The reason people are turning away from the church? Power-crazed ladies in padded gilets who ride roughshod over the vicar, says CAROLINE BULLOCK – as she reveals how they’ve frozen her out in her Sussex town

The white-haired woman who had burst out of the locker room like a puppet from the starting block was striding towards me, looking flushed and angry.

“You can’t park here,” he growled. ‘This area is for church users only.’

I knew this. I needed some spiritual solace; That’s what brought me here on a quiet Saturday afternoon, but he looked unconvinced.

‘There’s a public car park at the other end of town,’ he said, adding: ‘It’s closer to the shops and cafes.’

My face did not fit this self-appointed watchdog. In his eyes, I was a shopper looking for free parking rather than reality; I was a potential congregation trying to reconnect with a lost faith. Even as he walked through the entrance of the church, his doubts did not seem to disappear.

So what was the problem? Is it my ripped jeans or the fact that I’m under 60? Who knows? But as the sole visitor to an otherwise empty church, it wouldn’t be amiss to be welcomed rather than scolded.

Unfortunately, disgruntled and territorial church faithful can be an all-too-common fixture in rural towns and villages.

The elderly, mostly women and fond of padded vests, are actually the ones running the show, not the resident priest. They support every village raffle and church fundraiser and can prepare a damp Victoria sponge or flower display on request. In their minds and those of many others, they make a valuable contribution, and perhaps in some ways they do.

(Stock) They support every village raffle and church fundraiser and can make a damp Victoria sponge or flower display available upon request. In their minds and those of many others, they make a valuable contribution, and perhaps in some ways they do.

But at a time of religious decline and atheism on the global rise, I have another idea. Do these tight-knit cliques, with their old-fashioned snap judgments, hinder the church’s broader appeal in society?

In my village in West Sussex the church may still be a mainstay of village life, but it undoubtedly appeals to a very select crowd.

A churchgoing acquaintance tried to invite me to Sunday service, which is usually followed by a ‘conversation and coffee party’, but I wasn’t convinced.

The obligatory conversations with the usual do-gooders discussing the grandchildren and their latest cruise holiday are unappealing – especially since they are the ones who would otherwise leave you blank at the village show or shop.

At best, they will only make you feel politely tolerated, as if it were just another extension of their duty to distribute the village magazine. And that’s on a good day.

Power madness are certain activities where pettiness really comes into play; for example, when the church hosted a recent book festival.

Attacking unsuspecting members of the public, the church ladies demanded £5 to borrow a cushion to sit on (on top of the £20 event fee), and if anyone refused, they exchanged disapproving looks.

During the break, they cut larger lemon slices for their friends and were offended when asked if they could fill the tea glass to the top instead of half full.

And if you do not agree with their particular worldview, you can expect some pushback.

Interestingly, it turned out that it was the same women who gave me the cold shoulder in the local shop when I dared to voice the unusual observation that village life was geared more towards families than single people.

Yes, for those who have lived in their own idyllic bubble for many years, any alternative perspective or constructive criticism of their community is always considered blasphemous.

Meanwhile, it is hardly surprising that the church report in the village magazine feels like a throwback to the 1950s, when ‘village mothers’ shared recipes or their latest cross-stitch project.

I want to feel inspired by faith; not that I was suffocating from a solid blockage.

In my view this is part of the wider image problem of the Church of England. The Bible society may have claimed a revival of church attendance among young people, but let’s be realistic. Against the rise and rise of Islam, Christian faith has been in decline among the British public for years.

Many churches stand shuttered among broken tombstones and overgrown weeds, the tired shadows of their former shelves like a deserted main street and failing pubs. For most people, the only time they really come alive is the festive season or weddings.

The church, still reeling from various abuse scandals, has never felt the need to connect with a broader mix of people and attitudes and resonate in such a meaningful way.

Recent years have seen a modernization mission focused on updating the language in the Bible and prayers, but the larger problem is the aging disciples who dominate their local congregations.

This is why I currently avoid collective worship. Instead of regular services, I sometimes stop by on weekday afternoons, usually when I have space to myself.

When I pass through the Gothic, spiked door, I find peace and tranquility in a simple space, breathing in the familiar musty scent of aged wood.

This reminds me that I can still find solace in the physical church; It’s a shame that some parts of the community left me cold.