THE BISHOP AND I

THE BISHOP AND I
C 1995 JoJo

I think my most embarrassing Church moment happened when I was around 8 years of age. My Dad’s Bishop was visiting our Church in Morro Velho and was preaching that day. I’d been clutching a coin in my hot little hands, which was to have been my collection offering, when I dropped it. It fell to the floor with a loud CLINK, and every eye in the congregation watched its progress as it rolled out into the aisle. Well, the Bishop stopped his sermon cold.

“JOANNA!” he bellowed in his usual voice that was so loud it would waken the dead. “GO AND PICK UP YOUR COLLECTION!”

Blushing furiously, I slunk out of the choir stall (I sang in the choir – whether I liked it or not) crept out and retrieved my damn coin, everyone watching me and snickering under their breaths. The Bishop wasn’t done with me. “AND DON’T YOU DROP IT AGAIN!” he thundered.

I was absolutely furious! He’d embarrassed and humiliated me in front of the entire British population of Morro Velho! In fact, I disliked poor old Bishop Evans for years after that, right until I was grown up in fact, when he came to the Vicarage while my parents were away on vacation, to hold services for Dad. That was when he and I gate crashed a cocktail party on the HMS “Albion” a British navy aircraft carrier, that was in Rio along with the British South Atlantic fleet on a courtesy visit.

Like I said, the British Navy was in port. It consisted of one aircraft carrier, the “HMS Albion,” along with two cruisers and eight frigates. Bishop Evans and I had already attended a cocktail party on one of the cruisers, so we weren’t invited to the one on the “Albion.”

“Joanna, go and get ready,” Bishop Evans bellowed (the man never ever spoke softy.)

“Whatever for?” I asked, thoroughly puzzled.

“For the cocktail party on board the “Albion,” he said.

“But Bishop, we weren’t invited,” I protested.

“Since when does that matter?” he said haughtily. “I intend to go anyway.”

Well, he was the Bishop and who was I to argue? I went and got ready.

“Here, help me carry these books,” he told me as we started to go out of the house to get into our taxi.

“What are they for?” I asked.

“They’re for the seamen,” he answered.

I looked at the books, thinking they’d be religious tracts which would’ve gone over like a lead balloon to your average sailor. To my surprise, they were pocket books – some with pretty lurid covers too.

When we got down to the docks, the Bish and I walked along and every ship we came to, the he would yell to the officer on watch. “My good man, here are some books for you and your men,” and we’d hand over a bundle of them.

Finally we got to the gangway of the “Albion.” Now I should mention at this point that the Bishop was a sight to behold. He wore his Bishop’s purple frontal and gaiters, with a whopping big silver cross around his neck, purple shoes (to match his frontal) and was every inch a BISHOP. To my astonishment, we got piped on board. This is, a courtesy given for only very important visitors. Here we were, gate crashers, getting piped on board. I had a hard time containing my laughter.

I’d thought no one would notice us, but I was wrong. The Executive Officer sidled over to me. “Er … Miss W. … er, I noticed you came on board with the Bishop.”

My heart sank like a rock.

“Yes, I did,” I replied – and said nothing.

“Erm … was he invited?” he asked.

“Gee, why don’t you go and ask him?” I answered.

“Yes, yes, quite so,” he muttered and slunk away.

After that little jaunt, I finally forgave the Bishop for having humiliated and embarrassed me all those many years ago and grew to love the old guy! What a character!