All Saints, Fosdyke, Lincolnshire And the rain fell steadily, increasing. It swept in from the west, and the roads were fast, busy and awful. We crossed the Welland and turned off the road into Fosdyke, once a lonely outpost serving the bridge and its little port, now a village of bungalows by the busy Kings Lynn to Boston road. Here was All Saints. The notice said the church was usually open - it wasn't, but there was a keyholder notice as well. A vivid red brick construction of the 1870s by local architect Edward Browning, and very good. No expense was spared. The tower and spire are like a rocket and form the south porch. There is a gorgeous font, obviously recut but featuring angels in various poses. Under the bowl are naked girls and wild men, apparently original. The chancel is the star, a feast of Minton tiles and stained glass. The west end of the nave has recently been refloored, and the reason is obvious if you stand on the chancel steps looking west - the outer walls are sinking into the fen, and a long crack joins the west window to the floor. Perversely, they seem to like large west windows in this soft country, but it can never have been a good idea. The other problem here is that the nave and chancel were built on the site of an earlier church, and have foundations, but the vast tower and spire weren't and don't. The dipping curve in the line of the south aisle is alarming, and would not be the last we saw today. A six-figure project is in hand to restore the church to its late 19th Century glory. By now the rain was softening, but the wind was still bitter. We headed on a few miles down narrow lanes, a vast castle of a church increasingly looming up before us, until we reached the centre the otherwise workaday village of Algarkirk and its vast cruciform church.