Visiting Clergy

Posted by John Malcomson    

    She greeted the priest with her usual quick, “Hello. Do come in.  I’m busy in the kitchen.”  Then she retreated back to the stove where she had been scrubbing the floor.

     The priest had not met her before, but understood she might be amenable to his request.  He watched her as she knelt, scrubbing brush in gloveless hand, pail of sudsy water beside her, working in the old-fashioned way.  She finished by running a floor cloth over the wet patch.  She straightened up, pushing her hand into the small of her back.  She then caught hold of the rail that ran along the front of the stove and pulled herself to her feet.  It was then he noticed her apron.  She had been wearing it when she answered the door, but he now saw how worn the floral print had become, and how frayed the strings were.  He also noticed the strip of matting sewn just above the hem.

     “Don’t mind me, padre,” she said.  “Just tell me what you want to say while I get on with my work.”  She took the inverted plain wooden chairs from the table, turning them right side up as she placed them neatly round the table, one centred exactly on each side.

     “I couldn’t help noticing,” the priest said.  “You have something sewn on the bottom of your apron.  What would that be for?”

     “Oh.”  She opened the oven and took out four loaves, which explained the smell of bread.  “It’s for kneeling.  Much more convenient than putting down a mat, and having to carry it all the time.  You see, what with being both a housewife and a Catholic, I seem to spend so much time on my knees.  And I’m not getting any younger,” she added, knocking the loaves out of their tins and, picking them up in a threadbare oven glove, stood them to cool on a rack that he had not noticed among the inverted chairs on the table.

     “Ah yes,” the priest responded, taking a cue from her.  “It’s with you being a Catholic that I came to see you.”

     “I’m not changing churches,” she said rather sharply.  “I’m quite satisfied with the number of Hail Marys I get from Father Dominic.  I don’t need any more to atone for my sins.”

     “Oh no.  It’s nothing like that.  I was told what a good Catholic you are, and how you helped that homeless youth from that retreat place, and let him live in your garage.  And how you gave him an old mattress and two blankets to sleep on, and how you gave him two pieces of toast and a cup of tea for breakfast.  Such a kind soul you be.”

     “So what is it you be asking me to do this time?  I haven’t missed mass or confession since before Christmas before last, and that was only because Liam was ill and I couldn’t leave him, and I did six Hail Marys for that.  So there be nothing I owe the Pope on that score.”

     “Oh no.  It’s nothing like that at all at all.  It’s just Father Dominic said you being such a good Catholic and such a kind soul, that he suggested you might be willing to help another wayward youth.”

     “Oh I don’t know about that.  What’s he done?”

     “He’s just been a wee bit headstrong and misbehaved himself, and he’s just been released from prison.”

     “Prison?  Oh I don’t know about that.  What was it for, the being in prison?  Nothing to do with girls was it?  Or children?”

     “No, no.  It was just a wee bit of armed robbery.”

     “Oh well, that’s not so bad.  Liam did a spell inside for a bit of armed robbery you know.”

     “No I didn’t know.  Got caught did he then?”

      “Of course he got caught.  You don’t think he would give himself up voluntary like.  Silly boy though.  He tried to do that bank on the cul de sac, so when the police arrived he’d got nowhere to run.  I told him he should have done the one on the high street, by Marks & Spencer.  Much safer.”

     “Isn’t that opposite the police station?”

     “Indeed yes.  But no matter there.  The last place you find a policeman is in that place.  No, I was thinking with it being right next to the public conveniences he could nip in there with the loot and with a bit of make-up he could change his disguise to that of a Sikh bus conductor, and no one in the bank would recognise him if he did get picked up.  And of course they wouldn’t dare offend his religious sensibilities by taking off his turban.”