Godalming Audio Tour: Stories, Steeples & Sport in Farncombe’s Heart

Picture Godalming Cricket Club making their home here. You’d hear cheers, gasps, and maybe a few shouts when someone dropped an easy catch… Oh, the shame! Even the mighty Surrey teams left their footprints in this grass, swinging bats and chasing glory. It’s easy to picture a tense final over: one run needed, the crowd holding its breath. Did they win? Did someone trip over their own feet? (That’s my kind of cricket moment!)

Picture yourself here more than a century ago—Bridge Street is busy with people chattering, market stalls overflowing, and the imposing Borough Hall right here, shimmering in the morning light. This building isn't just a pretty face: its story goes way back to the days of Queen Elizabeth I, when the town first got a royal charter in 1575. But don’t let the royal connection fool you—Godalming’s first municipal building was a bit cozier and probably much smellier, as it even held French prisoners after a long-ago battle. Imagine being those people, stuck in the middle of the High Street, listening to the constant clopping of horses and the noisy market traders. As Godalming grew, so did its ambitions. The Pepperpot was built in 1814 with its own assembly room, but even that soon got too small for all the big ideas and debates brewing in the town. When the civic leaders got tired of squeezing into tight quarters, they built this striking Borough Hall in 1861 using brown rubble masonry. You can almost imagine the excitement—and maybe a few grumbles—when Henry Peak’s dramatic, asymmetrical frontage took its place here. But they weren’t finished yet! In 1907, the town’s leaders decided the hall should stretch even farther. With a flurry of dust and the clatter of tools, they extended the building in red brick, topped it with stone, and crowned the central section with a grand pediment and an oculus—a fancy round window to impress all passersby. If you look up, you’ll spot the borough coat of arms proudly displayed, as if the building itself is standing at attention.

Now, as you’re standing here, close your eyes for a moment and picture this spot as it was over 150 years ago. The year is 1868. The River Wey trickles nearby, and the streets are alive with the sound of boots on cobblestone and the distant ring of church bells. This impressive suite of buildings, crafted from sturdy yellow Bargate stone, was brand new back then, glowing with hope and purpose. If you’d walked by, you might have seen townsfolk in their Sunday best, drawing their eyes up to the landmark spire atop the turret—yes, the building had a spire in those days! Godalming was no stranger to religious nonconformists. Back in the mid-1600s, even when it was risky, locals gathered in secret—sometimes in the woods, sometimes by candlelight in whispering homes. By the 18th century, these bold worshippers formalized into thriving congregations, eventually building the original Ebenezer Chapel on Hart’s Lane. As the years rolled by, the community grew so large, their old chapel was bursting at the seams. Imagine the excitement—and maybe a touch of anxiety—as Reverend Thomas Davies announced a new fundraising campaign for a grand chapel in a more prominent location, right here next to Town Bridge. The first stone was laid with great ceremony in May 1868, and after just five months, worshippers poured inside for the opening service. This church could seat 450 people—although, as in every large family, I bet someone always complained about their seat! Later, with more land in hand, they added a two-story schoolroom in the back, filled with the clatter of lively children, wooden benches, and maybe a teacher or two clutching a stick for good measure. These walls saw plenty of adventure: Congregational members set out to villages like Elstead and Milford, building new chapels, helping neighbors, and sometimes weathering setbacks—like a Monopoly player forced to sell Old Kent Road. Village chapels sometimes closed, were reborn, or even moved miles away (as at Eashing, with its chapel now at the Rural Life Living Museum in Tilford). Through thick and thin, the Godalming church kept up the fight for faith. But time takes its toll. Ever resourceful, the congregation melted down their iron railings for the Second World War effort, did you know? And the elegant spire that once soared above you? By the late 1960s, it had become too wobbly to trust—so, off it came. If you hear the wind whistling, it’s almost as if the church is whispering tales of its lost tower. By 1977, the world outside had changed, and so had church life inside. After over a century of worship, the last service was held on Christmas Day—a poignant time to say farewell. The congregation joined with their Methodist neighbors across the street, beginning a fresh chapter just as the old building swapped hymnals for hammers and became an auction house, then a bustling restaurant. Lately, the aroma of coffee and fresh furniture polish have replaced Sunday morning incense as the Cotswold Company made it a showroom. Yet through all these changes, the church’s dignified Gothic Revival architecture endures: those tall lancet windows with their lace-like tracery, the quirky quatrefoil shapes above the doors, and the granite tower—slightly stubbier now, after losing its spire, but still noble. Inside, echoes of the past linger: can you almost hear hymns mixing with laughter, or perhaps the clink of cutlery from its restaurant days? In 1991, the building was officially recognized as Grade II listed—“nationally important and of special interest.” Isn’t it amazing to think that even furniture shoppers today are unwittingly surrounded by centuries of faith, struggle, and community spirit every time they step through its porch?

