By the side of the road, in amongst the shops and the bars, stands a church. It is a grand building in the Victorian Gothic style, built in the late 19th century, soon after the railway brought development to what used to be little more than sparse open fields. A century earlier, these fields were renown for decades for hosting the infamous “Garrat Elections” – a raucous spectacle timed to coincide with general elections, where spoof candidates would pillory politicians through skits and speeches. At its height it attracted 80,000 visitors, much to the delight of local publicans (including that of The Leather Bottle, still in operation today).
When the railway arrived, the new station was named after a local house – Earlsfield – which had been demolished to accommodate the line; the owners had insisted the name be kept on as condition of the sale. With the station to the north and the newly built church to the south, the area expanded rapidly, transforming from a sleepy Surrey village to a thriving London suburb in a blink of an eye, largely stocked with terraced housing for working class families. Meanwhile the area picked up its name from the station – rather than vice versa – and it has been known as Earlsfield ever since.
Where once the church sat on a countryside lane, now it finds itself on a bustling high street. Where once it was the preserve of Sunday morning worshippers, now its doors are open throughout the week. Open in the widest sense, for this building is a place for anyone and everyone; a space that transcends the religious and the secular, the young and the old, this community or that. Under its towering vaults and arches, people come to gather and connect, in the same ways people have for millennia: through conversation, art, music and food…
