MEMORIES OF FR GRESHAM

The following episodes happened in the early 1990's, and are written up here in the 2020's, from memory. 

 
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. But this wasn't done in any improper way. Most of the group commented, and Fr Gresham, also, did say something. 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.

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!"  He did read his Bible, and I suppose it came out in his talk.

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. 

An Intervention  
I was walking with Fr Gresham and one of the church wardens, Terry Dible, from the vicarage to the church, which wasn't far. Terry had been at St Paul's with Fr Gresham since he was young. He was then in his fifties, a working class person, and salt of the earth. I greatly liked him. He has since died. 

I began telling Terry about something. Terry was trying to discover what I was going on about when Fr Gresham, who was just ahead of us, crashed in with “La la la la …” or “Hey ho, hey ho …” or some other quite loud vocalisation that stopped me talking. I saw Terry look at Fr Gresham, and read the situation. Nothing more was said. We went on with our errand. We were going to carry out some task in the church. 
 
I want to add that I somehow knew Fr Gresham was looking after Terry, rather than just telling me off, when he interrupted me in this way. I honestly can't remember now, what I had been saying. But it may have been something confusing somehow, or irrelevant to what we were doing. So Fr Gresham stopped it. He could be tough. 

He once said that Archbishop Michael Ramsey, though some might have thought him shambling, actually "knew how to cut through nonsense". 

Two Parishioners 
I think this first exchange happened in the vicarage after a Sunday mass, following some sort of difference between Fr Gresham and one of the parishioners. She has since died. 
 
I can't remember what the disagreement was about, maybe diocesan business? Anyway, the parishioner had gone home but Fr Gresham was still exercised about the matter. He complained that, "(Name) is so innocent!" He said this, it seems to me now, to explain her mistaken approach to something. For whatever foolish reason, I responded by saying, "Innocent in what way, Father?" 
  
He replied, "Innocent in every way." He was correcting me, but he spoke gently, almost wearily. 
 
The next interaction is short and simple, but because nothing much happened, it's difficult to convey it's revealing nature. But I'll try to set it down. 
 
On this occasion Terry Dible (see above 'memory' re Terry) had recently had a bad cold or flu. He was seated in the church hall where everyone was having a cup of tea or coffee. Fr Gresham was standing nearby and he asked Terry how he was. But it was the way he asked, that struck me. Fr Gresham seemed to go back into his essential self in order to bring out the words, and they came out small and humble. 

They had an effect on Terry; he stiffened. It seemed to me he realised Fr Gresham was making a genuine enquiry. He replied that he was ok. That was all, but the exchange seemed to me to show a greatness in Fr Gresham. 

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. 
 
 
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 several pints. He didn't drink in the vicarage, except with guests or at a communal Sunday lunch.
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 
Fr Gresham commented on a printed article that said the Church needed to be more efficient. I can't remember the details now. But I do remember he said there used to be a priest in the deanery who hosted a weekly 'social/study/discussion' evening for his fellow priests.

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. 
 
A Tragic Accident 
Fr Gresham said that years ago he accompanied a young man from the parish to a  retreat. Perhaps it was at a Taize, or evangelical, community.  
 
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.     
 
 
Supporting Them 
 
I recall Fr Gresham taking a postcard that had arrived "care of" the vicarage over to the Alcoholics Anonymous group meeting in the hall one weekday evening. It was for one of the people there. They were the only outside group to use the church hall at the time I was a vicarage lodger.  
 
The hall was used weekly for sales of clothes and 'charity-shop' goods. This also provided an outreach, as Fr Gresham said. This sale has since continued under the care of the same faithful parishioners. 
 
Ending mass with a blessing 
 
Fr Gresham sent the congregation away at the end of mass without a blessing. He explained once that you have already received the greater blessing of the consecrated host and wine.  
 
Brother Donald, one of the Anglican Franciscans in the Plaistow friary, east London, also followed this practice at the Friday lunchtime masses that I used to attend in later years. 
 
On the wine used at mass 
For mass Gresham used red wine from a 'wine box', the common type you buy that holds about three bottles and has a little plastic tap you press to dispense the contents.  
 
I was used to the sweeter sherry-type wine normally used in the Eucharist, so I questioned him about this once in the sacristy after a service. His reply was simply to quote from memory the statute defining the type of wine suitable for use at mass.  It seemed a technical stream of words delivered in a semi-formal way that I hardly was able to follow. But I surmised that ordinary red wine met the criteria for use at mass. So the brief interchange ended.

  
Thinking of Everything 
In his retirement I visited him weekly for a social meal of fish and chips, cooked at Fr Gresham's place in the oven from frozen ingredients. He had a can of beer and I usually had two. This went on for a few years. But I remember, near the time of his death, when I was at Fr Gresham's house, he took up a glass of water that stood near him, and lifted it and drank a mouthful. "Ahh, water!" he said with emphasis. I forget now if he added any other words, or if he only said this. Whichever was the case, his way of saying this showed what a lovely drink water was. 
 
Why is this memorable? Because, I understood he was saying water is nice, never mind about beer. 

 
Some incidental remarks by Fr Gresham 
10/07/2003 
"Why do people always want to be moving about, flying off to America, for instance?" He said this disapprovingly, as a rhetorical question. 

10/07/2003 
When I told Fr Gresham I was going to visit Walsingham with the Church Union for the day, he made the passing comment that I was "going to unreality". 
 
16/02/2006 
After watching a litany of appalling items on the news Fr Gresham remarked, "There seems to be a love of death about. People seem to be in love with death." 
 
23/02/2006 
In response to a question, Fr Gresham agreed it was bad for Harry Williams and other priests who become cult figures greatly in demand. 
 
David should beat Goliath 
(This final account, below, is taken from diary notes written at the time.  A neighbour's visit prompted Fr Gresham into a characteristic display of good humour. I have also set it down in the 'Introduction' to this blog.) 
 
(from 15/06/06 notes) 
Whilst I was visiting Gresham the lady from the house 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."  
 
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 himself with the childhood girlfriend he was referring to. Fr Gresham 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. 
 
He did die from cancer less than two months later, a day before his 90th birthday.