I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. It was against all the firm’s safety rules to enter a deserted church, at dusk, alone. I was due to inspect the place the next day anyway, in the morning sunshine and the comforting presence of Ben Crabtree, the county of Suffolk’s best ancient buildings contractor. So why couldn’t I wait? Why was I creeping, ankle-deep in rotting wilton, along the aisle, jumping at every owl hoot and mouse rustle, torch in one hand, mobile phone in the other and the firm’s hard hat on my head? I’m a romantic, I suppose, and I love old buildings in all their different moods. I’d come to catch what might well be the grace notes of the splendour of All Souls, adrift in the fields outside the village of Crowden. It would be my five-year survey tomorrow that would sign the death warrant for this once-lovely building. It had been disused for years and the grants of money, never generous enough, had finally run out. The fabric was considered dangerous and it was inevitable that the bulldozers would roll.
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