The Lord Bishop of Winchester, arguing in favor of the second reading of *Intoxicating Liquor (Sale to Travellers) Bill, H.L.* in the House of Parliament, 21 March 1901.

I now pass to the Bill before your Lordships. Perhaps for a moment I may remind the House of what the existing law is on this matter. Throughout England and Wales there is virtually a large measure of Sunday closing obligatory upon licensed houses…. When Parliament enacted that public-houses should be closed to that extent, it was quite obvious that some provision had to be made to meet what might be the legitimate needs of persons traveling, either by road or by rail, or otherwise. Therefore, in the Acts of 1872 and 1874 it is provided specifically, not that a traveler, but—mark the phrase—a bona fide traveler, shall be provided with refreshment if he is more than three miles from home and applies for it, or if he applies for it at a railway station when starting by train or arriving. It is of some importance to notice the actual words. The Act of 1874 provides that its provisions “shall not preclude a licensee from selling liquor at any time to bona fide travelers”—who are defined as having lodged three miles from the place of sale—nor shall they “preclude the sale at any time at a railway station of intoxicating liquors to persons arriving at or departing from such station by railroad.” …

The law is meant to provide for the necessities of those who, from business or pleasure, are traveling on Sundays, but, as a fact, instead of people getting drink because they are traveling, they travel, if you can use the word, to get drink; in other words, they travel in order to evade the law which would otherwise press upon them. That seems to me a travesty and a mockery of the provisions which were laid down by Parliament for the comfort and convenience of those who might be traveling on Sundays…. A solicitor in Brighton, who has acted for the county police for ten years … said—”I think I should abolish the bona fide traveler. I think the law at present operates most undesirably. A great many of those persons who are served as bona fide travelers are in no sense of the term bona fide travelers, but merely loafing about for the purpose of getting Sunday drinks.”

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At the end of the 19th and the turn of the 20th century in England, in railway stations across the United Kingdom, signs were posted at the entry of a place that served liquor: “These rooms are open on Sundays only for the use of bona fide travelers.” By order of His Majesty’s government, I could enjoy a beer on Sundays at King’s Cross Station so long as I wanted to be somewhere else.

While in Harbor Springs this summer, Victoria and I, with Evan and Kristin, were guests of Kris’s parents Andy and Robin Torok, who took us down to Tapawingo in Ellsworth, Michigan. (The New York Times has called Tapawingo America’s finest French Country Inn.) Andy ordered for the table bottles of 1989 Château Margaux Premier Grand Cru Classé and 1989 Château Pichon Longueville Comtesse de Lalande Grand Cru Classé, Pauillac.

“The wine and the food in my life aren’t ever going to get much better than this,” I thought. But it wasn’t merely what we were drinking and eating. It was the mise en scènes in which we enjoyed them. I don’t mean just the décor, the garden and the lake. It’s that Andy and Robin aren’t loafing about for drinks. They are bona fide travelers. Whether we’re in the District at Ristorante i Ricchi, in Los Angeles at the Jonathan Club, in Harbor Springs at the New York, or in Ellsworth at Tapawingo—whether we’re consuming a ‘Big C’ at Clyde’s in St. Ignace—they enjoy pleasures as casual accommodations on our homeward journey. As much as they love America, they desire a better country, too. So do I.

Life is not what the Roman poet Juvenal lamented as bread and circuses. So when we raise the wine glass to our lips, let it be a toast to that day when we shall drink with Jesus the fruit of the vine new in our Father’s house. Let us remember our heavenly country.