Bless Me, Father by Neil Boyd

Author:Neil Boyd
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497698734
Publisher: Open Road Media

VII The Bethrothal

‘’Twill be a bit of a farce, I am warning you in advance,’ said Fr Duddleswell. ‘But, as you will discover, there are times when charity demands we go along with the whims and fancies of the faithful.’

The reason for this caution was the betrothal of a young Sicilian couple who came from the families Bianchi and Christini. The Bianchis lived on Fr Duddleswell’s side of the parish, the Christinis lived on mine.

‘I’m glad it’s a joint effort,’ I said. ‘I don’t speak a word of Italian.’

‘Neither do they,’ Fr Duddleswell said. ‘When they are together, they speak an impossible dialect but they will probably take pity on me and converse in half-English and half-Italian.’

It was such a fine summer’s morning, we chose to walk; and first to go to the Bianchis, who were providing the bride.

‘This,’ said Fr Duddleswell, ‘will be an occasion the like of which you have never seen. Sicilians are marvellous Christians but impossible Catholics, except for important celebrations.’

‘Christenings, weddings, funerals?’ I suggested.

‘And the big feasts like Christmas, Epiphany, Easter. For the rest, churchgoing is left entirely to the ladies. Do you know, Father Neil, when I once said to old Bianchi, the head of the family, ‘Why do you not come to Mass every Sunday?’ he replied, “We is Cattolici non fanatici”.’

I smiled hoping I’d understood the joke.

‘’Tis a strange thing, Father Neil, but some Italians who never go to Mass in their lives leave pots of money in their will for Masses to be said for them when they die.’

‘Illogical,’ I said.

‘There was one chap I knew, name of Zeffirelli, who left £1,000 for Requiems, all at the lowest rate of five shillings a time. Kept an African missionary in stipends for over a decade.’

‘Ten years of black Masses!’ I said sympathetically.

‘The poor fellow probably needed every single one of ’em. Father Neil. Otherwise he would have been locked up in Purgatory, like, till the place shuts. Now back to this betrothal business. Tomfoolery or no, ’tis important to them. The Sicilians came to England from Messina in 1908, or the original stock did. Survivors of the earthquake. The eldest, Signor Bianchi, was only a lad when he last saw his native land. The same goes for old Christini. But you would never guess it. They speak but pigeon-English and keep to customs which most likely died out in Sicily before the First World War.’

I was enjoying the walk. The sun was climbing the blue sky and its golden glow made me feel it was good to live in our part of London. I loved the red buses; the plane trees dotted about in surprising places; the quiet, mysterious mews in which tiny houses nestled—no more than stables really but very expensive—with red, yellow or green doors and bright brass knockers; the old tall, gas-lighted lamp-posts; the patient road sweepers with their wide, black, bristly brooms.

From out of a kind of happy mental mist, I heard Fr Duddleswell expanding on the subject of the Sicilian betrothal.

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