A BISHOP’S TOUR

Taranaki Daily News, 9 October 1928, Page 12

A BISHOP’S TOUR

“NINE MONTHS’ HARD LABOUR.” MAORI GIRL AND THE GLAD EYE. Urged by persistent demands for “a chatty book of travels,” the Bishop of London has written his “Holiday Recollections of a World Tour,” and a most entertaining book it is. America, the Far East, Australia, and the Islands of the South Seas filled in nine months of hard missionary labour which included over five hundred speeches. Yet even so the indefatigable Bishop found time for recreation and amusement, and many good stories record the lighter of his travels. That the Bishop could fulfil his arduous duties without missing a single engagement was due to the fact that he took the opportunity of exercise when he could get it. He has delightful stories to tell of golf:— “One of the most amusing games was played at Ottawa, when Sir Robert Borden (one of the most charming personalities in Canada) and Sir George Perley, well-known as the Commissioner for Canada in London for so many years, were kind enough to play with us. Sir Robert was a little deliberate in his play, but one of his very intimate friends ran up to me on the tee and whispered to me the reason — ‘Don’t be surprised,’ he said, ‘if Sir Robert is a little slow —he says three times before he hits the ball—“ Keep your—head down, Borden!”’ I said to Sir Robert, ‘ I know what you are saying, sir, but I can take no notice - - you don’t say it out loud."’ A USEFUL PRECAUTION. “This reminds me of a story told about me and a certain bunker at Machrihanish called Hell, and for a wonder it is a -true story. I had, unfortunately, got into that bunker, and with a skill unexpected by the old caddy, got out. ‘I think, Bishop,’ lie said, ‘I should take that niblick with you when you die.’ Whether the old fellow had heard it before or not, he certainly said it to me, and the story went all round the golf links of Scotland. I emphasise the fact that it was one of the few authentic ones, because I have been the victim of not a few stories which really relate to other people. “Talking of stories told against me, there was one which really annoyed me for five minutes, but I soon got over it. It was my privilege to take the Archbishop of Canterbury in my motor to the Guildhall banquet, when his own car was at Canterbury, but naturally when I had arrived I was anxious that he (not I) should have the place of honour in going last in walking through the assembled guests up to the Lord Mayor. Unfortunately there was a new man announcing the names on this occasion who did not know us from one another, and when I appeared, in a loud and strident voice he shouted, ‘His Grace the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury!’ I hastily stepped forward and said in a hurried whisper, ‘Not yet, not yet!’— meaning that the Archbishop was to come later. But in the paper next day I was horrified to see the following account of the incident:

“ ‘The Bishop of London was announced last night as the Archbishop of Canterbury, but, quite undisturbed, his lordship went forward with a sweet smile, saying to himself, “Not yet, not yet!”’ And when the Archbishop reminds me of this story, he adds, ‘And you did say it, you know!’” FRIENDLY BORROWERS. The popularity of the Bishop extended even to his sermons, which were preached, not always by himself, to the edification of many congregations:—• “We had a dinner party given us by 60 clergy, and I will remember the speech of the man who proposed my health —‘At last we see the man whose sermons we have preached for so many years,’ and the reception of his joke by shouts of guilty laughter went round the table. These are apparently found useful in these scattered parishes of British Columbia (and, I found afterwards, in Australia and New Zealand), but I did not know till that evening that so many of the clergy preached them as their own. The story told round the table was that the only man ‘found out’ was a curate, who, on being told by his Rector to preach one of the Bishop of London’s sermons instead of his own, electrified the congregation by beginning his sermon without any preface—‘When I was Bishop of Stepney—’ and ae they all knew that he had not left tjie parish, he made quite a sensation.”

One of the chief attractions of New Zealand was the natural hot springs. “Would Pohutu (the big geyser) work for the Bishop of London or would it not? —this was the crucial question on the next morning after our arrival. It had for Royalty. Would it for me? You felt your reputation was at stake. “At first it was very sulky and would do nothing. At last, just when our patience was nearly exhausted, up went Pohutu 100 feet, and you felt your character had been established in the lower world.

“While we Were waiting for this phenomenon, Rangi, who was a very quick-witted girl, scored neatly off a remark of mine. She had been telling us that each geyser had its individual name, and that one was known as the Glad Eye. “‘And how do you translate that into Maori?’ I asked, unthinkingly. “ ‘There is no translation,’ she replied on the instant. ‘We never had the glad eye until the English came to New Zealand.’ ”