It was Historic Churches Bike Ride day. I took the lonely lane from Washbrook, escaping Ipswich's wilfully rustic outer suburbia, and for three miles or more breathed deeply the wistful air of late summer. Larks spiralled, rooks gathered to sulk in recently ploughed fields. A rabbit did a double take, and dived into the hedge. Beyond the Wenhams, the road cut straight across a former airfield, and then houses gathered to the surprise of a proper village. This was Holton St Mary, not to be confused with Holton St Peter in the suburbs of Halesworth, forty miles away.

This was my thirtieth church of the day, and by now I was used to being recognised. This sounds very pleasant, being reasonably famous; but in truth I knew that I had been neglecting the site, and some of the comments had been rightfully barbed. But here at Holton, I fell among friends.

The Rector of Holton is Christine Garrard, who you have met before if you are a regular visitor to this site - she used to be Vicar of All Hallows, in the darkness-on-the-edge-of-town estates of south-east Ipswich. If she had stayed there any longer, she would probably have ended up in a Bruce Springsteen song - as it is, she has escaped to the countryside, and looks ten years younger. I was delighted to find her on signing-in duty, and her presence was a breath of fresh air in this corner of Suffolk that can sometimes seem, let's face it, a bit stuck up. She convinced me what a lovely village Holton is, and later in my journey I would meet people in other parishes in her benefice who would tell me what a great star she is. If there is an Anglican revival in the Dedham Vale (and I am a Catholic) then I shall be dead chuffed, and shout it from the rooftops.

St Mary has a melted-cheese appearance, familiar from Bawdsey on the coast - the 15th century tower didn't stand up to the centuries of neglect, and rather than rebuild it, the Victorians reduced it. So it stands all squat and sturdy, and looks very well indeed. Reading the journals of antiquarians of the 18th century, it is easy to imagine the elements blowing through the parish churches of Suffolk, before the Tractarians sent a great wave out of Oxford to renew them - but this is so often an unjust simplification, especially here, where a remarkable 18th century Rector oversaw the pastoral care of this community.

His name was Stephen White, and you step into a neat little, sweet little interior that, despite an overwhelming Victorianisation (and a good one) still contains memories of his stewardship. On the south wall is the wooden sign from the school he opened for the village children. It was the building you passed at the churchyard gate, but it is now a private house. On August 29th, 1745, it opened for business - and it was not slothful in business, serving the Lord.

Opposite, is his memorial - he died on Easter Monday 1773, called away from his labours, to receive their reward.

The Victorians who inherited his good works made an excellent job of the chancel - Heaton, Butler and Bayne's psalmist angels praise God in the east window, and the stained glass evangelists of the O'Connors either side of the sanctuary are some of Suffolk's best.

This church is by no means a museum piece. That it is open to the public every day is a sign that it is fitting and purposeful for private prayer, as much as for any tourists who come for what Larkin calls 'a whiff of antique'. Amen to that.

St Mary, Holton St Mary, is to the west of the A12 to the south of Ipswich, from which it is clearly signposted. It is open every day.

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