Though goodness knows it's had its own martial moments, Catterick Village should not be confused with its more bellicose neighbour up on the Garrison.

Once a Great North Road staging post, long bypassed, it is now a peaceful, still cobbled village in which the early 15th century church of St Anne plays hide and seek over the higgledy-piggledy rooftops which surround it.

The church is approached up a steep snicket, or ginnel or whatever it is they call such things in Yorkshire. Rich in history, it is abundantly worth finding.

Catterick was occupied by the Romans, one of only ten areas allowed to make its own laws, by the Danes and probably by the Puritans. Paulinus, it is said, baptised thousands in the nearby River Swale in the seventh century; Castle Hills was a royal residence, and venue for royal weddings, at the same time.

Bede recorded a seventh century church there, the Domesday Book an 11th century replacement. In 1412, the present building became subject of one of the oldest surviving contracts in the English language, stipulating that old stones were to be used before any new ones obtained.

Three centuries later, St Anne's was particularly appreciated by northbound travellers anxious to give thanks for their deliverance from the notorious highwaymen of Leeming, a few rutted miles down the road.

The chancel is said to have borne the brunt of a Civil War cannon ball, the south aisle was damaged by German bombers in the Second World War. There was also - how may this most seemingly be put? - a certain ecclesiastical unrest before the Rev James Stewart became Vicar five years ago.

On Sunday, with the usual mixed feelings, he celebrated his final service at St Anne's.

Mr Stewart, 58, was a Crown Prosecution Service lawyer - "I'd have laughed 25 years ago if someone said I'd be a priest" - when his church attendance became more regular.

He carried the cross, physically if not metaphorically. "I thought that I was meant to be doing something more than that," he says.

We'd last met him in 1997 when he was curate of the villages around Grewelthorpe, near Ripon, that column noting that in 1968 the five members of Grewelthorpe Parish Council had written to Mr Kosygin, c/o The Kremlin, demanding that Russia desist from its invasion of Czechoslovakia.

"Ah yes, the mouse that roared," he recalls - and readers will be aware that Russia no longer occupies Czechoslovakia.

In 1998, at any rate, the Bishop of Ripon decided to put Mr Stewart onto Catterick's case.

Though the departing Vicar properly declines to discuss the difficulties - "it has always been a closed book" - Church Council secretary Annie Winkworth in her valedictions tells how his "quiet and thoughtful presence has brought great healing in this parish" and how his sense of fun has "injected humour into all sorts of thorny problems".

Mrs Winkworth also praises Mary Stewart, the Vicar's wife - "a great asset to the parish, though she failed to master the complexities of double-sided photocopying."

Retired choirmaster Harry Addison, in his speech, recalls that the "singing and social life" were "somewhat in the doldrums." They have improved, he adds, remarkably.

The final service marks Candlemas, known sometimes as The Presentation, and - fire brigade strike notwithstanding - involves everyone in a well-filled church having a candle.

There is also to be a procession, lights in the darkness, in a church not overly suited to such things.

Mr Stewart tells them that it won't go wrong if they follow simple instructions. "If it does," he adds, "you will remember me as the daft Vicar who couldn't organise a procession."

Though it becomes more of a Candlemas Shuffle, no one sets fire to the fabric. Presentation skills, as it were.

The sermon makes little of his leaving for a parish in Ludlow, save for a reference to "hanging on in" remembered - "probably all I remember" - from a sermon he himself had heard 20 years previously.

We pray for peace in Iraq, though Catterick Parish Council is not believed to be considering a first class stamp to Baghdad. Chris Brown, music student at Durham University and organ scholar at Ripon Cathedral, provides admirable accompaniment to familiar hymns. There is a small but rather splendid choir.

Afterwards there is wine and nibbles at the back of the church, near the entrance to the RAF Regiment Chapel. Catterick Aerodrome opened in 1914, airmen marching to St Anne's services, Sunday best foot forward, until the late 1950s.

The chapel was dedicated in 1994, the year that the Regiment took off for the last time.

Mr Stewart is presented with two paintings, tells the congregation that they and not successive vicars are the life of the church, talks of the "wonderful" village school, named after Michael Sydall, a 17th century incumbent.

He also invites everyone to visit them in Ludlow ("we're just off the A49") though not all at the same time.

A lady bids her fond farewells. "We were a parish in disarray but now we are back on track," she says. "It is entirely thanks to you."

The departing Vicar smiles gracefully before heading homewards. There are other opportunities to prosecute, and tea chests to pack.

"We shall miss you all very much," he says. Catterick decamped.