Roger Steer

On the making of Bishops and saying ‘no’ to an Archbishop

At Pip and Jim’s church in Ilfracombe we have been studying Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Finding on my shelves a commentary on Romans by Handley Carr Glyn Moule (1841–1920) I have carried out a little research into his life.  After a brilliant career at Trinity College, Cambridge, he was elected a Fellow there in 1865. There followed a period as a master at Marlborough College before being ordained at Ely and acting for some years as his father’s curate at Fordington, Dorset. On the establishment of Ridley Hall, Cambridge, in 1881, Moule became its first Principal, and in 1899 he was elected Norrisian Professor of Divinity at Cambridge. In 1901 he succeeded Brooke Foss Westcott as Bishop of Durham.

There is so much that could be written about Moule, but I just want in this piece to focus on his sense of humour. In  1888, while he was Principal at Ridley Hall, he was invited to preach ‘by Royal Command’ at the Chapel Royal in Whitehall.  He told his  students on his return that,  on  asking  the  verger  if  they  had a  good congregation,  the  man  replied, ‘Yes, when  anybody preaches  that  anybody  knows  anything  about,  but there  won’t  be  many  to-day!’

Years later, after he had been enthroned as Bishop of Durham, a child (I think a member of his own family) wrote to ask him why he had been made a  Bishop.  He  replied, on 15 February 1915, ‘My  very  dear  Margaret, What  shall  I  say  to  you,  in  answer  to  your question:  Why  I  was  made  a  Bishop?  Darling Margaret,  it  is  a  most  puzzling  and  difficult  question  to answer.  And  unfortunately  the  person  who  could  answer it  best  cannot  now  be  asked,  for  he  died  many  years  ago. His  name  was  Lord  Salisbury,  and  he  one  day  sat  down (having  nothing  better  to  do,  I  suppose)  and  wrote  a letter  asking  me  to  be  Bishop  of  Durham.  But  he  never said  why!  So  I  fear  we  must  leave  that  question unanswered!’

Bishop Moule  enjoyed  telling  a  story against  himself,  and  apparently laughed  with  delight  as  he recounted the  following  incident. After  the consecration  of  a bishop at  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral, Moule  was  driving  back  to  Lambeth  in  a  ‘brougham’ (a four-wheeled carriage drawn by a single horse) with Archbishop Frederick Temple. Temple had grown up in Devon, had been Bishop of Exeter (1869-85,) and never lost his Devonshire accent.  In  the  course  of  the  long  drive Archbishop Temple started  several  topics  of  conversation, ‘to  which  the  obvious  reply’ recalled Moule, was ‘Yes, yes.’  There  was  a  long  pause and then  Temple, looking  out  of  the  carriage  window, suddenly  turned to Moule and said (as Moule recalled), in  his  ‘harsh,  lovable voice’: ‘ Yer  should  say  NO  sometimes.’