Out of the Bible
St Mary's Bourne Street was Fr Gresham's church in his retirement. I didn't go there on Sundays, but I sometimes drove Fr Gresham there to attend 'Holy Days of Obligation' masses that fell during the week. On one such occasion we went on afterwards, in the company of some other parishioners, to the nearby pub where we all settled around a table.
It happened that there was a new young woman behind the bar. As regular visitors to that pub, our group - there were only men on this occasion - noticed her and remarked how attractive she was. It wasn't done in any improper way, but it was a group of blokes saying the barmaid was pretty. Most of the group said something about it, and Fr Gresham did add his comment to the others. He said she had beautiful eyes. Which seemed ok to me.
But all these years later (2024) a penny dropped when I recently heard the Bible reading about David being chosen, out of all his brothers, to be anointed king. (1 Sam 16:12) He is described as having beautiful eyes. I would place a bet that this was the source of Fr Gresham's comment. He read his Bible; his mind was well-stocked with Scripture. So it came out in his talk.
If I could add a word about what it was like being in Fr Gresham's company. Of course I was a younger person. But you didn't notice that when you were with him. He spoke sense to you. And was humourous quite often. He didn't ask you questions, much. He didn't ask you about your work or what you had been doing. He left you pretty free. Nor did he criticise you. The single mild admonishment, in words, anyway, that I can recall is when he told me, during a conversation, "You don't read your bible!"
Vicarage Life (This 'memory' is copied from the blog's introduction and repeated here.)
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 Gresham 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.
I remember a significant anniversary (perhaps the 50th anniversary of Fr Kirkby's ordination?) before a celebration of mass with the suffragan bishop at St Paul's, Bow Common. I happened to be in the vicarage living room when Fr Kirkby made a joking remark that relied on an Old Testament reference, related to the preparations going on. I understood that much, but I didn't know the passage, so I couldn't see the joke. There was another clergyman present, and he was wanting to go along with the jest, but I didn't think he got it either. But Fr Kirkby was in a good humour; it didn't matter.
Two details about the mass at St Paul's Bow Common
An Intervention
He once said that Archbishop Michael Ramsey, though some might have thought him shambling, actually "knew how to cut through nonsense".
Two Parishioners
He replied, "Innocent in every way." He was correcting me, but he spoke gently, almost wearily. This person had been a teacher at St Paul's primary school, and had gone on to be a head-teacher in another school. But she always remained a parishioner at St Paul's Bow Common: she was a parishioner there for decades. She died in 2023. I thought she was a great person.
Striking phrases
Occasionally Fr Gresham would come up with a humourous and apt phrase. I can remember two examples. Both from the early 1990’s.
In the first, preparations were going on for the church Christmas bazaar. Fr Gresham, in an attempt to find something, was putting his hands into his jacket pockets, then into his trouser pockets, and bringing out only coins and notes. “That’s the trouble at this time of year," he said, "with the raffle going on, people keep giving you money. One becomes lousy with money. One becomes lousy with money,” he repeated with a laugh.
The second example occurred when I asked him what he thought of Pope John Paul II, and I added that “He is a great person, isn’t he?”
“Well,” replied Fr Gresham, not quite agreeing. He said a few words about the Pope wanting to control things too tightly from the top, which he didn't agree with. He admitted he was good in other ways. Then he continued, "I would say he’s a curate’s egg of a Pope, good in parts. Yes, he’s a curate’s egg of a Pope,” he repeated with a laugh at the happy phrase.
(In case the phrase is not familiar to all readers, let me add that there is a traditional story of a curate, staying as a guest somewhere, whose breakfast boiled egg was 'off'. When the host enquired if his boiled egg was ok, he replied, wishing to be polite, that it was "good in parts.")
Being stoic
I visited Fr Gresham during a hospital stay towards the end of his life. The overworked nurses were doing their best to give out the meals. Perhaps because he was new to the ward no meal had been ordered for him. So he had been brought a baked potato, and it lay before him, on a plate, not cut open, no butter, nothing with it.
In the next bed an elderly patient was refusing his meal. It looked ok, some stew with mashed potato and vegetables. He said stridently that he had ordered the fish and that he must have the fish. So the harassed young nurse took it away again, and presumably went in search of the fish option, though I think she said they had no more of that left. I saw Fr Gresham glance his way but say nothing. Then he cut into the potato, only remarking, "Well, dull enough!" before beginning to eat.
