The "futuristic" church of St James, Hardwick, was dedicated in 1966, part of its £17,000 cost met by a weekly collection from 500 families on the Stockton housing estate. Next to it, like a giant tailfin, stands a 67ft pre-cast concrete cross, lowered into place by a giant crane and topped - "for luck" - with a Guernsey silver threepenny piece.

As talismans go, the silver threepenny may be considered somewhat tarnished. Not worth twopence, you might say.

Within ten years the church roof had deteriorated so badly that the cost of repairs was put at £10,000; two years later the vicar described his congregation as "pathetically small", couldn't even raise a church council and claimed that St James's was bankrupt.

A subsequent vicar fell out with the neighbourhood juvenile jazz bands - including the Hardwick Harmonies - after complaining of "out of tune kazoos" and somewhat uncharitably reminding those who obstructed children's faith that it were better for them that they be cast into the sea with a millstone around their necks.

It couldn't, at any rate, be considered very harmonious.

Just 35 years after its dedication, St James's held its final service at the end of June, the cost of yet more repairs beyond the means of the small congregation.

"I didn't think that it would upset me as much, but I broke my heart after that last communion service," says Freda Calvert, there at the start. "Our children were confirmed there and married there. Last year my husband was taken from me there. I held myself together then; I couldn't when they closed the church."

Already it bears an air of neglect, the garden overgrown, the building's future uncertain - if nothing else, there will be no going back to the futuristic.

From the dark clouds, however, has emerged what might be termed a silver threepenny lining: the folk of St James's now worship each Sunday at the Roman Catholic English Martyrs church, 100 yards down Hardwick Road.

"We are simply moving house. St James will continue as a parish in its own right," says Fr David Stephenson, the present vicar.

Perhaps owing as much to pragmatism as ecumenism, it is nonetheless a welcome exercise in loving thy neighbour - wholly commendable if somewhat constrained, like going to bed with your theological boots on.

The two churches may still not celebrate Mass together, nor may Anglicans partake of Catholic communion (as the present Prime Minister is, for one, aware).

Though there may no longer be even 100 yards between St James's and English Martyrs, there seems sometimes to be a million miles between Canterbury and Rome. It is a step in the right direction, nonetheless.

"It was a hard decision, so many memories, but they really have gone out of their way to make us welcome," says Nancy Close, from St James's.

"They were going to go to the community centre but Father invited them here," says Claire Jenkins from English Martyrs. "About 98 per cent of our people were in favour. I think we've pulled out all the stops to make them feel at home."

The union - reunion, historians might be tempted to suggest - was celebrated at a joint service in English Martyrs on July 1, attended by the Bishop of Durham, a Vicar General of the Catholic diocese and people from nearby St Andrew's Methodist church.

All three congregations are committed to working together to tackle Hardwick's myriad of problems, and to promote its physical and spiritual regeneration. "There are so many problems really," says Claire, "drugs, unemployment, single families. We can't do everything, but we've got more chance working together."

Since they can't take communion together, the column did one of its occasional double shifts - Church of England 9am, Roman Catholic 10.30am, and with just 20 minutes to turn round in between.

English Martyrs, manifestly cared for, is a long church and a broad church, too. The last time we were there was for a traditional Latin mass, and even the Catholics have precious few of those.

About 30 are at the Anglican service, urged by Fr Stephenson to sit closer together. Like English Martyrs, they call the service the Mass.

Though we sing from Hymns Old and New ("Anglican edition") words and tunes would be familiar to both congregations. The Gospel, the central teaching, is word for word identical.

A splendid sermon, about priorities, might have come from this desk. "Whatever piece of paper is on top of the pile is the one that gets dealt with," says Fr Stephenson.

It lasts 70 minutes, some of the congregation remaining for tea and biscuits in a room English Martyrs have made available, others leaving as the next shift arrives.

"It takes a bit of getting used to, but I'm sure it must be difficult for them as well," says Freda.

About 70, including a small children's group - that is to say, a small group for young children - are present for the Catholic service. They also have a well attended Saturday evening "vigil" mass.

Lawrence Jones, the parish priest, is away, the service taken by Fr Emilio Paloschi, an Italian who has been 21 years a missionary in Brazil but is now outreaching to Coatbridge.

It's his first visit to Stockton and he's impressed that the Church of England has been to English Martyrs before him. "It's a very big step, we have been apart for so long. Little by little we are seeing Christ in everyone."

Eventually they hope to adapt parts of the church - Martyrs to the cause - for wider community use, the model at the back presently partitioned by a Snickers box.

Church unity, says Claire Jenkins, is definitely getting nearer - "well, on this estate it is, anyway."