Becket's brains: a snip at 50p

Not long ago I was in the Canterbury area for the first time in a long time and I realised that you now had to pay to get inside the cathedral. My wife, an ex-inhabitant of Canterbury, was most indignant at being charged pounds 2 to enter a place she used to frequent for free. I mentioned this in print, in this very column. I received several letters from Canterbury residents hotly defending the entry charge and saying that, quite apart from the revenue it raised, it helped to cut down on the otherwise inevitable tourist throng, which was not only making the cathedral unbearable but wearing it away.

They might like to know that Monsignor David Lewis agrees with them.

Monsignor David Lewis is a Catholic clergyman who has risen to some eminence in Rome and now is in charge of the large and imposing church called Santa Maria Maggiore, where the very crib in which Jesus lay as a baby is still on display. I know that because I was there a couple of months ago, working on a Channel 4 film which was looking at the place of relics in the Catholic Church.

I think it was the first non-human relic we had seen, this crib. We had already viewed the skull-bone of Saint Chrysogono (an obscure Roman soldier martyred for converting to Christianity), the left foot of Saint Teresa and the heads of Saints Peter and Paul, but this was the first Biblical furniture we had viewed, and that was how we met Monsignor Lewis.

A tall, imposing, white-haired man, sturdily built like an old rugby player, which he might well have been, given the strong Welsh accent which he still retains. "Not just the accent," he told us. "I still speak Welsh. I very occasionally celebrate Mass in Welsh still, though I have to say that there isn't much call for it here in the Eternal City. Or what we call the Infernal City these days. That was a reference to the traffic and pollution," he added, in case we didn't know that priests like to make donnish jokes.

Sensing that we were somewhat sceptical of the authenticity of the Holy Crib - fair enough, I suppose, as nobody is likely to come out from Channel 4 to make a film aiming to endorse the authenticity of Catholic relics - Monsignor Lewis stressed that nobody guaranteed the genuineness of it.

"I believe it is genuine," he said, "but I can't prove it. We know that the wood is old enough, and we know that it has been preserved for as long as records have been kept, but we can't guarantee it. There are some things we can guarantee, though. I'll show you something. Wait here."

He bustled off through the crowds in the Sunday morning aisle. He bustled back with a glass casket. "There you are," he said. "The only known remains of St Thomas a Becket. Absolutely guaranteed."

He twirled it as unconcernedly as if he were carrying a handbag. There didn't seem to be a lot left. A bone or two. A bit of cloth. A letter, or what looked like it.

"It's not a letter - it's the contemporary certificate of authenticity," said Monsignor Lewis. "We've had it tested by experts. Absolutely genuine. It lists the contents of the casket, which are a bit of shoulder, a bit of brain-case, some brain tissue and a long white shirt. It corresponds exactly to what we know of his death, when the sword sliced through his skull HERE and cut off the top of his shoulder HERE." He demonstrated graphically.

"Shouldn't this all be back at Canterbury?" I said.

"Well, it was all back at Canterbury," he said, "until the place went Protestant and things like this were rescued and brought back to Rome."

"Have they ever said they wanted it back?"

"Of course! They'd love to have it back! But it's out of the question. St Thomas was a good Catholic boy, don't forget. Canterbury isn't Catholic any more, so it should be in Rome. Of course, if they ever decided to come back to the true faith ..."

I decided to consult him on Independent business. "I don't know if you know this, but Canterbury Cathedral now charges for entry. I think it's pounds 2 a head. What do you think of that?"

Monsignor Lewis looked at the coachloads coming in and out of his church and sighed and said: "I have every sympathy with them. Every sympathy. If I could take 50p off everyone who came in this church, my worries would be over. As it is, we are millions in debt, or at least we need millions to keep the place in good repair. Most of my time is spent fund-raising. Going on tours of America with my hat held out. I'd give anything not to have to do that. Just 50p, that's all it would take ..."

I admit it. It seems I may have been wrong about Canterbury Cathedral.