Chris Upton discovers something rather unusual at a church yard in a small Warwickshire town.

The rule of church visiting is that every old church has something of interest, something peculiar to it. It drives us into the most obscure of places.

Tucked away in the rural hinterland between Alcester and Bidford-on-Avon is the little village of Wixford. Its population has changed little over the decades and stands at just 110 people.

Were it not for two pubs with a reputation for food and drink, few would come and few would go. The little railway station closed many years ago.

Nevertheless, Wixford has a weight of history behind it.

A Roman road – usually known as Ryknield Street – passed through it, and its importance as a crossing point of the River Arrow is testified by its name. There was a mill on the river at the time of Domesday, which paid rent, partly in the form of eels, to the monks of Evesham Abbey, who owned the manor until the Dissolution. The modern visitor would notice a string of timber-framed cottages which lie between the two pubs, and probably decide, at that point, that they had paid due attention to the village’s charms. Only the truly dedicated would turn off the straight and onto the narrow, and head for the church.

The chances are the church will be locked, as it has been on my two visits.

That could easily be the case, even if you turned up on a Sunday morning. There are only two services a month in the summer, and one in the winter. All the churches and chapels in these parts – Bidford, Wixford, Exhall, Temple Grafton, Binton and Salford Priors – share the same vicar. Pluralism has today become an economic necessity, not a clerical luxury.

So – confronted by a locked door – there’s a moment of frustration, and a fist waved at the Almighty.

Inside (I’m led to believe) is the finest medieval brass in all of Warwickshire, commemorating Thomas de Cruwe and his wife, the owners of nearby Moor Hall back in the 15th Century.

The dedication to St Milburga, a daughter of King Penda of Mercia, also has promise, suggesting a church with roots back in Anglo-Saxon times. There are certainly a couple of Norman doorways. The little church offered a place for travellers to pray on their way into and out of the Forest of Arden.

Grudgingly I have to admit that locked churches are sometimes good for me. They force me to pay proper attention to the exterior and to the churchyard, rather than marching straight to the high altar.