St Anne's has no more need of a dog-whipper

Baslow, Derbyshire Inside this pleasing medieval church is a strange relic of a long redundant rural occupation

I came down the hill to Baslow in a stinging wind that was driving thin broken cloud over the white moor-tops. In the fields below, sheep pushed their faces through the snow to excavate tufts of grass buried in last night's fall. From Bubnell, I crossed the Derwent on Baslow's old bridge, an elegant three-arched structure with a pocket-sized tollbooth from the early 1600s. Before the river was tamed for industry, a wilder Derwent regularly swept bridges away: but not this one. In the low winter light, the stream was a sheet of rippled bronze.

On the east bank, overlooking the river, stood St Anne's, among the most pleasing churches in this part of Derbyshire, with its eccentrically offset medieval tower, skirted with trees and a jumble of gravestones. Offering a silent prayer, I tried the door with my raw pink hand; it opened. I stepped gratefully out of the wind and stood defrosting in the nave, absorbing the building's complex architecture; it feels organic, more accretion than lofty concept. But even empty the church felt vibrant.