The new Archbishop of Canterbury, a small man with a big beard, chose Thirsk in North Yorkshire for his first parish visit.

THEY'D borrowed chairs from the Methodists and parking cones from the polliss, printed 400 orders of service and feared still that they might have underestimated. The Archbishop of Canterbury was coming.

There might have been more for Basinger or for Beckham, admittedly, but 45 minutes before the start there was hardly a seat in God's house, and the lie-a-beds left to rue their latecoming.

Thereafter it was a bit like the stowed out days of the silver screen, in which torch bearers would prowl the aisles in silent search of a space.

The Archbishop of Canterbury was coming.

"The seats for journalists have been reserved over there," said the Rev Jonathan Jennings, his press officer, pointing in the general direction of the cattle mart. It was a joke which doubtless he has used previously.

We sat in a side aisle, the archbishop for most of the time out of sight but for none of it out of mind.

Whether for his fondness for The Simpsons - and Father Ted - or his admission that he was a "hairy lefty", the still hirsute Dr Rowan Williams has made a big and immediate impact. He is also said to have offered ethical insights into Spot the Dog.

None disputes his intellect, few his humility. Most also believe him a thoroughly nice man, though the Rev Dr Peter Mullen - in one of his "God help us all" columns - thought that Dr Williams was in danger of bringing down the Church more quickly than anyone since the blinded Samson in the temple.

Dr Mullen is unlikely to be offered a seat in the House of Bishops.

Unlike his predecessor, who had the wisdom to support the Arsenal, he has neither football interest nor allegiance, though it is claimed that he prays for the Welsh rugby team.

Had he applied a football analogy at St Mary's parish church in Thirsk last Sunday, it might have been supposed that the gates were locked on a capacity crowd.

Dr Williams is 52, lapsed Labour now, speaks seven languages and lectures in five, was formerly Archbishop in Wales. He officially became Archbishop of Canterbury in early December but won't be enthroned until the week after next.

Thirsk was his first parish visit. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is," he enthused afterwards and clearly meant every word.

He is associated with Holy Rood House, a Christian healing centre in Thirsk whose logo proclaims it "The place to turn to" and which celebrated its tenth anniversary last weekend.

Since St Mary's has lost both its Team Rector and Team Vicar - Lady Bracknell was critical in similar circumstances - the centre's ordained directors, Stanley and Elizabeth Baxter, act as priests in charge of the church.

Dr Williams had lectured at the centre on Friday evening - "I couldn't understand the questions, never mind the answers," said a guest - spent a private day there on Saturday and led Sunday's parish communion.

Mr Jennings, a former curate in Darlington and Peterlee, had warned that there would be no interviews, perhaps having read a suggestion in the previous week's Church Times that the archbishop should stop giving interviews until he had learned not to think aloud in them.

Generally the press has welcomed him, however, apparently believing that the Welshman - "a small man for so big a beard," someone said - can blast a wind of change through the Church of England.

The Independent thought him prudent, discreet, kind and clever, the Independent on Sunday quoted an unnamed bishop in the run up to the Canterbury announcement: "It has to be Rowan Williams. The rest are about one tenth as intelligent, one tenth as holy and one tenth as humble."

The Sunday Times supposed that his role model was Michael Ramsey, a former Bishop of Durham and Archbishop of Canterbury. "The C of E will no longer slink around apologetically at the back of society like a slightly retarded misfit," it added.

The new leader is said also to resist many of the church's more ostentatious trappings, so that at St Mary's - a glorious 15th century church little altered since it was built - he wore the vestments of a parish priest, topped with necessary mitre.

Before the service the organist played the Welsh national anthem, not to be confused with anything by Mr Max Boyce; the first hymn was a reworking of Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer, in some parts also considered to be the Welsh national anthem.

They know in North Yorkshire how to make a new archbishop feel at home.

"It would be nice if the church were as full as this every Sunday," said Mrs Baxter and to make the day yet more memorable, churchwarden Margaret Hunton announced the appointment of the Rev Richard Rowling as Team Rector. Presently he is at Ingleby Greenhow, near Middlesbrough.

The service theme was the Holy Rood, new hymns set to familiar tunes like Londonderry Air and (improbably) Those in Peril on the Sea.

The Archbishop preached for 14 minutes, speaking of the challenge to parent and to nurture one another.

"As Christians we are called to step out of the crowd when someone is being crucified, whether that represents Christians in a minority somewhere or Muslims in a minority somewhere else, they need our support."

Afterwards he engaged easily, tried in vain to do something with his hair - the bit about rich man, camel and eye of a needle came to mind - and beamed above his spectacles.

His eyebrows - "go-faster eyebrows", someone suggested - have a similar will of their own. Mr Denis Healey has the same problem.

In football terms it had been a thriller. Those who think it's all over for the Church of England, may discover that it's not quite over after all.