I suppose I could say that life was ticking along quite
normally. Irene did her usual, no messing
about childbirth routine. This time she
made sure that it involved a middle of the night run to Ipswich hospital where
she gave birth to our wonderful daughter Jane.
I did my usual and fainted, once again, taking Irene’s mind off the
actual childbirth process. Whether it
was the three children or not I can’t be sure but the family in Ireland began
to take an interest. The first request was to go and visit an aunt
who was working as a nun in Africa, Sister Paul,
however as she was born on the twelfth of July we called her Billy. Billy was flying back to Africa via London
and we were invited to the convent she was staying at, for lunch.
I always love going to convents and the like for usually they
are sumptuous buildings and this convent was no exception. It was outside London and was a huge Victorian
mansion. It always surprised me that whenever
I went to a convent the nuns always knew me.
I knocked at the main door which was opened by a smiling nun who
immediately says “Ah hello Peter.” Once
again I have no idea how this girl knows me, but the thought slips away from my
mind as there is a bustle of excitement and we are all ushered in to the
convent. We were to have a private lunch
in a huge dining room and Billy was in good form. We were waited on by nuns who, once the meal
was finished, suggested that they take the children away to give us a bit of
peace and quiet.
It was very kind of them and as we relaxed and drank coffee
we became aware of a growing commotion outside.
I went to investigate to find the nuns giving the children rides on the stair
lift and chucking a ball around in an area littered with artwork and ornaments that
would normally have you check your arms were kept tight by your side at all times. Billy gave us a painting she had brought from
Africa for us. It was oil on cloth and
the scene featured was of a village party.
One reveller is crawling away from the party and Billy pointed him out
saying that it was me. Once again I was
finding out what people actually thought of me.
I still have the painting and enjoy looking at it and of course myself.
The next visit was from a priest, Owen. Very strange as it was only a day trip which
meant him getting a train up from London.
I say strange because when I was imprisoned in Violent Hell, Owen taught
there. He had been working as a
missionary priest in Africa and had to return to have cancer in his throat
dealt with. During all my time at
Violent Hell Owen wouldn’t invite me to his room or even go out of his way to
speak to me. It was a pleasant enough
afternoon but I could never work out why he came in the first place. Then came Mary. Mary was a nun in Alabama and had always been
very friendly. As children Carol and myself
always looked forward to Mary coming home for she would bring exciting gifts
like transistor radios whereas Billy would bring carved giraffes or deer.
Mary was with us for about ten days, which covered two Sundays. On the first Sunday I was actually on duty
for twenty four hours at Wattisham, so I left work, drove the twenty five miles
back to Shotley collected Mary and brought her back to camp where she attended
mass in the catholic church. Afterwards,
before enjoying another fifty mile round trip, I gave her a quick tour of the
base and a showed her around air traffic control. My shift were up to their old tricks and every
room I took her into the guys would shoot up to stand to attention and remain ramrod
stiff till I left the room. I would be having
words when I got back from dropping her off.
At the same time that Mary was visiting there was a huge event
being staged at the Eurosports centre.
It was something along the lines of the catholic youth Olympic games. The ex air force, failed fast jet pilot, who
was running Eurosports proved how useless he really was when it was discovered that
he didn’t have enough beds for the number of guests they had booked in to the centre. He certainly entered panic mode, which was
great news for me as he now needed general staff to help prepare Eurosports. The Eurosports complex was quite a sad site
to walk around. Hundreds of empty
buildings wasting away. He had us open
some of the old accommodation blocks, which were long single story rooms
basically. We would wash them out with
hoses and once dry erect a number of camp beds.
We all felt that if you had paid for a room with a bed and
were given a camp bed in a room with twenty others, with no lockers or even chairs,
there might be one or two complaints. The
final ceremony was to be held at a sports ground in Ipswich where quite a few
thousand people would attend mass which would be celebrated by the top Catholic
in England, Cardinal Basil Hume.
Needless to say Aunt Mary wanted to attend this event. It was to be held about three on the Sunday
afternoon so I would work behind the bar for the usual Sunday afternoon session
in the Families Club and once I had closed the bar about two o clock, would
drive Mary off to Ipswich. Irene and Mary
had got on really well, apart from Mary scaring the wits out of Irene one
night.
One of the children was crying and Irene had got up out of
bed to go and attend them. Mary thought
she would give Irene a break and see to the child herself. Both girls met on the upstairs landing but
only Irene screamed. She wasn’t afraid; she
was just shocked, for it was the first time she had seen Mary without her wig
and with no teeth in. Irene and some of
the other wives had planned to get together for a few drinks that afternoon and
Mary was included. As Irene and Mary
came in to the club and sat down I do remember coming over to their table and
asking what they would like to drink. Most
of the girls were drinking vodka and orange so Mary just pointed at the drinks
and said “I’ll have whatever they’re drinking.”
It wasn’t the first time I had a drunk nun in my car as at
Carol’s wedding in Italy aunt Mary had been hoofing down grappa and was in a
world of her own, to say the least. We
drove off to Ipswich and parked up. It
was a football stadium that had a running track around it. There was a huge stand where the people would
be and out before them was the altar. It
was a wet and windy day and as Mary and myself made our way between cars and buildings
we got a little bit lost. I saw a priest
wandering along, well; black raincoat, black biretta and a white dog collar,
says priest to me. He came up to us and
I asked where the event would be taking place and he pointed ahead. “Just over there,” he said. I gave a sort of tut and said. “Looks like we might get a wee bit wet.” “Well,” says the fellow. “I’m going to get wet
for sure, at least you’ll have a roof over your heads.”
I turned to find out why Mary was tugging away at my arm to
then see her go all gooey eyed and grasp the hand of the priest, who as she is
now addressing as “Your eminence,” I deduct is Cardinal Basil Hume. Now there is probably a good joke hanging about
in there, ‘Did you hear the one about
the cardinal, the Irishman and the drunk nun?’
No matter, Mary went back to America and I suppose all three of them had
reported back to Ireland that I still only had one head and wasn’t a growling devil
worshipping eejit, for it was now felt safe enough for my mother to visit.
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