Picture - 1960 - of 'The Old Man' and his two curates who, for good or ill, gave five years
of stability and continuity in Our Lady's Parish, Corby.
Part 5
First there was the Sunday collection(s) and also Holydays of Obligation ( and
the first job done by the P.P. when the new diary appeared was to work out when
and if such a holyday would fall on a Sunday. This calamity would mean a loss
of income which he would estimate to within an incredibly close amount.) Come
rain or shine, summer or winter, people could only enter the church through a
side door and get wet and cold if necessary while they paid ‘door money’ at the
table strategically placed to allow only one body in at a time. The heavies who
were in charge of the collecting ( and the priest who was not saying that Mass
usually stood there benignly welcoming the flock) had little piles of small change
so that when a 2/6 coin {just over 10p at present} - which was a customary sort
of amount - was offered he or she was given back 2/3p. Children were expected
to put in a penny or, if getting on a bit, a 3p bit. Clutching their change people
then proceeded to spread it through the rest of the collections during Mass: at
the Offertory, after Holy Communion and after the Blessing. Should there be a
special appeal such as for Foreign Missions or the Diocesan Orphanage, then
another and very special collection - often ‘lifted’ by the priest doing the
appealing - would take place after the Consecration. The wide front doors were
then thrown open for people to leave while the new lot waiting for the next Mass
were being let in through the side door. [ To understand the finances: 6 old
pennies were more or less the equivalent now of 2 ½ new pence. There were
five such 6 pences in ‘half a crown’ or 2/6 and eight half crowns or 240 pennies
in £1. I think! 2/6 was colloquially known as ' half a crown'.]
All apparently logical arguments to the effect that just one collection
at the door would bring in the same amount and save the bother of giving
change were dismissed as having been disproved in practice in the past.
Appeals to religion, the liturgy, the importance of prayer during Mass and the
reverence due to the sacrament fell on even stonier ground since part of religion
and prayer was, in fact, the commandment ‘ to contribute to the support of one’s
pastors’ - and thus the Church.
The collections were counted as they came in, still warm from the hands,
purses or pockets of the donors. This was done by the priest not saying the
Mass and in the old man’s room according to a very structured manner with little
piles of coins all over the place ready for a final count of the morning’s takings
before lunch. By then we would know the state of play and the amount would
vary somewhat according to the weather or be drastically reduced in the tragic
event that a curate was slow in closing the exit doors and some could have
slipped in free rather than pay door money. A catastrophe which any curate
would only have allowed to happen once in his career. When evening Mass was
introduced this collection was counted before supper so that by Sunday night all
was ready for the bank next morning.
Some consideration was at one time given to purchasing a money counting
machine as used in banks. Priestly time and efficiency, however, was considered
far more efficient. Notes were very infrequent and the old pre-decimal coins, we
found out, could be separated out with some accuracy by shaking them through
a wire ‘in-out’ office tray so that the smaller coins dropped through and allowed
for a certain facility in dealing with the various coins. The highlight of one Sunday
count was the finding of a real gold half sovereign - which was promptly
reclaimed by an old lady who had put it in by mistake for a farthing – and had the
temerity to ring up and tell us so.
Another great source of income was the Bingo which at that time was all
the rage and the Catholic Church had practically a monopoly on it. Every
Monday and Thursday we took over the school hall and I trudged off with a
suitcase, money bags, tickets and prizes to pretend that I was running this. In
fact, the ‘callers’ were a regular and faithful band of men of the parish who knew
exactly what to do and organised the whole thing. I just gave it a veneer of
respectability and kept the old man happy. Mondays brought in about £100 pure
(if one can call it such) profit. Thursday was payday and the place was usually
packed. Anything under £400 profit was considered a disaster. Two weeks in the
year - the last two weeks of July, Glasgow Fair week, their annual holiday -
brought in literally thousands of visitors into Corby and the Thursday Bingo was
chaotic with every place taken, all the corridors packed and people even sitting
in the lavatories listening to the numbers being called on a primitive tannoy we
rigged up for the occasion. It was not unusual to make £1000 which I had to
carry across a dark playground,late at night, into the presbytery. The men never
failed to act as bodyguards but in fact, there was little dread of being mugged.
