Surrounded by grazing livestock and rushing rivers, curiosity called my name when I saw a striking image of a Kent church which has stood for more than a thousand years.

Legend has it, St Thomas Becket Church came into being in Fairfield, Romney Marsh, during the 12th century after the then Archbishop of Canterbury fell into one of the many ditches and prayed for a miracle to save him from a watery death.

Just in time, a farmer came to his aid, and as an expression of gratitude, the Archbishop had the church built.

Now, Visit Kent calls the site “arguably the most iconic of all the churches on Romney Marsh,” so I set out to see the grand old structure myself. I give the sat nav a vague address, and away we go.

As I near our destination, I’m directed off the main drag onto a single-track that winds through acres of countryside, allowing views for miles around.

It’s here I first spot the dominating shape of St Becket towering above the surrounding lowland.

I pull up in a nearby lay-by. There’s no car park here, but it looks to be a frequent spot for travellers from far and wide to begin the first step in our quest, finding the church door key.

I was reliably informed that a house some 200 yards away held what I sought and, sure enough, attached to the gatepost, under a sign aptly reading “church key,” I found it.

It’s a rather weighty piece of steel, which gives me a first impression of how ancient the site I’m about to enter is.

I make my way back, crossing the footpath, where I’m greeted by another couple of sightseers who inform me they’ve stopped on their travels to take in the site.

“We had no idea this was here,” they said.

“It’s incredible, a really beautiful site. I’d love to know more about it.

“It doesn’t look like it's been used for years.”

As it turns out, the church does, in fact, burst into life once a month.

After all, the homes belonging to the original medieval inhabitants of Fairfield have long since disappeared.

But a modest sized and dedicated group of worshippers regularly make the trek for service on the first Sunday of each month – otherwise it remains locked, except for the odd visitor like myself.

Onwards, we go, taking in the remarkable views. Not a hill is in sight, just rolling fields and the occasional farm building.

St Becket is one of 14 medieval churches scattered throughout Romney Marsh’s unique landscape, a significant amount given the relatively small number of parishioners.

Historically, lords of the manors on the Marsh built the churches to serve communities with the help of exceptionally talented craftspeople.

Despite the area’s scant population, they were often designed as tall structures to reflect the importance of the parish or patron.

Today they offer a snapshot into the past, especially a smattering of ruined churches whose villages and congregations have long since vanished.

Not far from St Thomas Becket, they can be found at Eastbridge between Newchurch and Burmarsh,

Hope All Saints’ remains can be found a mile north-west of New Romney and Midley on the way to Lydd, which fell into decay by 1573.

But today St Becket still stands as a simple structure of timber and lath.

First constructed around 1200, it survived until around the 18th century when the frame was encased in brick walls and the roof covered with red tiles.

In 1912, a complete rebuilding of the framework was required, but the interior was fortunately left untouched.

After crossing the river, a quick wander around the site shows it still to be much like this iteration, with just a few signs of its age visible.

Being a particularly brisk Monday morning and the wind continuing to bite, now seems like a good time to head inside.

There’s suddenly something quite eerie about my surroundings as the large timber door creeks slowly to a close.

The silence is overwhelming, with only the muffled sounds of howling wind for company.

Yet, it must be said that it is really a step back in time. Very little appears to have changed in the last 200 years.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the peculiar pews arranged in four squares compared to rows and painted in a brilliant white with a black lining.

It certainly adds to the theatrical atmosphere as a three-tiered pulpit of the same design looks down upon them.

You can really imagine groups huddled together for warmth during a sermon because, quite charmingly, this church has no electricity.

The rest of the building is a real architectural gold mine, making a real feature of the low timber arches that stretch the width of the site.

Although the world outside these walls may have moved on, this church remains a monument to a bygone era.

I take in the silence and beauty of the space one last time before battling the heavy door and sticking lock, I return the key and seek the safety of my car away from the elements.

Truly this ancient church is one of Kent’s best-kept secrets, even being kept under lock and key.