My favourite pun.

My school, Burnham (the ‘h’ is silent, and the ‘a’ sounds like a ‘u’) Grammar School, although founded in 1962, had Houses (you know, sort of like Harry Potter). They meant almost nothing, really only being the basis for intra-school sports. There was no loyalty at all, maybe because their names were Red, Yellow, Blue and Green. Or perhaps just because we didn’t care anyway.

In 1977 our charismatic, high Anglican, Tory, gay History teacher, Mr. Thomas, pressed for them to be renamed. So they were, after 4 martyred Bishops, all of whom died at the stake: Latimer, Ridley, Cranmer and Hooper (I was in Hooper, which I remember because a friend in the year above me called J. Cooper was also in Hooper; I also remember knowing that Hooper was the odd one out). No explanation was given of why the Bishops were chosen, and in a way none were needed, we all knew that Mr. Thomas was the force behind the change, he was quite eccentric and much loved, and we knew church history was bound to be an interest of his.

Have you gotten the joke yet? I got it in 2002. It is just fantastic to have a joke layed down by someone who would be completely fine if you didn’t ever get it, and only get it 25 years later, over dinner with old school friends, one of whom did, at some point, get it [1].

Well? Look again at the name of the school. And think about the fate of the Bishops. If you need to, the answer is below the fold.

Burn ’em!

[1] Mr. Thomas ran the school plays, with verve and energy. One friend, indeed the one who belatedly explained the joke to me, a very athletic (and very heterosexual) boy (he played cricket for the county, until he twisted an ankle practicing with me, resulting in my debut for the county), who loved, and excelled at, both drama and football, was given an ultimatum by the football coach who, a homophobe, decided that a choice had to be made between football and drama. My friend chose drama out of disgust for the homophobia, and out of loyalty to our one openly gay teacher.