Bruce and I were fellow guests at my neighbours’ cocktail party when we first met. Cocktail parties are not really my cup of tea, no pun intended, as I am not good at, nor much given to, small talk. The same must have been true of Bruce so, rather like ships in a storm, we were thrust together.
     had no idea that he was the local vicar when I asked him what he did for a living. He was out of uniform, no dog collar, and looked like any other mortal. I was surprised when he told me and rather hastily responded that he was not to expect to see me at church on Sunday as I had my own flock. He interpreted this as my also being a cleric and was somewhat amused when I explained that my shepherding was of golf club members rather than parishioners.
    Bruce professed to a liking of hitting the wee ball and so it was that I invited him to join me for a round at my holy of holies. I confess to being somewhat nervous at the thought of playing with a man of the cloth as I have been known to utter the odd naughty word if my shot was not to my liking. I need not have worried as Bruce summoned assistance from on high with great regularity as his game was, to say the least, rusty.
    That day on the links at Deal saw the beginning of one of those special friendships which I am delighted to say continues, albeit from afar, to this day.
    A few weeks after our game I received a phone call from Bruce, he enquired if I enjoyed bicycling. A rather strange question I thought until he explained that as he couldn’t reciprocate my hospitality on the golf course he would like to take me cycling, across the English Channel, in France.
    At the time I had not been on a bicycle since my youth but I was not about to confess this. Rather I told him that I would enjoy such an excursion but he would have to provide me with a suitable machine.
    The day of our trip arrived and Bruce, resplendent in hip hugging cycling shorts, cycling shoes and yellow cycling jersey (a sight for sore eyes as at that time His Reverence was no racing snake, weighing in on the wrong side of 200lbs), arrived ‘chez moi’. Together with two rather sporty, thin saddled, bicycles, we departed for the short journey to the Dover Ferry Terminal.
    As soon as we set off from our parking spot (illegal I might add for other than those with special ecclesiastical parking privileges) for the short ride to the ferry I think my new chum realised that my proficiency at cycling was akin to his at golf. I almost fell off within the first 100 yards!
    When we arrived at the boat, and to my concern, rather than wait in line with the multitude of cars Bruce proceeded to the head of the queue where a crew member waived us aboard without delay and with some ceremony. He subsequently explained that cyclists always received special treatment especially from the cycling mad French crew.
    Having secured our machines we retired to the restaurant for some coffee and, as we were virtually in France, an eye opening aperitif.
    Bruce then disappeared! I was to discover that he loved to chat to the long distance lorry (truck) drivers, of whom there were scores, of all nationalities, on board. He told me that he had always yearned to be such a driver and perhaps he would indulge himself upon retirement from the clergy.
    Disembarking in Calais we set forth on our planned journey along the coast toward the village of Escalles. The love the French have for cycling again became apparent as all the motorists gave us at least the obligatory metre of clearance when overtaking. This was especially comforting to me as my progress along the road, (on the wrong side I might add as they drive on the right in France not the left as we do in the UK) was, at this stage of my initiation, rather wobbly.
    After a few miles and to my enormous relief Bruce, whom I had been following with increasing difficulty as his speed seemed to continually increase, or could it be that mine decreased, pulled to the side of the road.
    It was only after I had dismounted and whilst I was massaging certain parts of my anatomy that I realised that we were adjacent to a small cemetery. No ordinary cemetery but one for the allied dead from the World Wars. So it was that I learned of another passion of this extraordinary man; battlefields and other sites of the two greatest conflicts of the last century. (I will be writing more about this in my next article.)
    Passing through the village of Sangette, where I, with abnormal virtue, declined the offer of a strictly medicinal cognac, we began the climb to the top of Cap Griz-Nez. It was at this juncture that I realised that my friend, girth not withstanding, was in far better shape as I had to succumb to pushing my bike the final half mile to the summit whilst he made the climb like a Tour de France veteran.
    At one time, millions of years ago, England and France must have been joined; the cliffs on the French side mirror those of the famous White Cliffs of Dover, some twenty miles distant. On a clear day Dover is easy to see and standing there, next to the remains of the German heavy gun emplacements, I could visualise the combatants of both armies staring at each other.
The road down from the Cap to Griz-Nez is extremely steep and winding. Not for the faint hearted! Suffice to say that I walked whilst Bruce, like a man with wings, sped to the bottom. It was at the local inn that I found him, armed with a glass of beer, chatting away to Madame, the proprietress. His French was near fluent: is there no end to the talents of this man!
    The lunch of which we partook, some two or three beers later, was superb as were the wines (note plural) and cognacs (did that ‘s’ slip in by accident?).
    The return journey to Calais seemed to take far less time than the outward one. It was undoubtedly due to the downhill gradient rather than the feeling of extreme well being which had engulfed me.  
    Bruce and I have undertaken many excursions since, on foot, by bike and by car. I have enjoyed them all, almost as much as I enjoy his friendship.
    I am also eternally grateful to him for helping me better understand my own particular faith.

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