Episcopal Enigma
 

In 1907, it was reported that a Devon parish had succumbed to the 'last line of a limerick' competition craze in aid of a heating sytem for the church. Entrants paid threepence, but the prize is not recorded and nor is the winning line. I supplied what seemed to me a very obvious one for the purposes of an article about 'Liturgical Limericks' and would be curious to know if it was equally obvious to Erastopherians.

That our church is decidedly cold
Is a fact that is plain, so we're told,:
But when ladies combine
There comes a warm time . . .

Tongue in cheek, I also offered a limerick as a centenary celebration of the Devon contest , but my own completing line went astray and the editor printed a line of his own which rhymed but was deliberately long and non-metrical. Again, my line seems obvious, even if a bit of a cop-out, and again I am curious as to whether Erastopherians would hit on exactly the same wording. In case there are metrical medics among the membership, the title is not a misprint, and similarly, in the case of ambitious clergymen, it appears that mitres should not be washed but cleaned, and there are firms who do it, information which may come in useful if you are ever elevated to to the episcopate.

MITRAL ENOSIS

A bishop who buttered his mitre
Found that when it was cleaned it felt tighter.
If this leaves you perplexed
As to what happened next . . .

. . .
Consult a good limerick writer.


I'm not of the Church of Old E : ),
But it's evident e'en to me
That those women of old
Stamping feet in the cold
Had little to lend you or me.

Thank you, Allen. Your episcopal completion shares one word with mine, 'writer', so that's a good start. Yes, 3d, the entrance fee in old money, was one quarter of 5p in the present currency, so indeed they had little to lend.

Incidentally, the editor's non-metreical cop-out was: "The Editor wishes readers to know that this is merely for personal amusement, and offers no prize - the blighter!"

Thanks for the amusement. I couldn't help with the limerick, but it did remind me of a British song that has haunted me for years because it obviously referred to some local event that was completely incomprehensible to me. Maybe someone else knows it. The
refrain was:

"Congleton bear, Congleton bear,
They sold the church Bible to buy a new bear."

Yes, Gail, incomprehensible to me as well, but the link below may shed some light. The song seems to be modern, but perhaps the 'Congleton bear, Congleton bear' bit is one of those insulting rhymes reflecting inter-village or inter-town rivalry. Congleton is in Cheshire and there is an 18th century church as well as two 19th century ones. I wonder if Congleton knows it has lodged itself in at least one American memory?

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/paul.thorp/lyrcongl.htm

Since I qualify, and since 'writer' was the rhyme word, I must rest my case. Thump. Pay up. I might be in London briefly in late June to collect and defend my fief.

('Blighter' being limited to humans, I didn't want to violate Natural Law and apply it to the snug hat.)

In case any doubt my license, there is a false rhyme in the matronical limerick (false even in the US: 'm' ≠ 'n'), so pray don't lear at the two appearances of 'me'. (See below.)

I retain some curiosity about how to integrate 'enosis' with 'writer'. I know what it means well enough.

Allen
Allen

Thanks, Jerome, that's the song!
Though why Congleton had a town bear may be forever a mystery.

Gail, the usual caveats applying, the extract from the Wikipedia entry below may answer your question re the Congleton bear. Makes me wonder if any of the early emigrants took bear-baiting to Virginia (presumably not to New England despite a suply of wild bears).

Congleton became notorious in the 1620s when bear-baiting was a popular sport. Congleton owned an old and rather decrepit bear and was unable to attract large crowds to their bear-baiting contests, but also lacked the money to pay for a new and more aggressive bear. It did however have a sum of money saved to buy a new bible. The town decided to use the money in the bible fund to pay for a new bear, and then replenished it with the income from the increased number of spectators. However, when the story was reported to neighbouring towns, it got corrupted and the legend grew that Congleton had sold its bible in order to buy a new bear.

A song called "Congleton Bear"[1] (by John Tams[2]) did the rounds of which the chorus ran:

Congleton Rare, Congleton Rare
They sold the Bible to buy a bear.
From the time of this legend, Congleton has been nicknamed 'Beartown'.

Absolutely wonderful story, Jerome. Many thanks.

The Anglican church, of course, is the subject of some of the bawdiest limericks on record, as well as the following classic quatrain:

The Dean undressed, with heaving breast,
The Bishop's wife to lie on.
He thought it lewd to do it nude,
So he kept his old school tie on.

Good heavens, Gail, I didn't know you were that sort of gel! Yes, I suppose the more 'respectable' the institution the more outrageous the verse it will attract, though the one you quote, which I hadn't encountered, is rather neat.

I must say the non-outrageous offering from Monsignor Ronald Knox, said to have been included among the classified advertisements somewhere, has always been one of my favourites for its rythm and simulation of authentic detail like '(in frame)' and 'Elect'. Evangelical vicar in want of a second-hand portable font would exchange for the same a portrait (in frame) of the Bishop-Elect of Vermont.

And now for the Unreverend Allen Tice. Yes, the church heating limerick, like many in the days of the competition craze, was pretty wobbly, not only because of the duff rhyme but also the uncertain tense. Never mind, for what it's worth, my solution was:

That our church is decidedly cold
Is a fact that is plain, so we're told;
But when ladies combine
There comes a warm time -
And the flock can return to the fold.

As for the bishop, you were getting warm . . .

MITRAL ENOSIS
A bishop who buttered his mitre
Found that when it was cleaned it felt tighter.
If this leaves you perplexed
As to what happened next . . .
Try greasing the palm of the writer.