Now, let’s step back to 1903, when this church first opened its doors right here in Godalming. Imagine the sound of footsteps echoing on new stone floors, as hopeful voices fill the air – Methodist hymns, URC prayers, each ringing out, waiting for a time when they’d share the same space. That time arrived in 1977, when the Godalming United Church was born, uniting two local congregations who decided, “Why sit apart? Let’s join forces and double the cake at the coffee mornings!” Ever since, the ministers have taken turns wearing the ‘top hat’ – Methodist one year, URC the next, like a friendly game of musical pulpits.

You’re looking at a wide-open sweep of bright green grass, scattered with people in white sports kit – just glance ahead and you can’t miss the stretch of players and the neat cricket sight screens with trees and rooftops beyond. Welcome to Broadwater Park, the very heartbeat of Farncombe! Right where you’re standing, imagine a summer day in 1827: gentlemen in wool trousers and high collars are playing cricket, and a small crowd gathers, their laughter carried by the breeze. This very field set the stage for local legends when East faced West Sussex for the first time – and not just once! In 1854, Surrey met Nottinghamshire right here for a match filled with excitement, no doubt leaving players and spectators alike on the edge of their seats. Over centuries, the grass has soaked up hundreds of games, shouts, and at least a few biscuit crumbs dropped mid-picnic. When cricket takes a bow for winter, the pitch transforms for football, and if you listen closely, you might just hear echoes of cheers from Farncombe Cricket Club, Farncombe Wanderers, and the football teams. Early on Saturdays, crowds gather for the parkrun – five kilometres of energy, as runners puff along the paths, racing against time or just their own snooze button. Don’t miss the lake at the far end: on misty mornings, you’ll find silent anglers from Godalming Angling Society, lines poised, eyes dreaming of the day’s big catch. Broadwater Park isn’t just a field – it’s a stage for drama, competition, and well-earned sandwiches, every day of the year!

Alright, football fans and history buffs, welcome to the heart and soul of local sport: Godalming Town Football Club! As you stand here, imagine the crackle of anticipation in the air, crowds gathering with scarves and a stubborn optimism only football can summon. This spot has seen generations come together, brought by the love of the beautiful game and a tenacious team that has survived, transformed, and sometimes even triumphed against the odds. Back in 1950, a group of former Godalming Grammar School students couldn’t let graduation spoil the fun; instead, they formed Godalming United to keep the ball rolling—literally. For years, local school rivalries and friendships turned into matches under the chilly Surrey sky. When another club, Godalming & Farncombe United, folded in 1970, this club took in the orphaned pitch—moving to Weycourt, now the very ground beneath your feet. The transformation kept going: new league, new ambitions, and a fresh name—Godalming & Farncombe. Talk about a team with commitment issues! By the late 70s and early 80s, the club was doing more league hopping than a kangaroo on caffeine. In 1980, they became Godalming Town, and in 1983–84, their stars truly aligned—they were reborn as league champions! Picture players, muddy and elated, lifting trophies above their heads while the tiny but mighty crowds cheered. They even nabbed the Concours Challenge Trophy and several other cups, adding silverware to a cabinet that was probably just a sturdy shelf back then. The 90s brought another twist—Guildford Football Appeal donated cash for floodlights, and suddenly, Godalming & Guildford was the new banner. The rivalry with darkness was finally over; players could see the ball after sunset! Yet, old loyalties die hard, and so in 2005, “Town” was back in the name, just in time for a glorious season winning both the Combined Counties League and the Premier Challenge Cup, earning a jump up to a higher league. Mid-table battles, nail-biting play-off heartaches, and even a penalty shootout—this place has seen it all, including a couple of thrilling Surrey Senior Cup wins against much bigger sides. Let’s not forget the stadium itself, now proudly known as Bill Kyte Stadium, in honor of a club president who truly made his mark. Imagine: a main stand rescued from another club’s closure, the pitch itself resurrected on the site of an old rubbish tip. There’s real spirit here—like playing where the rubbish heap once was, but now it’s dreams and not junk on the ground. Best FA Cup run? Fourth qualifying round in 2011–12—close enough to taste glory, but not quite Wembley. Record attendance? Over 1,300 people packed in to watch them face AFC Wimbledon in 2002; the roar could probably be heard all the way to Guildford. And if you meet a local called Shaun Elliot, thank him—over 360 appearances!

