Home on the range

To reach Rhydybriw Church, you have to pass through security checkpoints. Since 1940, this small Victorian chapel has lived inside the Sennybridge Training Area (SENTA), one of the largest military ranges in the United Kingdom.

But for the congregation, the battle wasn't happening on the ranges; it was happening within the walls. The plaster was failing, the paint was flaking, and the interior felt, in the words of those who love it, "dead".

A place of purpose

It was a quiet, personal turning point that changed the trajectory. For Paula Jones, following a period of personal loss, the building's plight took on a new significance.

Rev'd Liz Matthews, curate in the Brecon and Epynt Ministry Area, said: "At a time when Paula was in need of support and a new purpose in her life, we started talking about looking after this church."

It is an unlikely origin story for a building's resurrection, but for Paula, a member of St David's a few miles away in Llywel, the little church in Sennybridge had always held a certain pull.

"I'm a member of St David's, but it was really nice to go around the other churches to pray," Paula, a lay worship leader, said. "When I came here I thought 'oh my gosh, what a lovely church'. And then 'oh wow, this could do with a coat of paint'. That was my first impression. And then I used to come to the services regularly."

The reality behind that first impression was stark. The building was suffering from years of neglect and the grounds were overgrown.

Florence Sherwood, a member of Rhydybriw for 45 years, said: "it's a lovely, cosy little church, it's always felt like home, but it was completely dead — the cement steps, the walls, the carpet. It was finished."

A shared vision

The vision was there, but the financial mountain was steep for a small rural congregation. That was when Margaret Davies and Trevor Thomas stepped forward. Both had deep family ties to the building and wanted to help.

"We're very grateful to Trevor and Margaret," Paula said. "We could have fundraised for quite a few years to get there, but instead, with their help, we were able to start much sooner."

With the funding in place, the team turned to Mike Smith, a local painter and decorator. He didn't just see a job; he saw a building in distress.

"The wall had been plastered 20-plus years ago and not touched, not painted, nothing on it at all," Paula said. "When Mike came down to give a quote, he was looking at the paint — when it had been painted before they didn't put sealant on, and all that was just peeling, flaking. It was crying out to be painted."

"Skin of our teeth"

The restoration was a whirlwind — the work at Rhydybriw was a focused, six-week sprint to be ready for the Remembrance service, which was attended by members of the Army.

"It didn't take that long to do the work," Liz said. "We had an ecumenical service here in October, scaffolding came in the week after, and we started. It was five, six weeks — by skin of our teeth to get it done by the 11th of November. There was a big clear-up, like three or four days before."

For Paula, the sight of the scaffolding was a sign of hope. "We held a service here the Christmas before we started the work and people voted for the colour for the walls — we had all these match pots and had painted sample colours," she said.

"I did have a few sleepless nights when I saw the colour going on that wall, but once the scaffolding was up I thought: now we can wash the windows, now we can get to work. It was literally: right, now's the opportunity. Let's go."

Even as the work progressed, the building began to reveal its own history. While clearing the exterior, Paula discovered graves which had been hidden for generations.

"I just started scraping on the path — the imprint of the writing on the gravestones was actually on the soil as you lifted it," Paula said. "It had been covered up for many years."

As the dust settled and the scaffolding came down, the atmosphere in the church shifted. "There's always a presence here I feel anyway," Paula said, "but it was as if the church was actually saying to us, thank you."

Faith behind the fence

The geography of Rhydybriw is its most defining characteristic. To reach the Sunday service, worshippers pass through the MoD security gates that have defined life on the Mynydd Epynt since the 1940s.

"People in Sennybridge haven't come here because since 1940 it's been part of the military training area, you have to go through security to get here," Liz said. "So that's one of the things we're trying to do: point out to people that the church is here. It is open. You are welcome to come in."

The church is not technically a military chapel, but its mission is inextricably linked to the camp and its doors are always open. "It isn't a camp church," Liz said. "But it is here to serve a purpose for the people passing through. We've held compline services here when army chaplains have dropped in, padres from the army have used it and it's for the staff who work on the camp."

That relationship has been nurtured by Major Andrew Butcher MBE, the Senior Training Safety Officer at SENTA, who has supported the church practically and publicly. "From day one he came — whether he's in the school, or he's here — he acknowledges the contribution that the community have made, and continues to do so," Liz said.

"The Army have been pretty amazing," Paula added. "We had been paying to have the churchyard grass cut, but Major Butcher stepped in and said, just to help you, we'll pay for the grass to be cut."

The Remembrance Sunday service brought together officers and staff of Sennybridge Camp with local dignitaries and members of the congregation — among them a former land army girl who had served during World War II. A bugler sounded the Last Post.

"He was just this young lad in his red jacket and his black trousers, and it was raining. That was very moving," Florence said.

The 102-year-old guardian

If Paula, Margaret, Trevor, and Mike represent the new energy at Rhydybriw, the church is anchored by a remarkable link to its past. The congregation's oldest member turned 102 in December.

"She can't come to church now but she was churchwarden here for many, many years," Florence said. "She was marvellous. Well into her 90s she was still changing the altar cloth."

This intergenerational baton-passing is central to the church's survival. Rhydybriw has found a way to bridge the gap between those who have held the keys for half a century and those just finding their way through the door.

One of those newcomers was a couple whose wedding captured the new spirit of the place. "We hadn't had a wedding in here for a very long time, and they were looking at different churches in this cluster to get married," Liz said. "It was only going to be a tiny wedding, and they came to a service on Sunday morning, walked in here and just said yes, we want to be married here. Their best man was a dog."

"Wrapping its arms around you"

Today, the "dead" building that once felt finished has been replaced by a space that Liz describes as "warm, inviting, with cakes on the table".

"The beautiful stained glass windows are on the shaded side of the church, while the windows on the opposite side remain clear allowing the church to be flooded with sunlight. It's clever," Paula said.

The success of Rhydybriw is also a success of the wider local church cluster. "There are six churches in our cluster and I think we seem to be growing together now, which is really nice," Paula said. "Rather than going only to our own church, we seem to be all singing from the same hymn sheet now, supporting each other and working together."

Building for the future

The scaffolding may be gone, but the mission is expanding. The church is planning on increasing the number of services offered by using the new lay worship leaders, and there are plans for the liturgy to reflect the rural community it serves.

"I'd like us to have a pet service, a blessing of pets, on the feast of St Francis," Paula said. "Or Creation Sunday. Maybe a joint morning service with the other churches and the children can bring their pets."

For the team who saved Rhydybriw, the result is a building that finally feels loved.

"There was a time when I thought it would have to close," Florence said. "So, to me, this is great."

"It's loved. It's full of God and everybody's welcome," Liz said. "It feels like it's wrapping its arms around you. You walk in here on a Sunday — it's warm, it's inviting. It's exactly what church should be."