Vicarage Life
I was a lodger in Fr Kirkby's vicarage. I can picture him from that time, seated on a wooden chair in the living room during the day with the Bible open in his hands. He thought we should read the Scriptures more.
He hardly watched television. A small black & white set was stowed away somewhere. You had to bring it out and plug it in if you wanted to watch something. And he didn't get a daily newspaper; only the Observer on a Sunday. Nor did Fr Kirkby listen to the radio. There wasn't one in the vicarage so when the women's ordination debate was to be broadcast live, a 'music centre' was brought in from the jumble sale stock in the church hall and tuned in to the correct station. But he hadn't requested this. Nor did he make a fuss when it appeared. He did settle down to listen to the proceedings, though.
Sunday mass at St Paul's, Bow Common
At mass Fr Kirkby would give his homily in a plain, straightforward way. He didn't try to sway or lull the congregation. It seemed to me his focus was on the teaching he wanted to convey. He would sometimes direct his gaze at the ceiling as he spoke.
He could be humourous though. I remember one instance, though it's not exactly funny. He said something in a sermon and then he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "Pace, Mrs Thatcher" ('pace' - the Latin word for 'peace', pronounced 'par-chay'). Because she was then in office and his remark might have troubled her political ideas.
I remember one occasion when he was angry. The school photocopier on which he made the single handwritten 'mass-and-notices' sheet we used on a Sunday, had been damaged, by vandalism, I think. He mentioned it in the service, perhaps in the homily, and his eyes seemed to burn. But his words and manner were orderly, despite his disapprobation. And perhaps on another occasion he was sharp with us, also. I was in the vestry as one of the altar servers. We were late getting into our robes. He chastised us for being late. "The Muslims would have more respect for Our Lord," he said, unexpectedly.
He didn't sit down briefly after the sermon to let it sink in, as happens often now. However, sometimes a solid silence would stand in the church for a few moments after his words. That was something that struck me.
The music for the mass was from a cassette player operated by one of the congregation. Fr Kirkby would have played and recorded this music on the church organ during the previous week, ready for the Sunday Eucharist.
I was an altar server at St Paul's, Bow Common. When I was clearing away, in the emptying church, after mass on a Sunday morning, I would see Fr Kirkby kneeling, immersed in prayer, before the reserved Blessed Sacrament. Then he would join the others in the hall.
Almost all the small congregation stayed for refreshments after the service. One of the faithful parishioners, Isabelle Rowe, used to bring slices of buttered home-made bread and I found this better than biscuits to go with your tea or coffee.
Some Talk
Then, for a few years in his retirement, I would pay a weekly social visit to Gresham at his Church alms house in Islington. We would have a beer; Fr Gresham one can, and me two. We would also have fish and chips, taken out of the freezer and cooked in the oven by me, followed by a banana. Then we would watch the 6pm news on the BBC, and then the television would go off, and there would be a cup of coffee and talk. Sometimes I would bring a parish magazine I had picked up from one of London's Anglo-Catholic churches. I would ask some question or other, which Gresham would answer from his knowledge and experience.
He would typically quote what someone else had written, said or done, more often than he would give his own views. As an example, during a conversation I asked how Christ's crucifixion overcame evil? He said that was a hard question, then spoke about a verse in Gabriel Gillett's hymn "It is finished" that addresses this. He would always give you a helpful answer, even if your question had stumbled a bit, and would move things along, if needed.
My visits to Fr Kirkby in Islington were full of interest. So I used to write up, on the way home, often at Liverpool Street station before catching the train, what I remembered of his conversation. I wanted to learn from it. I never told him about this diary writing. This account here uses those notes, together with memories of that time. He often spoke about the same things on different occasions.
What Others Said
At a service at St Paul's, Bow Common in 2007, the Bishop of London, the Right Reverend Richard Chartres, said, "I utterly repudiate that Fr Kirkby was a charming eccentric. That is to trivialise him." He quoted a local priest to whom Fr Gresham went for confession. "John Pearce said that Gresham was the holiest priest he knew," announced Bishop Richard who, as the suffragan Bishop of Stepney, used to go to the early mass on Tuesday mornings at St Paul's, Bow Common.
Bishop Richard also said, "It is hard to see the shape of the new Kingdom; Heaven transforming this present Earth to bring it about. But we should assay a sketch of it. This in turn may help others to more perfectly bring in the new Kingdom." He added, "Fr Kirkby looked over the horizon, and this kept him fresh even when he was ancient".
In another sermon at a mass for the 50th anniversary of the church of St Paul's, Bow Common in April 2010, Bishop Richard remembered Gresham testifying that, "To me the Kingdom of God is the great existing reality which is to renew the Earth."
In his tribute, Fr Ken Leech, who from being a young man knew Fr Kirkby, wrote that he preferred to be addressed as 'Fr Kirkby' or 'Gresham', rather than 'Fr Gresham'. I wasn’t aware of this and don’t now remember how I addressed him. When you are with someone you don't use their name much. I might have said 'Father'.
But in early notes I have written 'Fr K'. Later on I used 'Fr Gresham' or 'Fr G'. Presumably that is how I thought of him at those times. But I have altered this introduction to fit in with Fr Leech's observation; though in the blog's 'CONTENTS' I have left it as 'Fr Gresham'. I hope 'Fr Gresham' is ok there in print.
I remember Terry Dible, a long-standing parishioner, altar server, and church warden, referring to him as 'Gresh' sometimes, and 'Father' ('Farv-ver', in the east London way) at other times. It was Terry Dible, when we were talking about Gresham's recent knee replacement operation, who said that he was "a tough old bird".
A Late and Humourous Scene
Towards the end of his life, in June 2006, I was visiting Fr Gresham at his Islington home when the lady from next-door called in to see how he was getting on. He answered, "I think this is the end for me, I feel so heavy. I'm dying, my dear. Face up to facts. My girlfriend died at 90 years of age." And there, propped up on a shelf, was a fading postcard-sized photo of a young boy and girl, both about 8 years old and dressed in finery, taken when they danced together in Cornwall at some great occasion. It was a picture of Fr Gresham with the childhood girlfriend to whom he was referring. He remained single and strictly celibate: she married and had recently died.
An international football tournament was in progress and that evening England were due to play Trinidad and Tobago. Quite a few St George's flags, with their red crosses on white backgrounds, were draped from the first-floor window-ledges of nearby terraced houses. The locals were backing England, of course. So the neighbour asked Gresham if he had his England flag ready for the big game.
He replied, "A plague on all their houses. I'm Cornish. I support Trinidad and Tobago. David should beat Goliath." Then he placed his hands together and raised them to his chin in a take-off of petitionary prayer, and intoned in a mock-pious way, "O Lord, please send Trinidad and Tobago a goal, Lord. Help them to win, Lord. O Lord, Trinidad has suffered at the hands of Britain and the Empire. Help them now to smite the enemy on its hindquarters, O Lord, send them a goal." Gresham was being funny and making us laugh. And I think that 'smiting on the hindquarters' is in the Old Testament somewhere?
He did die from cancer a day before his 90th birthday, less than two months later.
Fr Gresham Kirkby, born August 11th 1916, died August 10th 2006.