Welcome, intrepid explorer, to the Meadrow Unitarian Chapel—where stories hide in the brickwork and the air tingles with over two centuries of secrets. As you stand before its red-brown bricks (the left side sporting its original face, the rest now cloaked in cream stucco), imagine you’re stepping across not just a graveyard, but a threshold into 18th-century Farncombe, when this was a bustling town not of markets, but small factories and rumbling mills. Back then, Godalming had a rebellious heart—a whopping one in three townsfolk refused to worship with the Church of England. Instead, they sneaked into secret gatherings in flickering candlelight, crammed into cottages or barns, where hushed voices debated faith and freedom. Out of this atmosphere grew a determined group of Baptists, often meeting at the house of William Evershed, a landowner, and a Baptist forerunner with connections stretching to Billingshurst. Picture this: it’s June of 1783, and the group decides—over tankards of ale, perhaps—that it’s time for a proper chapel. An agreement is struck: build a new meeting house at Meadrow. Six long years later, the doors finally swing open in 1789. The chapel wasn’t fancy, but it was perfectly suited to their needs, boasting a baptistery set deep in the floor for those bracing, full-immersion ceremonies. If you pressed your ear to that old brick today, maybe you’d still hear the. It’s not just Baptists who shaped this place. Throughout the 1800s, debates about the Holy Trinity grew louder. Eventually, this congregation and many like it shifted their beliefs towards Unitarianism, welcoming those who saw God—well, a little less by-the-book. The chapel became a haven for new ideas, unafraid to question, always looking for a better, kinder path. Life didn’t stand still outside these walls either. By 1821, a snug red-brick cottage was built right onto the chapel—like a faithful sidekick. By 1870, there was a Sunday school bursting with little Victorian boots, and education for poor children soon followed with a bold, free "British School" near Bridge Road. You could almost imagine the chaos: desks clattering, chalk dust swirling, and the laughter of children who, just maybe, didn’t want to be there as much as their teachers hoped. Inside, things have changed little: the pews have been pushed to the walls, creating an open, light-filled space beneath a neat gallery. There’s even a "good row of hat pegs" for bonnets and bowlers—clearly, these folks had their priorities in order! Out front, the ancient gravestones and burial vaults provide a roll call of the past. There lie the Elphs, the Pilsleys (Thomas was first to be buried here, in 1810), the Knights, and especially the Ellises—a family whose name you’ll spot a dozen times among the weathered stones. Tradition has it that a certain John Ellis was a generous builder, so when you imagine the first bricks being laid, you might picture him all business, sleeves rolled up… and perhaps grumbling about the price of lime! By the 1970s, the congregation briefly swapped buildings, worshipping in the old Sunday school for a spell before returning to their beloved chapel. In 1976, a new era began: weddings were held under these sturdy tiles, and laughter replaced the solemn hush. Even the architecture has its charms: notice the way the roof stretches across cottage and chapel without missing a beat, the arched porch inviting you in beneath its cross, a chimney parked confidently above, and the three elegant windows that let sunlight flood the space. And while the last burial took place here in 1869, the chapel grounds are still alive with memory—walk quietly, and you may sense the presence of those who came before.