The pile of Piel

I’ve always found the notion of an ‘ancestral pile’ amusing. 

This is an ironic term for some ridiculously large residence, quite possibly a castle, but it can even be an extremely gracious, fantastically luxurious mansion, of the kind in England we like to call a ‘stately home’. That’s the type of irony people with a lot more money than the rest of us like to think of as winsomely self-mocking: you know, “My castle? Oh, that old thing.” It ensures you know they have the kind of place your average duke inhabits, alongside a nice line in self-deprecating wit. 

I got to thinking about all that the other day when I read about a way someone without an actual aristocratic title, or a fortune made in banking or such like, could get hold of an ancestral pile. Without the need even for any ancestors to speak of. 

To be honest, it wasn’t really a Pile, so much as a Piel. I think the two words rhyme although it would come as no surprise (or be particularly unusual) to discover that I was wrong. Maybe it really rhymes with Peel. Or something else.

Piel Island. On a good day

Anyway, however it’s pronounced, Piel is an island off the Furness peninsula, up in Northwest England, so close to Scotland that you can practically smell the haggis, and sticking far enough out into the Irish sea that you can virtually count the leaves on the shamrocks.

It has a long and varied history. Where the word ‘varied’, as is generally the case when the talk turns historical, is synonymous with ‘checkered’. It came under the control of the monks of Furness Abbey in the late Middle Ages. Monks, as you know, are the custodians of Christian faith, with its commitment to poverty and charity. This bunch quickly cottoned on to the fact that the castle on the island could be a great base for custom officers to prevent smuggling, or it could be a wonderful resource to do a spot of smuggling themselves.

Guess which they decided to engage in.

In the late fifteenth century, one Lambert Simnel decided to make an unfounded claim to the British throne (he was the Trump of his time, except that, being ten, he was probably more mature, and unlike Trump, he never got a second chance to try for the highest office in the land). The rebels behind Simnel chose to land with their mainly Flemish and Irish troops on Piel Island.

That didn’t work out well for him, but it did leave behind on the island a tradition that endures until today. The character in charge has the (slightly ironic) title of King of Piel. Each new incumbent is crowned in a special chair, wearing a specific helmet and carrying a particular sword. 

The ritual is so important that one of the major responsibilities of the holder of the title is to look after the various implements.

The ritual ends with the newly enthroned king having his head anointed, like all good kings do at their coronation. In this case, though, it’s with alcohol. That’s particularly appropriate these days, because being king of Piel is now a title that comes with becoming the landlord of the pub on the island, the Ship Inn. 

Another good ritual is that anyone that sits in a particular chair in the pub – I like to think it’s the same one that’s used for the coronations though I haven’t been able to confirm it – becomes entitled to the title ‘Knight of Piel’. Elevation to the knighthood then gets confirmed by the king or an existing knight.

All this came to my notice when the Guardian published a piece about the fact that a new landlord was being sought for the Ship Inn. Imagine. You get the job and you become King and can confer knighthoods. Pretty much a dream job.

I think the position is still open. Tempted? Hurry, hurry, hurry and get your application in. The post might be snapped up any day now.

Of course, it’s not a job for just anyone. To start with, the successful candidate needs to have experience of running a pub. Equally, he or she (why not a Queen for once?) has to be OK with some fairly fierce weather conditions. Also to be prepared to handle a significant degree of isolation, since Piel doesn’t boast city streets alive with music and crowds at night. 

Indeed, the Ship Inn is one of just five buildings on the island. The others are three houses that are permanently occupied. And then there’s the castle. 

That’s the pile I was thinking of when I started writing this piece. The king of Piel’s pile. Or, more simply, the pile of Pile.

Think you might throw your hat in the ring? Just imagine. You might get to replace it with a crown.