Directly ahead of you is a tall, sturdy church built from coarse, sandy-brown stone, with a square tower and long, narrow windows - just look up the hillside and spot the grand entrance reached by a short flight of stone steps.
Take a moment to imagine yourself here over a century ago, the air carrying not the sound of passing traffic, but the quiet hopes of a community longing for a place of its own. St Edmund’s Church, named after an ancient English king and martyr, stands as a beacon of faith on this dramatic hillside, its tower watching over Godalming. But believe it or not, the town once had hardly any Catholic presence - since the 1500s, Catholics were almost invisible here, outnumbered by Protestants, and the bold few attended secret masses hidden quietly behind private doors. You can almost hear the hush of feet up the stone stairs as villagers slipped inside, seeking spiritual comfort at a time when being Catholic was tougher than finding matching socks in the dark!
The parish’s story roars to life in the late 19th century, when Captain W.H. Rushbrooke from Suffolk decided this town needed a Catholic church. At first, there was only a tin tabernacle standing nearby, opened in 1899 - a modest building that looked more like a fancy shed than the awe-inspiring church before you! Services back then rang out with the voices of a faithful few, sometimes joined by French priests escaping revolution, working hard to keep the flame of Catholic worship alive.
But the parish soon grew too big for its tin walls. Along came the energetic Fr. St George Kieran Hyland, the town’s first resident priest, freshly appointed at only 29 and full of determination. Hyland eyed this very hillside, higher than the church down by the river, and declared, “Let’s build big!” The new church took shape in 1906 under local builders and the prolific architect Frederick Walters, who must have had a secret fondness for ambitious hillsides (or perhaps just a really good pair of climbing shoes). St Edmund’s rose up with Gothic arches, buttresses, and a roof reaching 40 feet above the nave, the soaring tower and spire catching every ray of sunlight.
Imagine the bustle of construction - stone blocks thudding down, the echo of hammers, the chatter of hopeful townsfolk eyeing their new home. The church cost £4,700, a small fortune then, and fundraising was a town-wide adventure, with lectures, parties, and eager donations, many of them anonymous. When the doors finally opened, St Edmund’s was plain but proud, its interior gradually adorned in later years with dazzling stained glass windows, a carved Lady Chapel at the tower’s base, and some rather rare, almost sculpted Stations of the Cross that draw admirers even today.
Its windows tell stories: from the west, you’ll spot Jesus flanked by St George (patron saint of England) and St Demetrius, shining in colored light; others, added between the 1920s and 1950s, show everything from the Virgin Mary to the Annunciation. The church even has a font and organ donated by mystery friends of the parish - perhaps ghostly benefactors who liked to keep things interesting?
Over time, St Edmund’s became the heart of a sprawling parish. Mass might be said here, at a chapel in a barn in nearby Elstead, in Milford Hospital, or for a thriving Polish community that found a spiritual home within these walls after the Second World War, their hymns echoing alongside English prayers. And during the Hungarian Revolution of 1956, when refugees arrived in Godalming, St Edmund’s welcomed Catholic newcomers from across Europe with open arms.
Fr Hyland, the tireless priest who did everything from building altars to helping at local hospitals, was laid to rest under the sanctuary after serving well beyond retirement. His successors kept the parish lively - opening new churches, building community halls, and even, for a while, planning a “super church” for the whole district (sadly, this dream never got beyond the drawing board… but not for lack of enthusiasm).
Today, if you stand quietly and listen, you can almost hear the mingled voices of the past - English, Polish, Hungarian - rising through the nave, blending with the modern bustle outside. St Edmund’s may have begun as an underdog on a hill, but now, it’s the proud guardian of generations of stories, standing just a little higher than its ancient neighbour down by the river - as if giving a good-natured wave across the rooftops of Godalming. And don’t worry, the steps up are the only challenge now - no climbing shoes required!
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