Bishops of Leicester

For no logical reason the phrase "Bishop of Leicester" has enetered our family's vocabulary. Every family has their own quirks, shorthand and innate understanding but this is how this phrase entered our own family's lore. It is a long story which I will try to condense as much as possible. 

It is over forty years ago when my wife and family were taking my brother, from Australia, on a tour of the sights of London one Sunday afternoon. We happened to be driving down Pall Mall when we passed a distinguished gentleman in a well-cut suit, gleaming black shoes, purple shirt and red tie. For no apparent reason whatsoever I said “Oh, look, that’s the Bishop of Leicester.”

Everyone turned their heads to watch the receding figure when my brother asked me how I knew it was the bishop.

“It was the purple shirt that caught my eye, “I said. “He’s probably come straight from the House of Lords.” The family gasped at my knowledge of the upper echelons of society while I remained silent and drove on. They swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

Two hours later on arrival at our home north of Colchester I confessed my deception pointing out that while purple often distinguishes a bishop’s attire he would be more likely to be wearing a dog collar than red tie. Also we were nowhere near the House of Lords which does not sit on Sundays and there are only 26 diocesan bishops in the Lords of which Leicester was not one. Happily the ruse was taken in good humour and the anecdote entered our family lore.

Since that time I have been tempted to lead family and friends astray by concocting potentially believable stories. They are having to be more and more believable over the years as the family are getting adept as recognising what is now called “A Bishop of Leicester” almost before the story is finished.

I will finish by relating a recent ‘success’. We were at a friend’s home having supper with mutual friends when the other guests presented the hosts with one of those enamelled French coffee percolators, looking like a billy can, beautifully decorated in white with blue highlights. The hosts had always wanted one for their home and it was much appreciated.

This was too much of a temptation.

“Do you know what the French word for that implement is?” I asked.

They shook their heads.

“It’s called ‘le ballast’. The ‘bal’ describes the round lid that serves as a cup and ‘l’ast’ is Old French for ‘the workings’.”

“Really!” they asked.

“That’s where we get the English word ‘ballast’. If you hang the percolator by the wire handle it hangs perpendicular which is what ballast does for a ship.”

Their mouths fell open at my erudition until my wife quietly said “That's a Bishop of Leicester”.

“What’s a bishop got to do with coffee makers?”

She went on to explain my strange sense of humour – and I am glad to say that I was forgiven.

As I enter my ninth decade it keeps my grey cells active without giving offence to my friends and family.