Somehow it never really occurred to any of us that there was such a danger.
I never really understood the niceties of Bingo; how the money was split
between prizes and profit, how there were winning lines or combinations other
than just the full house and how people could get addicted to the whole thing
and develop incredible skill in running up to four or six cards all at the same time.
I simply counted money, split up the prizes as instructed and ran the raffle for
which I had to buy prizes during the week from various wholesalers and friendly
shop keepers. Even in today’s money such a profit would be well worth having
every week. At that time it was getting on for a fortune.
The next scheme in profitability was the door to door collection every
week. Volunteers had a district to cover and a book to keep so that by Thursday
night - while I was minting money in the school - the boss was sitting at home and
receiving money collected at 6 pence or a shilling a house. This collection
brought in less but gave more aggro since some households did not pay
regularly, they were out or broke when called at, collectors failed or forgot and
not every book, by any means turned up for the deadline.
Added to this and for the same purpose of paying off the school debt,
there was the weekly ‘Father’s Money’ which was expected from every child in
the schools on Monday and was collected by the Head Teachers and brought in
that afternoon. The expectation there was that every child should bring in at
least 3 pence or 6 pence and occasionally the Parish Priest himself went into the
schools to boost this racket as the ‘Father’ in the title.
Finally, twice a year, every district in the parish had an ‘At Home’ which
consisted of a dance and party by the inhabitants of that district; organised by
them, catered for by them, attended by them and their friends with donations and
a raffle being a ‘sine qua non’; a sort of quadruple whammy inflicted on all the
Catholic inhabitants: they gave money, they provided the food, they paid to get
in and bought raffle tickets to win prizes they themselves had donated. There
were three districts. Those living around the church were the old and established
families who were visited by the parish priest and well trained to pay the weekly
collection and make the ‘At Home’ a great success and a bench mark for the rest
of the parish. The curates divided the rest of the parish in quite watertight
compartments and were blessed with a more mixed population. On arriving in
Corby I was given the area around the steelworks at one end of town and the
new areas on the other side where a new church would, eventually, be built, plus
the outlying villages. On becoming senior curate I also acquired all the rest since
our Dutch priest, being temporary, was not expected to follow the same pattern.
My ‘At Homes’ in the first year were a source of great distress to the old man
since my areas covered the younger families, the more scruffy districts and
whole blocks of flats with single men. It also took some time to get to know
everybody.
Finally, to raise money and mark social, national and religious highlights
in the parish, there were dances in the school hall on the feasts of St. Patrick
and St. Andrew to live music excellently provided by parish musicians who ran
groups specialising in Scottish/Irish dance music rivalling anything on the telly or
in the heart of Glasgow or Dublin. They were as good as any Jimmy Shand and
his Band and remembered with equal affection. However, a recurring and chilling
memory of one
St.Patrick's Night Dance illustrates the trust one had in one's dog collar, one's
venerable clerical status and the innate respect people had for their priests.
The school hall was packed, the heavy mob of ushers had closed the
glass doors in the faces of a strong contingent of Irish revellers just out of the
pubs who were cheerfully and boisterously banging and kicking at the said doors
demanding admission. It looked a nasty situation and was quite scary when,
without a thought ( and this is how Victoria Crosses are won) I stepped outside
and suggested to the quite inebriated mob that they ought to get off home, sleep
it off and "A Happy St. Patrick's Day to you" but they were too late and the
place was full. Grumbling a bit they all calmed down and drifted away. It was only
when I saw the horrified faces of the ushers who were preparing to rush out to
my rescue that I realised the folly and danger of my position. I was, of course,
stone sober but also dressed in full cassock and looking small, young and -
apparently - innocent.
