The Synod of Bridlington

As historians know, the twenty-first century was the beginning of the period known as the Dark Ages, a time of intellectual darkness and barbarity. The weather was harsh, and, thanks to a reliance on wind turbines and the energy generated by hamsters running around in little wheels, there were frequent periods when heat and light were no longer available.

The solution to an energy crisis.

Britain was subject to waves of invaders from overseas. Some came from Scandinavia in long ships, wearing horned helmets. Others came from Poland, armed with plungers, pipe cutters and wrenches; their only wish being to settle on these islands to unblock drains and mend leaking pipes. Still others came in from Muslim lands, showing a passionate hatred for sausages and women's rights.

Education was in decline. Whereas once all children knew Latin, Greek, advanced calculus, brain surgery, and the kings of Israel and Judah at the age of five, the majority of school-leavers in the twenty-first century were unable to read and write anything except text messages; they used numbers only for operating their mobile phones.

No longer a suitable gift for a five-year-old.

Religion was in a parlous state. Christianity was on the verge of dying out, or was being perverted into strange forms in the name of "modernization". It was illegal to refuse to bake a cake for a same-sex couple who wished to hold a "wedding", indeed it was even considered "extremist" to disagree with their redefinition of marriage. Catholic bishops had affairs with married women, the Anglicans allowed bishops to divorce and remarry, and the Baptists didn't even have bishops to show them how to behave.

Of the dreadful year of 2014, the monks wrote in the Anglo-Saxon chronicle, Ye power of ye Magick Circkle cometh not to an end, and a group of demons calling itself ACTA wieldeth influence in ye lande. In other news, ye Pope in Rome hath decreed that ye feast of Alle Saintes shall be on ye first day of November, yet ye rascally bishops, led, so they say, by ye mischievous Cardinal Nickels, have chosen to move it to the Sundaye. And now a quick look at ye weather: it is expected to be cold and dark for the next 200 years.

Ye synod starteth at Bridlington.

In the end, another synod was called, at the Yorkshire town of Bridlington, so that the Catholic Church in England and Wales might agree on the date of All Saints (they had originally planned to hold the meeting in Whitby, as on an earlier occasion, but all the hotels were booked up). The Scottish church did not participate: they were loyal to the pope, and celebrated All Saints on the 1st November; besides, they were more interested in what came after, namely the day of "A' Souls", named in honour of Alexander yclept Salmon.

The Lord smiteth Alexander yclept Salmon.

So Catholicism in England and Wales stood on the brink: would it show loyalty to Pope Francis the Humble, or to Cardinal Nichols the Cunning? Would a new St Hilda emerge to put to flight the forces of rebellion? Er, well, ...

New blogger

William Thompson (age 11).

In recognition of the fact that James Delingpole's little brother has followed him into the glamorous world of Telegraph blogging, we are pleased to announce that Damian Thompson's nephew William will be writing today's guest post for us.

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Hello, I'm William Thompson (age 11), and my uncle Damian is jolly pleased that you're letting me write on this blog. At first I was a bit jealous when I heard that my great friend Ginger Delingpole was going to be blogging on the Telegraph. I know I am better than him at Latin and RE, but he knows a lot about wind farms, and especially how to blow them up with things from the school science labs!

My chum Ginger Delingpole (age 11) with some of the girls in our school.

Like my friend Ginger, I am very keen on war games. At weekend my gang and I dress up in medieval costume, and we re-enact the historic religious controversies of the past. At first it was a bit dull, as we were recreating the Synod of Whitby, when St Hilda was forced to accept the Roman date for Easter rather than the Ionan date. What a yawn!

The critical moment when St Wilfrid convinces St Hilda.

Later on, we got onto the religious disputes of the middle ages, and I had a super time making torture implements out of the garden tools in Uncle Damian's shed. However, Mummy told me off when I set fire to little Violet Elizabeth Odone, as part of our "Joan of Arc" re-enactment.

"I'll scweam and scweam and scweam until I'm thick!" says Miss Odone.

Like Uncle Damian I am very interested in what the Catholic church is doing. I tried to go with him to Westminster Cathedral to see the Pope, but Uncle Damian confiscated the catapult I was going to use to fire pebbles at Cardinal Cormac. I don't know whether he used it himself!

The Cardinal drinks tea.

In my next blog I will go into the differences between Novus Ordo Masses and Extraordinary Form. This is something that I know a lot about, because we spent last weekend re-enacting Vatican II. In fact, I was sent to bed early for putting a worm down the back of Hubert Lane (who was playing the part of Basil Loftus).

I'm sorry, Father, but my Uncle Damian says that Ad orientem is best.