DEFINITELY NOT UNFROCKED
Robin Simon tries
to judge bishops by their garb
MY grandfather always claimed that he could spot a Nonconformist minister from the back at fifty paces 'by the cut of his jib', and over the years I have been refining a system for categorising clergymen by means of their 'outward and visible signs'. Those baffled by press mug-shots of bishops unofficially entering for the Great Canterbury Handicap may find it helpful. The first rule is mathematical: the depth of the dog-collar is in inverse proportion to the height of the churchmanship. Thus, Habgood of York sports a collar of excep- tional, even outmoded, depth. He is in- deed exceptionally Low Church. Only a fraction shallower is the collar of that exemplar of the Muscular Christian, for- mer England cricketer Sheppard of Liver- pool. He too is evangelical — to a fault. Contrariwise, James of Winchester takes the eye for the elegant narrowness of his band of white. Sure enough, he is seriously High — no ordination of women, clang the bell and swing the censer. His is a lonely collar, for Baughen of Chester's dog-collar is deep, as are those of Taylor of St Alban's and Carey of Bath and Wells — Low Church evangelicals to a man.
These extremes do not mark the limits of usefulness of the collar as indicator. What might once have been described as Broad churchmanship is equally easy to spot. Bill' Westwood of Peterborough for inst- ance, whose true churchmanship is any- one's guess, has a canny line in middle-of- the-road, middle-of-the-neck, middle- depth of collar. (It is a good rule, inciden- tally, never to trust a bishop who wishes to
be known as Yet Westwood is apparently Mrs Thatcher's favourite, Which just goes to show how much a Nonconformist can hope to know about Anglican bishops.)
There are other factors at play, notably the material of which the collar is made. Plastic versions are by no means unknown, but they should look convincing. Bath and Wells surely lets the side down. I dare say his collar is not cut from a squeezy bottle, as is said to be the case with indigent curates, but it looks it. Narrow linen always used to be the unerring mark of a High Churchman. Nowadays it is more
suggestive of private means. In a poor field, Winchester's is the best we have.
A recent, and confusing, innovation is the adoption by several bishops of pointed, fold-over shirt collars to either side of the dog-collar proper. They indicate that the bishop in question is wearing a complete purple shirt rather than a clerical stock. But what a mixed bag they are who have fallen for this latest affectation: Bath and Wells, Santer of Birmingham (possessor, surely, of the most `papabile' surname), Harries of Oxford and 'dark horse' Waine of Chelmsford. Harries is rather High yet apparently in favour of the ordination of women. Santer, too, is relatively High, but also equivocal over the same issue. The see of Chelmsford, however, is traditional- ly the Lowest of the Low — and Waine is no exception. Carey, as we have seen from his dog-collar, is Low evangelical. Baffling. Faced with such contradictions, the ori- gin of this fad may provide a clue. These shirts have been in vogue in England only for the last 15 years or so, according to Mr Alan Porter of the clerical outfitters, Wip- pelt's. My own view is that they surfaced in Roman circles first, and were then taken up by practical-minded American Epis- copalians. There is thus something vaguely ecumenical about them, and I strongly suspect that they stand for 'Dialogue'. Anyone lucky enough to catch one of these bishops in a cassock is on to an easy thing. As with collars, a simple mathema- tical formula applies: the greater the num- ber of buttons, the higher the wearer. Ideally, the High Church cassock buttons all the way down the front, dead centre, for maximum inconvenience, although the wearer quickly gets used to stepping in and out of it like a ball-gown. The addition of a scapular (a cape flapping about the shoul- ders) is normal, together with oversleeves and cuffs. Such priests will also be a practised hand with a biretta (hat, not gun). Cassock and matching accessories thus perform the function of the identifica- tion plumage of birds. Indeed, the peacocks of St Stephen's House, Oxford 'Staggers' — affect their own distinctive version of the High Church rig. The Staggers cassock has five pleats at the back, and 39 buttons at the front strangely, the same number as the Thirty- nine Articles to which Staggers clergy only accede through gritted teeth. Given the racy reputation of this establishment, it is probably more appropriate that the cas- sock has 'a very full skirt'.
Low Churchmen, however much they protest their indifference to outward show, are every bit as careful about their appear- ance — as witness those collars. But there is a slight problem over the cassock as indicator; whereas High Church priests can hardly be seen without them, the Low Churchman likes to take his off as quickly as possible. When 'on duty' (a distinctive concept by the way), he likes to wear a cassock with the minimum number of buttons necessary for decency (three), fastening to one side across the chest.
Cinctures are varied, and church- manship is not always deducible from this feature alone. Leather belts are occasional- ly seen, even on bishops. They invariably indicate heartiness and a fondness for youth clubs. Old-fashioned rope girdles denote a pretty sound regard for the decencies. There is, however, a small but distinct sub-group who have no shame, and wear nothing about the waist at all. I mean the priests, including at least one bishop, who dress in all-purpose flowing white robes of a vaguely religiose kind. These `cassock albs' are especially in vogue for greeting the faithful after service. The resemblance to Isadora Duncan may even be intentional, for the attitude of the wearers of these garments towards the liturgy is always 'free-form'. Guitars and congregational hand-waving are never very far away.
Today, all the English bishops, however Low, love their 'Roman purple' cassocks, and matching cinctures with fluffy tassles are seen in nearly all cases. But there is another option available to adventurous bishops — a contrasting colour ensemble of black cassock with red piping and a scarlet-to-purple cincture, topped off by a satin cape fastened with ribbons a la Monsignor.
It is a sad reflection of the depths to which the English church has sunk that none of the fancied runners in the current Canterbury race would be seen dead in these colours. Indeed of today's diocesans, only the Bishop of London — not in the running — ever appears in such splendour.
Whoever finally succeeds Archbishop Runcie (High, but Limp), things are un- likely to improve for a very long time. On all the available evidence, eight of the eleven bishops being mooted are plainly Low and, with the appointment in the hands of a `Nonky', it seems certain that we can look forward to a prolonged period of deep dog-collars, three-buttoned cas- socks, and unrelieved purple. Nothing indicates more clearly that the Anglican Church in this country has generally re- verted merely to the C of E.
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