Father Under Fire by Neil Boyd

Author:Neil Boyd
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497698727
Publisher: Open Road Media

SEVEN

A Mixed-Up Marriage

Before my first Christmas at St Jude’s, in company with Fr Duddleswell and Canon Mahoney, I had attended an interfaith Conference. It was held at the Anglican Vicarage of St Luke’s. Our doctrines on Hell and Purgatory had made little impression on the Anglicans and Methodists. Still less on Rabbi Epstein, an emigre Pole, who seemed already to have one foot in the Hereafter. We priests agreed such conferences were a waste of God’s good time and resolved not to attend any more.

Bishop O’Reilly was of a different mind. After reading the Canon’s report, he told him that in England, every two weeks an Anglican clergyman was received into the One, True Church. What better forum for converting them than an inter-faith Conference?

‘What about the Rabbi, my Lord?’ Canon Mahoney had asked.

‘Didn’t our Blessed Lord Himself start out as a Jew,’ the Bishop reminded him, ‘before he turned?’ And didn’t He convert His Blessed Mother, a very pious Jewess, as well as His twelve lovely disciples, besides?’

Canon Mahoney couldn’t deny that former Jews did have a big hand in getting Catholicism off the ground.

‘There, then, Canon,’ the Bishop went on, ‘if our Blessed Lord had adopted your defeatist attitude, where would the Catholic Church be today?’

A second Conference was scheduled for the middle of May. The topic was a vexed one: Mixed Marriages. It was our turn to provide the position-paper, so the Canon handed over the task to Fr Duddleswell.

For days beforehand, he was busy, consulting heavy tomes and scribbling madly. After which, he sent a draft of his talk to the Canon who returned it with a brief comment: ‘Courteous and charitable, Charlie. A model of intransigence.’

As Fr Duddleswell let me read the note, his eyes misted up with emotion. ‘’Tis not every day of the week, Father Neil, I receive praise of this calibre.’

The day before the Conference, the Canon cried off. His housekeeper rang to say he had gone down with ’flu. She had, she said, already telephoned his Lordship.

Fr Duddleswell and I were discussing this serious depletion of our forces when Billy Buzzle’s voice floated in from the hall.

‘Cheerio, then, Mrs Pring. I’ll drop in again same time next week.’

Fr Duddleswell was at his study door in a flash with, ‘Me dear friend, please come in, do.’

Billy looked around him. ‘Talking to me, Father O’Duddleswell?’

‘The very man. Come in.’ And he almost dragged our neighbour in after him.

‘Short of cash or something?’ Fr Duddleswell shook his head. ‘I’ve just been having a cup of char with Mrs Pring. Anything wrong with that?’

‘Mr Buzzle,’ Fr Duddleswell said, ‘you wouldn’t be free to attend a Conference at two tomorrow afternoon?’

‘What for?’

‘I would very much like to have the man-in-the-street’s point of view on a delicate religious topic.’

Billy thumbed through his diary. ‘Well, there’s no race meeting. Okay, anything for a lark.’

Fr Duddleswell slapped him on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of him. ‘That is the spirit, Mr Buzzle.’

‘Can I bring my dog along? He’s much better than me at religion.

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