What really makes St Michael and St Martin shine is its congregation. It’s not your typical “shush-and-pray” crowd. You get a mix of families from the new housing estates, older residents who’ve been coming since the 1950s, and even a few tourists who wandered in looking for the loo but stayed for the chat. The vicar is famously approachable—the sort who wears jeans under the cassock and isn’t afraid to crack a dad joke during the sermon.
They run a food bank, a toddler group, and a coffee morning that could rival any Wetherspoons for gossip value. One regular told me the church is “like a warm blanket for the soul, but with better biscuits.” Honestly, that’s the best review you’ll get anywhere.
Ghost Stories and Oddities
Because every old church needs a spooky bit, St Michael and St Martin has its share of ghost stories. Locals swear they’ve seen a “grey lady” flit among the gravestones on misty nights. I’ve never seen her, but I did once hear a weird creak from the organ loft. Turned out it was the organist eating crisps during the silence. Spooky.
Also, the churchyard is home to some ancient yew trees, which are supposedly older than the church itself. Yew trees are notoriously hard to age, but some say they’ve been there since the Saxons were moaning about the weather. They’ve seen invaders, plague pits, and probably a few 1970s wedding hairdos that should have been a crime.
