one monarch’s destruction of an entire culture, however. For Catholic objects, looted domestically, there is a place of sanctuary that I’ve been trying to start for 10 years.
I envisage a museum that would gladly take on reliquaries and other devotional items. Prayers and non-monetary offerings would be encouraged. Going one step further than the Royal Academy, candles could also be provided. The health and safety of the soul comes first at the would-be Museum of the Cross.
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