BACK to St John's at Shildon on Wednesday night, not so much like the good old days as like Old Testament days and, more specifically, like the Great Flood. It had been absolutely tossing down.

Still, the welcome was as warm as ever. "Look out, the rabble's in," grumbled long serving churchwarden Jack Coley, affectionately.

"Like hoss muck, never off the roads this feller," added one of the ladies. Compliments, like hoss muck, by the bucketful.

The church was consecrated in 1834, the foundation stone laid the year previously by Capt William Pryce Cumby from nearby Heighington, who'd been Nelson's number two at Trafalgar.

Another wall plaque acknowledges help from the Incorporated Church Building Society, on condition that all sittings are free are that there's an annual collection. Seats are still free, anyway.

The chap in the next-to-back pew said his claim to fame was that as a 19-year-old apprentice, he'd helped fix the church roof. It was altogether more substantial (and more worthwhile) than mine and I'd simultaneously been churchwarden, church council secretary and editor of the parish newspaper, called Steam.

The parish church is much enhanced, and much beautified, in the 33 years which have elapsed, not least by the addition of a wonderful mural designed by Suzanne Cuthbertson, wife of the last Vicar.

What hadn't changed was the irrelevance (if not the irreverence) of pre-service conversation. In the last pew of all, they discussed the shocking price of menthol and eucalyptus sweets and how so many funerals could be fitted into so crowded a social calendar.

This was no funeral, far from it, rather the joyous licensing of a new parish priest 22 months after Raymond Cuthbertson's 18-year tenure ended. It was good to be back in the old church and not wearing a black tie.

The new man is the Rev Rupert Kalus, formerly curate in the north Durham group of parishes and, before that, a Roman Catholic. "I thought I had a vocation to the priesthood but I hadn't a vocation to celibacy because I wanted to get married," he'd said a few days earlier.

His wife Alison and children, Laurie, ten, Freya, eight, and four-year-old Robbie, were all in church. That they appeared to be just about the only under-21s - and just about the only under-40s - will frame one of the challenges ahead.

Shildon's youngsters had been in the paper only that morning, burning down the play area in the park.

Also at the licensing were the Bishop of Durham and the Archdeacon of Auckland, the bishop in full fig and supposing that he'd never been in a warmer church.

He left yesterday for a month in Australia - mostly lecturing, partly watching whales with his wife - and wondered if they might be trying to acclimatise him. "In Australia," added the Rt Rev Tom Wright, "I won't be wearing this horse blanket."

A great sanctuary of fellow clergy included dear old Peter Holland, former Vicar of Tudhoe and of New Seaham. Now retired to Woodland, he still helps out elsewhere and at Newton Aycliffe had received his first-ever standing ovation.

What on earth for? "I can't possibly imagine," said Peter, humbly.

There was a municipal chain gang, the local police sergeant in best blues - it's one thing when the pollisses start to look young, quite another when the priests do - old friends like Winnie Bulch, 90 next, Jenny Hall, who had the Red Lion in days of half-pint innocence, Eric Anderson, coming up to retirement after 52 years as a butcher's boy.

Legally, Rupert is priest-in-charge, not Vicar, though he'll live in the new vicarage - a palace for Mr Kalus, it's reckoned - and still, said Jack, be addressed as Vicar, anyway.

His father was Polish, his mother's family Irish. "I was genetically Catholic," he said. His parents met (like so many more) at a dance at Catterick Camp, moved to Darlington and then to Harrogate, where he was brought up.

He met Alison at Durham University, after which they became teachers on Tyneside. Rupert, still exploring the priestly vocation, also became an Anglican Franciscan. "I don't feel that I abandoned the Catholic faith, I still feel very warmly about it," he said.

"It was another stage on my journey of faith and it's a great privilege to be an Anglican priest. I've loved it."

Part of the service is legal, stuff about the Church of England's historic formularies and catholic - best use lower case 'c' - creeds. The new man takes oaths of allegiance to the Queen and to the bishop, but in the latter case only in "all things lawful and honest".

It's also an occasion on which bishops use the royal "we", and can talk of "our goodwill and pleasure" and "the third year of our consecration".

The theme's of sheep, and shepherds. Bishop Tom in his sermon - a cracking good sermon, by common consent - talks of the huge difference between driving a train ("Shildon's a railway town") and driving sheep.

"The flock is in danger today. There are many holes in the fence for the sheep to go through. We are in a chilly wind to be a Christian out in the world and we need shepherds who will look after the flock."

Refreshments follow. "I could feel the responsibility falling off me, as the service went on," says Jack, a churchwarden for 35 years and chorister - with his no-less smashing wife Jean - for longer yet.

Mr Kalus - the bishop could be overheard calling him Rupe - said that church and parish just felt right, and doubtless it will thus prove. As for so many others, Shildon may be home from home.