There’s often a traffic jam in front of the Battle of Britain window in Westminster Abbey and I recently found myself jockeying for position with a man wearing a baseball cap. A hat, in church! I thought I ought to say something, but as I was with an official guide, I decided it perhaps wasn’t my place. A very English cop-out, I confess.

Then I saw a second man in a cap and, hat-radar activated, I started counting. And stopped at seven. Clearly, it was impossible that seven male hat wearers had all slipped unnoticed past the Abbey’s considerable security and, equally clearly, there must be a new attitude to hats in church and I hadn’t received the memo.

I thought I’d check with the Very Reverend Dean. He replied, and I quote: ‘We are increasingly encountering people who have strong views and good reasons for not wanting to take a hat off. It was an issue that was becoming very problematic for our staff. We do our best to ensure that male members of our congregations remove hats for our services, but even then, there are exceptions.’

I was agog to know what manner of strong views and good reasons these might be, but Dr Hoyle is a busy man and declined to explain. I cast my net wider.

‘We are encountering people who have strong views and good reasons for not wanting to take them off’

Canterbury cathedral and St Paul’s both said they have no policy on hats, even at services. York Minster said it would only insist on removal if the hat bore an offensive word or slogan. I wonder how successful that approach is? If the public’s reaction to a polite request has become problematic for the staff at Westminster Abbey, I suppose the same is true elsewhere. A man wearing a Bitter Old Fuckers Club cap might not be the sweet and co-operative type.

I think I see what’s behind this new policy. The Abbey, the Minster, the cathedrals of Canterbury and St Paul’s are also prime tourist destinations. People pay serious money to enter: £31 for the Abbey; £27 for St Paul’s; York’s a bargain at £20 and children go free.

Paying changes the relationship. A customer is a different animal to a pilgrim or a worshipper. Having handed over his money he feels he has rights, including the freedom to enter the Shrine of St Thomas à Becket wearing a hat that reads: ‘Wine’em, Dine’em and Sixty-Nine’em.’ I do see the conflict. Market forces start to exert themselves.

Services, though, are surely a different matter. I doubt any non-Muslim would insist on wearing his shoes inside a mosque, nor would any non-Jew refuse to wear a kippah at a synagogue wedding, so how much stronger is the argument to remind visitors that a church is a consecrated space in which they should behave accordingly. I begin to picture a novel and exciting use for the -verger’s rod.

Fine, fighting talk, you might say, but spare a thought for the poor lanyard folk who’d have to enforce a hat rule. Well, actually, I speak from experience on the front line. My parish church in London is on the tourist trail. St Bartholomew the Great at Smithfield doesn’t charge for admission. It’s not that it doesn’t need the money. Like all parish churches it certainly does, but it has chosen an open-door policy in the hope that visitors might feel moved to leave a donation. Many do, sometimes generously, sometimes in small but nevertheless welcome brown coins.

So, free admission, but no hats, please. In the three years that I’ve volunteered on the Welcome Desk at Great St Bart’s I have occasionally had to remind a visitor to remove his hat but I have never, ever been met with a refusal. With older men, quite often they’ve simply forgotten and younger men may well not know about the tradition because no one ever told them.

Were I to be challenged – if a visitor said: ‘Where in the Bible does it say I can’t keep my beanie on?’ – I could refer them to St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, but frankly I wouldn’t. Dress codes from 2,000 years ago aren’t particularly helpful and besides, that wasn’t what St Paul was getting at. He was saying: ‘You’re in God’s house. Stop. Consider.’

Does any of this really matter? I believe it does. This is about respect. It’s about putting aside one’s self-importance and fashion choices and opening one’s heart in an ancient, sacred place. But should it be a deal-breaker? Hat off or you can’t come in?

If I ever encountered a persistent refusal would I square up, all 5ft 3in of me, and bar the way into Great St Bart’s? Of course not. Because, all said and done, I’d rather they came in, regrettable headgear and all, than left in a huff.

This isn’t a theme park, buddy. But you’re welcome anyway.