THE ancient church of St John the Baptist in Clayton, East Sussex, has a bat problem. It is not alone; some 5,000 of England’s 8,000 medieval churches are home to these nocturnal mammals, presenting the English church with its most testing non-spiritual dilemma. Clayton also has wall-paintings that date back to 1100. They are in remarkable condition, or at least they were until the bats moved in and began spreading liquid and solid waste with gay abandon. The bat stains are now virtually impossible to remove without damaging the paintings. Call in the Bat Conservation Trust.

Clayton actually contains only two roosting bats, but they are an unusually gregarious couple, inviting over scores of friends to fly among the rafters, and defecate with abandon. The solution may seem obvious: force the bats to party elsewhere, except that the British value their bats. Not only are they God’s creatures, like the rest of us, but since 1981 they have been protected under the Wildlife and Countryside Act. And they are in decline, because they eat insects whose numbers have been cut by modern farming methods. Now two British conservation bodies, English Heritage and English Nature, have produced a leaflet, “Bats in Churches”, to help curates and curators come to terms with the enemy.

The first thing to do is to assess the value, both temporal and liturgical, of the objects in the church to determine the appropriate level of deterrence. If there are only a few bats, pursuing a modest lifestyle, and the contents of the church are worth little, then no action may be required. Otherwise several devices of a Heath Robinson nature are suggested—boards to deflect the trajectory of urine and droppings, flashing lights, ultra-sound, unpleasant smells, stuffed owls, rustling aluminium foil and helium-filled balloons. Party-poopers!