The fish shop and the dress shop
When I was a lodger at the vicarage I told Fr Gresham about a recent visit to Manchester where one of my friends was now a fishmonger with his own shop. The shop was busy and could have done with his wife's help, but she, having experience in fashion, had gone her own way and opened a dress shop.
I was relating this when I was stopped in my tracks by Fr Gresham's expression. I didn't recognise him for a moment. He had a wide and rather toothless grin on his face. He said, "I can just see it; a fish shop, and a dress shop." I realised he must have been finding my news from home funny, in a good way. I never again saw him with that expression.
Apposite Response
Over the evening meal in the vicarage I was complaining to Fr Gresham about the poor care I had seen that day as an agency nurse on a dementia ward. I told him how a staff member had made up some lemon squash for the patients, but she had poured in too much squash, so there wasn’t room for the water needed to dilute it properly. So it was too concentrated. When it was given out the elderly patients took a sip or two and then left it. They knew they didn't like it, but weren't able to explain what was wrong. They were vulnerable.
So I collected a few of these drinks, tipped out some of the contents, diluted the remainder with water, and returned them. The patients took another taste,
and went on to finish the drinks.
Fr Gresham commented, “Yes, it was both careless and wasteful.”
I liked this statement which accurately described two aspects of the incident, and I afterwards began to use this sentence structure.
Chatting after a service
The congregation was not large at St Paul’s, but it was a community. Almost everyone stayed for a cup of tea or coffee after Sunday mass. Fr Gresham joined naturally into these gatherings.
The talk was about Selina Scott, a well-known television presenter at the time. I don’t remember why her name came up. But in due course someone said, “Father doesn’t even know who she is, anyway.”
Fr Gresham responded seriously to this charge. “Yes I do,” he said.
“Who is she, then, Father?” asked more than one amused voice.
“She’s a prostitute,” ventured Fr Gresham, to a mildly shocked audience.
One of the women, stout and working class, spoke up in an emphatic and rather moral tone. "Oh no, Father. She's on television."
A Christmas Day vision
I stayed at the vicarage as a lodger over Christmas one year. After mass I accompanied Gresham to an east London pub where we each had four or five pints. This was a lot more than I and, I think, Fr Gresham usually drank. He didn't drink in the vicarage, except for an occasion with guests, or at Sunday lunch, again with guests.
Then we caught the bus back. (I think it was Christmas day, but perhaps it was Boxing day, because a bus wouldn't have run on Christmas day, would it?) Anyway, Fr Gresham sat just behind the driver on the sidewards-facing bench seat. I didn't want to sit there for some reason. I went on past him, further down the bus to a forward-facing seat.
On the rocking and swaying journey through the fairly empty streets I happened to look up. The vision I saw was Fr Gresham, richly robed and golden crowned, genuinely radiant, slightly humourous, benevolent, as if a king off a playing card had come to life. Thus he sat there, nodding slightly, enjoying the ride home. Of course, we were returning on the bus from the pub. And he couldn't have been transformed in such a way? But that is the vision I saw.
Greatly loved priest
This quote from Fr Gresham occurred within the context of talk about the Church needing to be more efficient. I can't remember those details now. But I do remember him responding by saying there used to be a priest in the deanery who hosted a weekly 'social/study/discussion' evening for his fellow priests. Fr Gresham used to attend this convivial evening.
He spoke about this priest a little, and then he added, "I don't think anyone would have said he was very efficient, but he was greatly loved."
Domestic Miracle
This occurred in Fr Gresham's Islington almshouse. There were one or two other visitors in the room besides myself. He had been unwell and was sitting in a fairly upright armchair. He said, "You see, it moved! There are miracles still! It was over here before. Now it is over there. Miracles still happen, you see."
I have recreated this speech to try and give an impression of the moment. We visitors looked at the rug Gresham was talking about. We didn't say much. We laughed. Fr Gresham seemed alight with fun and joy. The gist of the incident was that the rug had been under his feet, and now was further away from his chair. This was not too long before his death.
Perusing a Book
When I was a lodger in the vicarage, someone gave or leant Fr Gresham a thick hardback book that contained images of artworks in an important current exhibition. It was called 'Images of Christ in Art', or something like that. Perhaps it was the book of the exhibition.
Usually on Sunday afternoon, after the roast dinner (most of which he had prepared on Saturday morning) in which I, and any other visiting person, shared, Fr Gresham settled down to read the Observer - this was the only newspaper I ever saw him read in the week. This Sunday he settled instead to peruse this exhibition book; and he proceeded to do so, solidly, for an hour and a half or two hours, seated in the comfort of an armchair.
