Like many Suffolk churches, St James was very neglected in the 18th century, and the tower collapsed. This was rebuilt quite early on in the 19th century, according to Mortlock. It was certainly in place by the time the church was sketched in the 1820s.

Seeing the building from the outside, you might think the rest of it entirely the work of the 1860s; in fact, the nave and chancel were refaced in flint and reroofed, as at Campsea Ash, and still retain much of their 13th and 14th century substance.

Inside, the Victorian hand is felt, but the medieval deus ex machina is still apparent; witness the roodloft stairs, the image niche beside the chancel arch, a piscina, and an aumbry retaining its door in the north aisle.

Suffolk has many grand 19th century sanctuaries, full of Tractarian confidence. This is not really one of the best, however. The reredos is rather lovely, but lost in this desert of characterless Minton tiling.

Also fascinating, for different reasons, are the hassocks, large 19th century kneelers made out of sedge, which are piled up behind the font. There are more at nearby Eriswell and Lakenheath.

Inside the Victorian shell, aisles and clerestory speak of a medieval Catholic past.

Sedge hassocks hiding behind the font. A curiosity really, from an age of rural piety almost two centuries away. (Photo by Alan Thurkettle.)

Did the parish choose the wrong church? The overwhelmingly old-fashioned interior might have seemed the very thing in the 1970s, but it is hard to see how it will be easy to adapt it to the changing liturgical needs of the 21st century.

The wide open spaces up the road might have been more appropriate. But this is a small parish, and All Saints required such a lot of repair work that redundancy was really the only option.

We are entering a time when the Church of England's stewardship of this country's medieval heritage will seem an absurd thing, an anachronism. This village may well be used as an example.