In addition to all this fund raising there was also the weekly
Saturday night dance for teenagers - to recorded music - run by the school
caretaker's wife. This was generally known as ‘Nellie’s Bin’ and we as innocent
clergy never darkened the doors of this. In fact, she ruled the kids with a rod of
iron and there was never any trouble but the picture of teenagers dancing in dim
light to modern, pop music ( rather than traditional Irish or Scottish) was too
daunting for any of us to face. We just took the money.
All this money raising was, truthfully, necessary and it was not wasted. But
the effort put into it all, the emphasis on income and - above all - the generosity
of the people was truly outstanding. People were not wealthy in the modern
sense. Work was plentiful and people worked hard for a good wage in the
steelworks. They also spent hard and enjoyed life and did not resent supporting
the Church and providing schools for their children. No child was denied a place
in a Catholic school and it was a shared pride that we managed to pay our debts
and start new parishes, build new churches and schools. Planned giving - by use
of envelopes and even an annual and signed promise of donations - was just
getting off the ground but the Canon would not even consider it and maintained
and even proved that the ‘new’ system some parishes adopted was not a patch
on his system tested by time.
The Holy Child of Prague statue had pride of place on his
mantelpiece. He was convinced that if a silver sixpence lay underneath it then
the collections would be maintained, would even improve and the parish would
have no financial worries. We curates scoffed at this - discreetly - but were
rather shaken when a new housekeeper arrived and removed the coin during a
dusting session. The collections diminished dramatically for one week, two weeks
and a third. The old man was getting seriously worried, there seemed no rational
reason for the decline. He suddenly shot out of his armchair where he was more
or less permanently rooted and lifted up the rather gaudy statue to reveal a
blank space! Consternation reigned. A confrontation with the housekeeper
revealed the extent of her cleaning activities. A new coin was solemnly
substituted, she was strictly admonished never, ever, to touch that coin again
and the next week’s collections increased equally dramatically to their original
total. The curates were impressed, much against their will, and noted all this
down for the future and as a lesson from experience.
The housekeeper did not survive all that long after these events. She was
one of a line of unfortunate women who had the thankless task of looking after
three priests in exchange for a meagre wage plus board and lodging. The lady
who had been there when I arrived, whose dog was only just tolerated if he kept
out of sight and whose favourite I became because I liked the dog, only stayed a
few weeks after my arrival. She retired to live with her maiden sister in Thrapston
where I eventually met her again as an aged and still slightly shell-shocked
parishioner. She was followed by two or three ‘daily’ housekeepers who did not
live in and gave little satisfaction and did not last long. A Bridget with a limp
followed but was found to be too decrepit and slap-happy and unwilling to put up
with the high expectations of the Parish Priest. Just before her departure a
young lady knocked on the door looking for lodgings. I happened to answer the
door and gave her an address or two and let her go. The old man - ever fully
aware of who was at the door and what was going on - came rushing out,
recalled her and offered her the job of assistant/trainee housekeeper there and
then. No references, no knowledge of her background except for the fact that
she had but recently arrived from Ireland.
All went well for two or three weeks until she started feeling unwell in the
mornings and even to a bunch of celibates it became clear that the lass was
pregnant. The milk of human kindness, hidden somewhere in his bosom, plus
our intercession, stopped the old man from following his knee-jerk reaction of
immediately packing her off back to Ireland. With not quite indecent haste we did
arrange for her to go to a home in Northampton, got in touch with some of her
relatives in England and found ourselves, again, at the mercy of a Mrs. Bond
who had a heart of gold, the patience of a saint and culinary skill of a derelict
cowboy but who was always willing to come in and hold the fort at times of
disaster.