I have heard somewhere that a piece of art operates by a combination of its intrinsic qualities and whatever the viewer or listener brings to it. That afternoon there was an interaction going on between Fr Gresham and the book. He didn't say anything to me, nor did he make general comments. But it seemed to me, I witnessed a silent traffic that was both serious and substantial. I suppose he was bringing his years of experience, prayer and Bible reading to bear upon the book's images.
He was given a book by the author, Susan Howatch. He said it was full of characters destroying themselves through immoral lives, and if that was a picture of society, then society was in a bad way. He also read 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time' and 'Life of Pi', again popular literary novels at the time. He thought they were ok. He did enjoy a new Bill Bryson book that explained science to the general reader, entitled 'A Short History of Nearly Everything'.
A Tragic Accident
He found the leaders there rather authoritarian and elitist. They compared unfavourably, he said, with the abbot at Mirfield. For instance, at a weekly social tea he would, in an unassuming and gracious way, stop at tables for a word or two with guests and community members.
At this retreat they were shepherded off to bed early in order to be up early for worship the next morning. This did not suit Fr Gresham who refused to go to bed, telling them he was not in the habit of going to bed so early, but that he would be up in time for worship nevertheless.
Somehow Fr Gresham left the retreat before the young man. Perhaps he lost patience with the place. But he intended to catch up with his parishioner back in Bow Common. But tragedy struck before this came about, because the following Wednesday the young man was killed in a caving accident.
I had a perception of grief in Fr Gresham as he related this, although he spoke in a low key way, without a show of emotion. I also had the idea it affected him. Perhaps after this he used extra patience with the young, to the benefit of myself and others.
Fr Gresham did tell me about the retreat, and that the young man died in a caving accident before he saw him again. But the perception of grief and the idea this influenced him were my own notions, and I could have been wrong.
According to a biography, Pope Francis had an experience that influenced his subsequent ministry. He was a relatively young leader of his Jesuit order in Argentina. Two priests who were working amongst the poor were adopting the new and, then, suspect ideas of liberation theology. Francis decided to recall them but they refused to obey, so he took some measure that had the effect of removing the protection of the religious order from them. This allowed the Argentinian government to arrest, imprison and torture them.
There was a scandal and Francis was sent out to some remote small town placement, where he spent afternoons praying before an icon of "Mary, Un-tier of Knots". In time a friend became Archbishop of Buenos Aires and called him to become one of his suffragan bishops. Francis asked for the slum area where the two priests had ministered, and devoted himself to the poor there.
Do You Need Some Money?
After finishing some errands in central London I was early for calling on Fr Gresham so I went into a pub. It was in the Chancery Lane area after the lunchtime rush. I got a Coke and sat down with my book.
A man interrupted me. He stood before me with a notebook and biro at the ready. He was slim and wore a white shirt, no tie, and dark trousers. He looked to be in his forties, with a weathered face. I didn't study his character there. Perhaps a barrier, that I didn't attend to, lay there.
I forget exactly the wording of the scam now. I think he said they only had £20 notes behind the bar and could I possibly provide any of smaller denomination in exchange for these. I was younger then, but not that young. I was on auto-assist or something. I was flattered to be asked for assistance by the management?
I watched him as he went across the large fairly empty lounge to the bar with about forty of my pounds in five and ten pound notes. I continued to watch him as he talked to the bar man. I didn't look down at my book. I saw him aware of me. He came back across the room to me.
He said he had to go upstairs to see the manageress. I forget the reason for this now. He went out of the door at the left corner of bar-room. I waited, not too long, then followed. He was gone. The bar man, when asked, didn't know anything. He was just a customer.
Later, at Fr Gresham's, I told him what had happened. It was characteristic of Fr Gresham not to give you much visual or aural feedback whilst you told him something. You kind of felt he wasn't listening, but he always was.
As soon as it became clear what I was saying he asked me if I needed some money? He might have put his hand in his pocket, but I couldn't swear to that. I was shocked, in a way, and hastily said no. Nothing more was said. Nor was the incident referred to again.
Here may be an apposite place to note that Fr Gresham rarely asked you questions. He didn't ask you about your life. If you told him something, well and good. But he didn't enquire further, unless such a response was obviously called for. This left you, as a younger person, free.
Some incidental remarks by Fr Gresham
David should beat Goliath
No comments:
New comments are not allowed.