“Gambling? Gambling, dancing and carousing in the House of God?” thundered the bishop. “They expect me to condone such wickedness?”
Father Morris looked heavenwards, silently pleading for the patience to deal with his new superior. His was not a confrontational nature, but he felt the need to defuse the bishop’s anger.
“It isn’t a holy place any longer, it was deconsecrated when the new church was finished last year,” he said. “Besides they are not asking you to condone anything. The community leaders have invited you to speak at the opening ceremony, that’s all.”
“All?” shouted Bishop Roger. “My predecessor donated the former church to the community in good faith. I’m quite sure that he expected it to be put to better use than as a den of iniquity.”
Head bowed, Father Morris listened to the tirade, wishing that it were his former employer standing before him. Bishop Sebastian had known how the town intended to use the building, and he had wholeheartedly approved of the project. The invitation held by the outraged new incumbent had been intended for Bishop Sebastian, sadly no longer able to conduct his duties since his stroke.
The difference between the two men could not have been more marked, thought Father Morris. It wasn’t only that the new incumbent was so much younger than his predecessor; his attitude to everything was at odds with the way the diocese had been run until now. Unlike the sadly missed Bishop Sebastian, there were no laughter lines around Bishop Roger’s cold grey eyes, and his thin lips appeared to reflect his narrow outlook on life. Acting as secretary to Bishop Sebastian had been an absolute pleasure. The new bishop had only been in office for two days, but already everything had been turned upside down. Righteous zeal had replaced the gentle tolerance with which Sebastian had tended his flock.
“Sir, the building has been converted into a community centre. You can hardly call bingo, line dancing and keep fit classes using the place as a den of iniquity. Bishop Sebastian was really very pleased with the plan…”
“He obviously didn’t realize how easily souls are corrupted,” Bishop Roger cut across his words. “I grew up in this town and I know the people here. Even as a child I had to strive to prevent licentiousness, the people here are weak. I intend to use the opportunity to remind everyone of the use to which this building should have been put, as a place for the congregation to gather and discuss the ways of the Lord.
“Send back an acceptance and tell them that I shall be delighted to speak at their opening ceremony,” he concluded.
Father Morris nodded, at the same time telling himself that he had three weeks in which to change his superior’s view of the community centre. Not a task he relished, as it was apparent that once the bishop’s mind was made up he would not easily be diverted.
A week later, while typing the draft speech, his heart sank. It was obvious from the text that the people of Wilmington were going to get very little pleasure from their opening ceremony. A lecture outlining the pitfalls of the Devil was to be their fate. If only the invitation had not been sent before Bishop Sebastian’s stroke. But the community leaders had invited him as guest of honour, as a mark of gratitude for all the help he had given to get the project off the ground. They’d thought that it would be fitting to receive Bishop Sebastian’s blessing, instead of which they were going to get damnation and hellfire hurled at them from his replacement. Father Morris wished that there were some way in which to save them.
But the evening of the ceremony arrived and Father Morris still had made no impact whatsoever on the bishop’s way of thinking. He was adamant that a building that had once been a church would always be a holy place, regardless of its being deconsecrated.
As the car pulled up Father Morris prayed fervently for a miracle. He felt that the town had suffered enough in recent years. The closure of several businesses had pushed up unemployment and that, in turn, had led to a rise in youth crime. Changing the building to a community centre had generated so much employment that the area was coming alive again. This evening was supposed to be a celebration; a resurgence of community spirit and Bishop Roger was going to ruin everything with his dreadful speech.
The bishop surged forward from the car, indignation quivering in every fibre of his body. In his rush to enter the building he left his notes behind. As he realized that the car was about to depart he turned to shout at Father Morris, telling him to retrieve his papers. Turning back to the community centre he missed his footing and fell heavily on the steps. His ankle twisted under him, causing him to cry out in pain.
Father Morris rushed to help the bishop to rise, as it was obvious that the man was in considerable pain and could not stand unaided.
George Purcell, chairman of the community centre, who had been standing at the top of the steps ready to welcome his guests, hurried down to offer his assistance as well.
“Stop fussing, both of you. I’ve strained my ankle, nothing more than that,” the bishop insisted. “I could stand quite easily if one of you would give me an arm instead of wringing your hands and looking helpless.”
Chastened, Father Morris allowed the bishop to lean on him. “Don’t you think that it would be better to rest quietly for a bit?” he asked. Privately hoping that the bishop would be in too much pain to be able to deliver his speech.
“Don’t be so stupid,” Bishop Roger responded. When he tried to move, however, he found that his ankle hurt abominably. “Maybe it would be best to sit down for a while. But I don’t want to sit where everyone can gawk at me. Is there anywhere private?” he demanded of George Purcell.
“You can go through to the office,” he answered. “There won’t be anyone in there until after the opening ceremony. Lean on me, and between us, your secretary and I will soon have you nice and comfy. Don’t you worry about a thing; we’ll take good care of you.”
They manoeuvred the limping bishop into the office, helping him to get comfortable in one of the armchairs.
“There now, you’re hidden by the filing cabinet, so even if someone walks along the corridor they won’t be able to see you. You can be quiet and private in here until you feel a bit better.” Saying which, George Purcell returned to his place outside, ready to welcome the townsfolk who had indicated that they were going to turn out in force for the opening.
Father Morris stood next to the armchair, not sure whether to stay with the bishop, or to leave. His unspoken question was rudely answered.
“Why are you hanging around? Do you think that I cannot manage to sit quietly on my own? Go away, but don’t forget to come back for me in good time for my speech. Have you got my papers?” the bishop asked. “Good,” he said when Father Morris showed him the file. “Give them to me; I might as well go over my speech.”
