The whitewash was removed in 1871, and made way for much worse things--green distemper on the walls, blue paint and gilt stars on the roof, crude stencils on the side walls of the chancel, and on the eastern wall a fresco made in Germany. The trees and sky are hidden by glass that is exasperating in its colour and design. Lavatory tiles replace the granite paving of the chancel, and there is marble of the sort one sees on washstands.--It makes one crave for the French system of scheduling old churches as National Monuments, and putting them under the Ministry of Fine Arts. All the old stained glass has gone, except some bits of four small figures--the Virgin and Child, and saints Nicholas, Catherine and Martha--and in 1880 these figures were made up, and put into a window. Some say that the old glass was destroyed by the Reformers, others by the Puritans; but such things were done by most unlikely people. There was a window in St Edmond’s church at Salisbury; and the Recorder of Salisbury “was placed in the church in such a seat as that the said window was always in his eye.” Its absurdity annoyed him--it made God “a little old man in a blue and red coat”--and one afternoon in October 1630 he got up and smashed it with his staff. He was fined: _State Trials_, vol. i, pp. 377 ff., ed. 1730. Tristram Risdon visited Lustleigh church about three hundred years ago, and in his _Survey of Devon_ he says, “Another tomb there is arched over, where some say the lord Dynham and his lady were interred, whose pictures are to be seen very glorious in a glass window, having their armories between them, and likewise on their surcoats escutcheons of arms.” This probably was like the window at Beer Ferrers--Lysons, _Devonshire_, plate 6--with pictures of William de Ferrers and his wife with their armorial bearings. William was contemporary with Robert de Dynham; and probably it was Robert and his wife, not lord Dynham and his lady, who were portrayed in the stained glass that has perished and in the stone effigies that survive. There was an Inquiry here on 22 December 1276, and William de Torr was on the jury. And the verdict was that Robert’s wife would be entitled to Lustleigh manor when she came of age, and meanwhile he was renting it for £10 a year, to be spent in praying for the soul of John de Mandevill. The wife, Emma de Wydeworth, had just been married at the age of ten: her father and mother were dead, and the mother had been a lunatic. In her effigy she looks as if she might have been a lunatic herself. She inherited the manor from her father, and he inherited it from William de Wydeworth, an energetic man who kept a gallows of his own at Lustleigh. He had no warrant for a gallows, but gallows were wanted in the reign of Henry III. As the King could not enforce the law, lords of manors had to do the necessary thing.