Quiet Revival, a widely-heralded Bible Society report on a supposed resurgence of Christianity in Britain, died a noisy death in UK media last week. The research was withdrawn by the YouGov pollsters who had compiled the data. They said a review had found the results were tainted by “fraudulent” responses.
The dodgy report had proclaimed especially good news for the Catholic Church, whose churchgoers aged 18-34 were said to outnumber Anglicans in England and Wales by a margin of two to one. That finding snapped heads when it was announced last year.
It had even seemed as if Catholics across all age groups might be on course to soon outnumber Anglican Protestants in Britain for the first time since an imperious Henry VIII kicked off the Reformation almost 500 years ago. Quite the turnaround.
The report had also found a sharp recent increase in churchgoing for all shades of Christianity, which some academics argued was out of step with other data.
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Alas, for the churches, it was all too good to be true. Heading into Easter week, YouGov’s number crunchers were said to be redoing their sums. Whether the chastened Bible Society decides to resurrect the report is another matter.
Bad data aside, I have been surprised since moving to London by just how serious some Catholics here are about demonstrating their faith compared to Dublin, where I lived before. This is, of course, all anecdotal. I have no YouGov geniuses to back me up.
It is hardly a revelation to say that England still clings tightly to its class system. But I didn’t fully understood the truth of this until I witnessed the lengths to which middle-class Londoners were prepared to go to get their children into the best schools.
If you don’t want to impoverish yourself with astronomical private-school fees, then the rule of thumb among aspirant Londoners is that you should apply to a Catholic school. They are considered the best, by a mile, in England’s fee-free state school system.
When I first arrived in London, I applied to enrol my daughter in the local Catholic primary school. Not because we are devout – I respect religion and deplore knee-jerk church-bashing, while not being a particularly good Catholic myself. We chose that school because it was the closest to our house, a four-minute walk away.
[ We’re not bouncy castle Catholics – we’re the incense and eulogies kindOpens in new window ]
Catholic schools here can afford to be picky due to their popularity among middle-class Londoners of all religious hues. I was utterly unprepared for the depth of scrutiny that lay ahead. It might be easier to get into heaven than a Catholic primary school in a pleasant neighbourhood within reach of inner London.
At first we had to produce all the usual documents – written evidence of Baptism, Holy Communion etc. That was fine and to be expected. Then they asked for written character references from several priests in Dublin, which were meant to say how often we went to church and how involved we were in the Catholic community.
That, as you might imagine, was quite a challenge for us. Somehow we managed to produce what they were looking for – we found accommodating Irish priests with twinkles in their eyes and kindness in their hearts. After that, the school told us to wait.
I had moved to London months in advance of the rest of the family, well in advance of the start of the new school year. While I was waiting on an answer, I decided I had better start showing my face at the parish church next door. The local priest, who chaired the school, had the power to say yea or nay to our application.
As I reacquainted myself that spring and summer with the long-lost weekly ritual of Sunday Mass, I noticed something that I had never seen before in the Irish churches I went to years ago: well-dressed people, all aged in their 30s and 40s, lining up to sign a sheet down the back of the church as the service ended.
“What are they doing?” I whispered to someone beside me.
“Signing attendance forms,” they whispered back.
It was true. London parents – usually middle class – who apply to get their children into sought-after Catholic schools queue up each week to sign attendance sheets proving they were at Mass. The results are totted up as part of the application. The more sheets you sign, the better your kid’s chances of getting in.
I thought they were all mad. But soon I joined the queues. Then I began barging people out of the way to shake the priest’s hand every time I saw him. That way he would surely see me – a sinner, but a present one.
Perhaps it is no wonder that YouGov pollsters found evidence of growing attendance at Catholic Mass. Each time Keir Starmer’s government hikes VAT on private schools (which, bizarrely, they call public schools), it sends middle-class London ever closer to God.