Father Morris left asking himself why the damage couldn’t have been more severe. But remorse soon filled his heart, how could a priest think such dreadful thoughts? He’d asked for a miracle, but what he’d received was an accident that had made the bishop more irascible than ever. These poor townspeople, he thought sadly.
Left alone, Bishop Roger began to read through his speech. He was extremely proud of some of the phrases, they would make people sit up and take notice. How dare they disparage the house of God? Well, by the time he’d finished this evening, they would all be wishing that they hadn’t.
He was so deep in thought that it was some time before he realized that there were people holding a conversation outside in the corridor.
“Hello, Annie. Are you looking forward to the do this evening?”
“You bet I am. Looks like there’s going to be a good turnout. I was speaking to Mr. Purcell just now and he told me that my keep fit classes are fully booked,” Annie answered.
“You must be pleased about that,” the other woman said, “what with your George still out of work.”
“The beauty of it is that I can bring Jessica here with me, she’ll stay with the others toddlers in the crèche when I take the classes. We’re so relieved that one of us is getting a regular wage again…”
The voices drifted away as the women moved up the corridor out of earshot. The bishop was horrified, a children’s playgroup here as well as everything else. Had these people no sense of dignity?
The silence was broken once again.
“…and I said to him, this is your last chance, I said. If you don’t get this right, after Mr. Purcell and the rest have been so good to you, then I’m washing my hands of you, I said.”
“How did he take that?”
“He said, ‘Mum, I told you that I’m giving up the gang and that. I like the idea of teaching the little ones to play football and stuff. I promise, no more trouble from now on.’ Well I hope he means it, that’s all I can say. Thank goodness that someone had the bright idea of using this place as a youth centre. My Darren’s been in trouble for years now; this is his first job ever, looking after the youngsters. But Mr. Purcell said that he thought our Darren would be better for the responsibility…”
Again the voices drifted until nothing more could be heard. The bishop was left with a burning sense if indignation, he was seething with anger. Allowing known troublemakers to run some kind of youth club was simply asking for trouble. Before they knew where they were the place would be awash with drugs and heaven only knew what else. He decided to add that to his speech.
Bishop Roger was now straining to hear every snatch of conversation, gathering ammunition for his later assault. He’d be able to damn them with their own words.
“Look, isn’t that Mrs. Barnstable? This must be the first time in months that I’ve seen her out and about.”
“You’re right, it is her. Well, who would have believed it? Hello, Mrs. Barnstable, how are you? It’s lovely to see you here.”
“Hello, Maggie, I’ve come for the bingo later. I’ve always enjoyed a game of bingo, but since I’ve been stuck in this wheelchair it’s been too difficult to go anywhere without asking our Janie to come and take me. Well with all the ramps that they’ve put in here I can manage on my own. I’m having such a good time; I’ve seen some folk that I haven’t spoken to in years…”
The bishop sat silently, taking in every word. Then he heard a voice that he recognized from his youth.
“…lived next door to us he did. Stuck up little blighter he was, always spying on folk. Took after his aunt, and she was a really mean-minded woman. Thin lips she had, you can always tell by people’s lips. That’s what I always say.”
Roger battled to remember the speaker’s name. What was it now, he mused, Diana? Daisy? Daphne? It was definitely something like that.
“It was because of him that our Vera nearly went off the rails. He saw her kissing Jack Taylor and told our dad. But the way he told it, you’d have thought Vera was doing far worse than just kissing. Anyway, she got into so much trouble over it that she decided she might as well get hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. Went quite wild for a time she did.”
“But your Vera’s the most respectable woman I know,” responded a voice unknown to the bishop.
“Yes, she is now, but there was a time when she could have gone to the bad, and it would have been the fault of that little sneak. If it hadn’t been for the parish priest that we had, taking Vera in hand, then she might have turned out very differently…”
As the sounds disappeared Roger reflected on what he’d heard. He remembered Vera quite clearly, always flirting and running after the boys. If she had turned out badly, then no blame could possibly attach to him. She’d simply been a bad lot.
As for the remarks about his aunt, they had been most unfair. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t like children, but even so she’d given him a roof over his head. She’d taken him in after his parents had died and had always done her duty, as she saw it. As he would do this evening, he saw his responsibility to the community clearly before him and his speech would show them how he felt they should behave from now on.
Father Morris returned. “They’re just about ready to start the speeches now, sir. Don’t you think that it would be better to remain here and rest your ankle until the car returns?”
“Definitely not,” snapped the bishop. “I intend to deliver my speech. It’s the only reason that I came this evening. Now give me a hand to get up.”
Together, bishop and secretary slowly made their way to the podium that had been set up for the event. Bishop Roger scanned the crowd looking for his former neighbour, still searching his memory for her name.
For some reason it seemed to be important that he remember it, but it remained tantalizingly out of reach and wouldn’t come back to him.
He placed his notes on the stand next to the microphone, cleared his throat and began to speak.
“I’m very aware that the invitation to open this centre was meant for my predecessor, Bishop Sebastian. In taking his place this evening I have decided to explain to you how I would have insisted the building was to be used, had I been in office when the gift was made.”
A movement in the crowd caused him to look up; he saw that it was his childhood acquaintance. Her name came to him suddenly: Deirdre.
“I would have made sure that the building was used solely for the purpose of religious activities,” he continued.
He looked straight across at Deirdre, holding eye contact. “I would have been wrong. It gives me great pleasure to open this centre. Long may you all benefit from the community spirit that prevails here.”
Father Morris, listening in amazement, realized that he had received his miracle.
© Lorraine Mace 2004
