Father Neil's Monkeyshines by Neil Boyd

Author:Neil Boyd [Boyd, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2018-10-23T15:27:24+00:00

6. A Man Has His Pride

“Tubman’s the name, Father. Barney Tubman.”

I took the horn-like hand he held out to me. My fingers were ground together in the strength of his shake.

Barney was walking his dog, Hairy Harry, a big Afghan hound, in the park. The contrast between them was striking. The dog was tall, lean, hungry looking. The owner was small, squat, and well fleshed out. He had on a black oilskin cap, and there was a brass ring in his left ear.

These were early days. I had not yet encountered all the “characters” at St. Jude’s. I was wary, usually with reason.

“I was once a priest meself, Father,” Barney said confidentially. He kissed my hand and the dog followed suit. “But you know how it is, in spring a young man’s fancy and all that.”

I gulped and muttered something about knowing only too well.

“Sowed my wild oats, oh yes,” he said in a gravelly voice. “And didn’t I get a wonderful harvest? See you, Father.”

The dog dragged him away before I could question him further.

Barney turned to look over his shoulder and gave out a big, vibrant laugh.

“Barney Tubman a priest?”

Father Duddleswell and his buddy Dr. Daley laughed almost as gustily as Barney.

Barney was the biggest fibber in town. He was also to occasion a flaming row between Father Duddleswell and me, but that was some time in the future. For the moment, fresh as I was from the “priest factory,” I accepted with good grace that I’d had my long legs considerably extended.

Mention of Barney unblocked a flood of wartime memories in the presbytery. In this instance, Dr. Daley started it, as he poured himself a whiskey.

The day war was declared in 1939, Father D had just started to say mass when the air-raid siren wailed. It was only testing but the public didn’t know that. They thought the Germans would be flying over and dropping bombs any minute. He insisted that his congregation ran for safety while he continued celebrating mass alone.

The only nearby shelter was a manhole in front of the church. The faithful climbed down it and the last of them drew the cover across with such a clang Father D was convinced the first bomb had dropped outside his front door.

Mrs. Pring had also stayed in the danger zone to answer the responses of the mass. She said Father D completed the mass in seven minutes flat. According to her, he was turning around for Dominus vobiscum (the Lord be with you) like a whirling dervish.

As soon as he finished saying mass, he disrobed and followed the congregation down the manhole.

Billy Buzzle, our bookie neighbor, came home from his club. He hadn’t heard the BBC news. Hell, he thought, it’s gone quiet all of a sudden.

He was prepared for the war. He had picked up his free gas mask and bought a whistle, a torch, and a rattle. He now used his rattle to attract attention.

There was panic below ground. Father D began machine-gunning his parishioners with absolutions of all their sins.

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