An Unplanned Church

 Yesterday I had an appointment at a hospital some little way from Lichfield. For reasons I won't bore you with, I ended up arriving a full hour early. What to do? I'd noticed, on the way in, a red sandstone church standing apparently alone in the fields – Victorian by the look of it, and probably locked – but I thought I'd go and have a look. The hospital is in what might be called a semi-rural location, with the Big House (much Victorianised) close to it, and the village stretching along the main road, inhabited largely by the kind of people who like to build big showy houses behind tall wrought-iron gates and Virginia Water shrubbery. Not very inspiring then, and reeking of money. But the church – that was the thing. And I was lucky: as I drew near I spotted some human activity, which turned out to be the churchwarden and her husband finishing off the flowers with which the church was abundantly decked. This was in honour of the new vicar, who is being installed today. So, by pure luck, I had found the church open. It's wonderful how often this happens – sometimes it seems almost miraculous, as with the Lady with the Key. 
   Anyway, I had a nice chat with the churchwarden, and was able to have a look around the church before she locked up and left. The church is Victorian indeed, small and simple but of high quality, the gift of the then owner of the Big House, with lavish fittings, a spectacular polychrome sanctuary floor, and a couple of good stained-glass windows. Pevsner describes the interior as 'wholly satisfying', and it is indeed. I'm so glad I chanced to find it open. It was one of those happy unplanned moments that have peppered my church-crawling life – and indeed the rest of my life. Reasons to be thankful.