A couple was found and became joint housekeepers. Somewhat
advanced in years and enjoying a reversal of roles whereby he did the cooking
and dusting - with some aplomb - and she mended fuses and did odd jobs with a
great show of activity but actually spent most of her time directing her husband’s
efforts. In a matter of months this arrangement became very burdensome to both
sides and a lady in the parish mentioned that she had a younger sister, single,
who was a maid in a presbytery in Glasgow.
So we got Edna.
Edna was aged about 28 and so below the age (35) recommended by
Canon Law as being a safeguard from the temptation of a female housekeeper.
She was a simple and willing soul and terrified of the Parish Priest who, in
desperation at losing such a succession of housekeepers, pulled out all the
stops when she arrived and was charming and encouraging and most generous
with his promise of wages, conditions of work and promised time off. None of this
increased her confidence much nor did the final promise that anything she
needed in the way of help or advice she could turn to me! In practice, for the
next year or so, this meant that I had to check on everything she did which was
in any way out of the ordinary, daily housekeeping or cooking. She was confident
and capable enough on a day to day basis but anything like a visitor, an extra
mouth to feed, a special meal in any way or - God forbid - the visit of the Bishop
and she would leave all kinds of things undone in a scientifically haphazard way
so that everything - from spoons and an empty salt cellar to the making up of a
bed - had to be checked so as to avoid a domestic explosion. Only I could wipe
and put out the crystal glasses and special silver and if a towel was missing in a
room or the interval between soup and the main course was too great then it was
not just my fault but a deliberate collusion between the two of us.
All this kept Edna in a more or less permanent state of panic in spite of
which she was not a bad cook, did do her best and kept the place neat and tidy
on the whole as long as the old man was kept out of the kitchen where things
were not quite so good and scraps and bits of food tended to be left around in
an apparently deliberate act of kindness to germs and, we suspected, even mice
and rats. Her habit of serving a fried egg for breakfast while smoking a cigarette
meant that little black bits on the offering were usually taken to be bits of ash and
we soon changed to boiled eggs or cornflakes. With lots of covering-up we
managed to survive for quite a while, staggering from one crisis to the next.
Christmas, however, spelt the deathknell of that dubiously domestic bliss.
It was decided to get a huge turkey so that over the holidays we could
simply live off it as and when required. On Christmas Day our Edna was invited
to eat the festive meal with the three of us. In a state of some stress, after
serving and eating the soup, she pushed the turkey through the hatch, the old
man produced the carving irons and myself - as senior curate and following the
strict hierarchical set-up practised throughout - stood by to pass the plates to
those at table. The first slice looked great but when the Canon slipped the knife
into the bird to get at the stuffing lo and behold there was none! Instead, he
produced the original plastic bag with the bird’s entrails still in it; un-opened,
unwashed, raw as received from the butcher. My admiration for his self-control
and the grace of the Feast grew mightily as we looked at each other mutely, in
awe-struck wonder, knife poised and plate extended. Each of us received just
one slice of turkey from the outside - the rest was raw. The turkey never
appeared again and Edna’s fate was sealed. She left soon after Christmas,
given up as a lost cause.
The housekeeper problem was solved by the simple expedient of the
old man visiting a priest in what is now the Diocese of East Anglia and, having
been wined and dined by his friend, making an offer to his housekeeper which
must have been so impressive that she left there and then and came to Corby.
And an impressive lady she proved to be. She was a neat and tidy widow with
lots of common sense; a marvellous cook and with a fierce loyalty to the Parish
Priest from the day she arrived rivalled only by her obvious reluctance to have
two curates to look after as well. She did not discriminate in the ordinary things of
daily life but made it very clear that curates were there to be tolerated, serve the
parish priest and take their proper station in life as God intended. On the whole,
however, she made life much more bearable and should be credited with
remaining until the old man died and making his last few months comfortable
and filled with loving care. She needed no supervision. Instead, she tended to
be the MI5, secret service and 'enforcer' of the will and wishes of the rightful and
all-powerful incumbent.
