In the days when clergymen were treated not merely with deference but often reverence, the sight of the Rev William Shergold in motorcycle leathers mixing with rockers and fellow bikers in a greasy spoon on the North Circular before “doing a ton” around London’s desolate orbital road was distinctly incongruous.
This was the late Fifties and early Sixties when what was perceived as teenage rebellion was a novelty regarded by the older generation with alarm and confusion. So the news that a man of the cloth should wish to mix with doubtful types in winkle-pickers and zip-up leathers, who wore their hair in threatening quiffs and hung about aimlessly in seedy caffs listening to impenetrable beat music was startling.
(Hat tip to Kendall at T19. Click here for the full story.)