A Beadle's Tale

Friday April 17 2015

The Very Rev Dr James Simpson sheds light on the history and character of Kirk Beadles.

ONE of my less reverent friends recently phoned to inform me that in an obituary notice in the Perthshire Advertiser, it was said of the deceased gentleman: “Among other things he was the Beagle in his local church.”

            He then added: “Is this further proof that the church is going to the dogs?”

            The term “Beadle” has an interesting history. Prior to the Reformation in Scotland, the role of door-keeper, the Ostiarius, was an important one in the Roman Church. He was officially recognised as a member of the ecclesiastical staff. He not only had to be regular in attendance at church, but was responsible for opening the church doors at certain hours, admitting the faithful and preventing heretics and those who had been excommunicated from entering the church,

            After the Reformation he reappears, reduced in status, yet promoted socially to the role of ‘Minister’s Man’ or Beadle, a contraction of the Latin word “Bedellus”. The Bedellus was used to designate any person whose duties it was to summon parties before a public court. In the 17th and 18th centuries, one of the main roles of the Beadle was to serve citations on those suspected of lying or committing adultery, to appear before the all powerful Kirk Session,

           Beadles, though no longer ordained to the office, continued to open and shut the church doors and ring the bell on the Sunday, calling parishioners to worship. With serious face they took the Bible and Psalter up into the pulpit, before leading in the minister with measured and dignified tread.

Beadles also had the responsibility of maintaining discipline during the observance of public worship, of quietening noisy children and wakening those who had fallen asleep during what were often lengthy sermons.

            Scottish Beadles were renowned for their forthright and often not very flattering comments. “If your text had had scarlet fever” said one to a guest preacher, “your sermon would not have caught it.”.

            In country parishes in the old days, the Beadle often had to look after the manse garden, plough the manse glebe, feed the cows, sell the sheep, buy the lambs, and sometimes dig graves.

Though the average Beadle’s income was not large, the job, prior to the 20th century, was highly sought after. Over a hundred applicants responded to an advert in a Glasgow newspaper for a Beadle for a West End Church.

            Today in many churches there are no full-time or part-time Beadles. Elders, on a rota basis, open the church doors and carry the Bible into the pulpit, fortunately with less austere faces than many of their predecessors.

            The 19th century writer Nicholas Dickson tells of John Gowdie a fine specimen of a Beadle who fell in love with Katie, his minister’s housekeeper. One night when John suggested that she might go for a stroll with him, instead of taking her one of the area’s many picturesque walks, he took her to the churchyard. Pointing to a spot in the cemetery, he said,: “My folk lie there. Would you like one day to lie there too?” His most unusual grave marriage proposal was accepted!

This is an abridged version of an article that appears in the April issue of Life and Work. Subscribe here