I first saw this church from miles away when I was wandering about the graveyard of Little Wratting. As I set off towards it though, it disappeared; by the time I had negotiated the industrial empire of the pig-murderers in the valley, I was reduced to avoiding the cars that screamed past me on the busy Haverhill to Bury road. Spotting distant medieval towers was not an option.

Indeed, I didn't see the church again until I was actually in the churchyard, so tree-shrouded it is from the north. Barnadiston seemed a peaceful place after the noise of the road, and they must have known I was coming, because someone had rushed out and stuck up a notice with no less than five keyholders on it. I was pleased to see it really. One of them was a very nice lady across the road, and although I was keen to see inside I took time for a wander around the outside first, because it is quite an interesting one.

The porch will be what strikes you first. It looks like nothing so much as a 15th century engine shed. It means business - parish business. It is easy to imagine it in use for meetings and marriages. Look at the delicate doorway inside it. Not much more than a hundred years older than the porch, but they are either side of the Black Death, which carried off perhaps a half of Suffolk's population in 1349. You can see how it turned us into a serious people. Note also the niche, but no holy water stoup. There must be a reason for this.

To the east of the porch is a grand battlemented roodstair turret, and beyond that, unusually, a priest door in the north side. Mortlock suggests that it is there because the Rectory was on this side. Going around to the south side, you should look out for the mass dial on one of the buttresses. Unusually, it has Roman numerals as well as a circle.

You step in through the north porch, through what must be one of the smallest doors into any Suffolk church. It is a cut-out of the larger door, and no more than 4ft 6in high. That it is old is shown by the fact that there are no less than half a dozen keyholes, added in over the years as the previous lock failed. It took me a few moments to find the right one.

At first sight, the interior is far less ancient than the exterior. The Victorians were efficient here. In fact, there is more surviving medieval woodwork than might first appear, and although the roodscreen is heavily restored it is all of a 15th century piece.

In any case, what is interesting here is not all medieval. Firstly, above the pulpit is an unusual survival; the stand for an 18th century sermon timer. A large egg timer would be kept in here, and turned over at the start of the afternoon sermon. It would run for an hour; not to make sure that the preacher didn't go on too long, but to ensure that he didn't cut it short. The crucifix beside it is another jump across a divide; the 19th century ritualists placed it here, but it would have been anathema to 18th century protestants.

The font, though only 15th century, is particularly battered. So much so, an ugly iron band has been placed around it to stop it falling to pieces. Perhaps this happened in the 20th century; it is hard to imagine that the Victorians would have resisted replacing it completely.

Up in the sanctuary, the piscina is beautiful, but has had a curious hole bored in it. It is hard to imagine what the hole was for without knowing when it was done.

Fascinating, but impossible to photograph, is a graffito of a windmill by the south chancel window. Until a century ago, these beautiful structures swung proudly across the Suffolk landscape. Every parish had at least one; if our 18th century ancestors came back today, one of the first things they would want to know would be where all the windmills had gone.

All Saints, Barnadiston, is located to the north of Haverhill, signposted off of the road to Bury St Edmunds. There are lots of keyholders!

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