The decision to demolish our church came out of the blue.

The priest called a meeting. Most people walked into the hall, totally unaware of the bombshell about to be dropped. He entered, followed by a group of grey suited men from the diocese.

They took their place on the stage above us. We were told the church was in a bad state of repair and would need thousands spending on it and a quick decision was needed.

They had taken it already.

I put my hand up to speak, suggesting a further meeting to discuss alternatives. But no, they said a decision was needed that night. Unbelievably, on a show of hands – only one objector- me, the motion passed.

A friend was involved with the demolition of the church. He knew I was upset. I asked if it was possible to have some stones from the rubble. A couple of days later he presented me not only with stones but a gargoyle, a symbol of protection.

I am no longer a Catholic, but the gargoyle still lives in the garden.