CASTLE Bolton is in Wensleydale, west of Leyburn, population about 60. It should not be confused with Bolton Abbey, which is on Yorkshire's opposite extreme, but probably it has been for centuries.

The semi-ruined castle stands - imposing, eponymous - at one end of the timeless, unexploited old village. At the other, humbler by far but little less remarkable, is Castle Bolton Methodist Chapel, perhaps the smallest church in Christendom.

Between the two there's a red telephone box against a village green background. Were buttons A and B still pressed into action, or an operator called Olive absent-mindedly to ask the number please, it would not in the least have been surprising.

The chapel was opened on Monday, October 14, 1901, celebrated its centenary in the autumn, held what will almost certainly be its last service at the weekend.

It was Advent Sunday, the feast of the Great Coming, and now there were comings and goings.

"It's a sad day but these things happen," said 72-year-old Rebecca Dinsdale who comprises half the membership, was christened in the chapel in 1929, saw her children through the Sunday school and has never wanted to live anywhere else than the place locals simply call Bolton.

Mabel Hunter, the other member, is conversely a Bolton wanderer - she moved a mile down dale, to Redmire. Usually they've been joined at the monthly services by 90-year-old former sub-postmistress Blanche Linaker, but Mrs Linaker, as they say, is "church".

John Wesley had preached at Castle Bolton parish church in 1744, whilst on the way from Leeds to Newcastle, noted in his Journal that he was "much pleased with the serious behaviour of the congregation" and 20 years later sent Nicholas Manners into Wensleydale to carry on the good work.

Manners, alas, was stoned and roughly treated as he preached the Gospel at Bellerby - folk round there have a reputation for being rather kinder to ducks - but was made altogether more welcome at Castle Bolton where he stayed at the cottage of John Jackson, who made his living by carrying lead and coal by donkey.

In 1829 the Methodists had 47 members, excluding children, but by the time a suitable chapel could be found - and Lord Bolton persuaded to allow a permanent base for the non-conformists - another 77 years had elapsed.

Lord Bolton himself had performed the opening, in a converted cottage with two chimneys, a cobbled footpath and a cow byre attached. "It goes without saying," observed a contemporary chronicler, "that this circumstance gave the greatest satisfaction both to his tenantry and to the Methodist people generally. Very gracefully and heartily did his Lordship perform his task, evidently being quite at home in his Wesleyan environment."

(The Northern Echo failed to concelebrate Bolton's big day, preferring primarily to paddle among the police courts. Two Darlington youths had been fined a shilling apiece for playing pitch and toss on a Sunday, 16 at Bishop Auckland were ordered to pay 20 shillings each for failing to report for duty at Messrs Bolckow Vaughan's ironworks in Witton Park, and at Langbaurgh North court on Teesside, William McReddie - said for 15 years to have earned £7 a week as a professional footballer - was committed for two months for stealing potatoes from a garden.)

Though Sunday afternoon's occasion was bitter-sweet, Castle Bolton was determined to go out with a smile. When 35 had crowded into what might be termed Chapel Cottage - good, honest, unbaggaged Yorkshire folk of the sort thought only to exist in James Herriot films - Mrs Dinsdale wondered if they might fetch one or two extra chairs from the Village Institute and then wondered in turn where they might put them.

When the photographer ultimately arrived, he had for half an hour to adopt the lotus position - and effortlessly, it might be added - because there was no room in the church.

It was to be a carol service, a bright little Christmas tree at the front, a manger nearby, the Methodist hymn book (1935 edition) down dusted for the valediction.

"Away in a manger" wasn't numbered among the carols, however, but remaindered at the back in a section headed "For little children".

We sang them all, or most of them, hailed the ever festive morn and joined choirs of angels. Young Joshua Westwood played Good King Wenceslas on his trumpet; he and his sister Emma and their cousin Christine Peacock sang and played and said their pieces (as children did long ago) and carried it off enchantingly.

Afterwards in the Institute - smaller yet, walls bestrewn with government information deemed essential to Bolton's wellbeing - they drank ginger wine and ate home-made biscuits and remembered with affection all the little chapels where once they'd worshipped north of the River Ure.

There was Redmire, Wensley, Carperby, two in Askrigg, another in Preston-under-Scar - all prayed out, now, and Castle Bolton ready for amen corner.

It was dusk before we left, a cold, crisp, straight-smoking Advent Sunday with views still to Penhill and across the silent night dale.

"I said I'd give it this year," said the delightful Mrs Dinsdale, "but after that there really doesn't seem much point, not with just me in the village. I just hope that people will have enjoyed today, and think it was all right in the end."

Published: 08/12/01