Already the trees are half-hiding this strange church behind their green walls; in a week, their canopies will be so thick they’ll conceal it entirely. The church of St Michael and All Angels, standing halfway up its steep hill, has the grandest entrance to any church I know – a simple metal gate inviting the chance passer-by into the depths of a lime avenue. As I accepted, distant thunder growled. The limes became a tunnel that ushered me right to the porch.