A Poem for St Bartholomew

I am hoping that, somewhere in the Norfolk wilds, sometime this morning, the following poem will be read in honour of the saint. [Let some readers understand]

Beneath a fig tree once
there sat a very pious Jew
And if you then had asked his name
He’d say “Bartholomew”
But then the higher critics came
with “L” and “M” and “Q”
And if you now would ask his name
He hasn’t got a clue

(Ascribed to Eric Mascall)