To spot the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, head for the corner where Round Church Street meets Bridge Street. There it is: a stout little stone church that’s gloriously, unapologetically round, topped with a cone roof that looks like it ought to come with a wand and a spellbook.
This place began around 1130, when a group of monks called the Fraternity of the Holy Sepulchre decided Cambridge needed a chapel inspired by the famous round church in Jerusalem. Think of it as a medieval souvenir from the Holy Land-only heavier, and much harder to fit in your luggage. Back then, a Roman road called the Via Devana ran right in front of you, carrying travelers, traders, and the occasional hungry knight looking for his next meal.
Originally it served those passersby, but by the 1200s it had graduated from chapel to full parish church, linked with Barnwell Priory, a local monastery. Look at the west door: it’s Norman architecture, meaning early medieval English design with chunky stonework. Notice the little columns and those zigzag carvings in the arch-like a stone mason got very excited with a chisel. Inside, eight big columns circle the central space to hold up the roof vault. Their capitals-the carved tops of the columns-don’t match, so if you like details, it’s a built-in spot-the-difference game.
In the 1400s, the narrow Norman windows were replaced with larger Gothic ones, letting in far more light-and, yes, probably the odd curious pigeon. Around then, the wooden angels appeared up in the roof: some play instruments, others gaze down like solemn medieval music supervisors.
The 1600s brought trouble during the English Civil War, when “idolatrous” images and statues were smashed. By the 1800s things were so bad that part of the church collapsed. Enter the Cambridge Camden Society and architect Anthony Salvin: he removed the too-heavy bell tower, restored a near-original roof, added new Norman-style windows, and even built a south aisle-an extra side section-to fit a growing congregation. The bill came to twenty times the estimate, proving that building projects have always had a sense of humor.
In the 1900s a north vestry was added-a room where clergy vest and church items are kept-and later the Cambridge Union Society built its headquarters right over the old graveyard. During World War II, a bomb destroyed the east window, later replaced with an image of Christ in Majesty.
Today the Round Church is one of only four medieval round churches in England, and it still has plenty to show off: an exhibition on Christianity’s role in English history and even an old-style scriptorium, a writing room where books were copied by hand. Nearly 900 years on, this little circle has welcomed more stories than a whole shelf of Cambridge textbooks-and in a round church, there are no corners for dust… or secrets.
