1957 A NEW BEGINNING "THEIR OWN PRE-OCCUPATIONS"

HOME AGAIN

"Their own pre-occupations” indeed.

I did not have long to dwell on these subjects before I arrived home to some shocking news.

My Dad had lost his eye to Glaucoma which is a buildup of fluid behind the eye. Nothing had been said to me, no inkling of this was given by letter. Lest it should cause me to return home! Or lest it should disturb my mind! What amazingly selfless action on the part of my Mum and Dad, who in the first instance had not wanted me to go. They had endured this traumatic event with their own quiet stoicism. The event had been entirely sudden and without warning. Dad had been riding his bike the several miles up to his work at Potts Hill Pumping Station along the road toward Bankstown, one evening for the Night Shift. He had worked at Potts Hill for many years since the War. It was then steam powered by coal-fired boilers and he was an Engine Room Attendant - hot, dirty work. A sudden stab of intense pain in the eye caused him to fall from his bike. He thought a passing car had thrown up a stone and struck him. By sheer grit he got himself to the Station where help was called and at the Hospital the Doctor gave him the grim news. The operation was prompt - his left eye was gone- replaced by a temporary glass eye, until a tailor made "eye" could be prepared.

This permanent eye had not been produced, when I arrived home, the whole trauma was not much more than a week or so old.

MY DEAR MUM & DAD A VERY INFORMAL PHOTO EARLY IN THE MORNING
ONCE ONE KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE AROUND DAD'S ARTIFICIAL EYE (HIS LEFT) CAN BE DISCERNED

I have endless admiration for the courage with which Dad dealt with this distressing development. I never once heard him complain or ask for consideration in any way, yet the disorientation, inconvenience and no doubt pain and discomfort must have been immense. Jack Dixon was made of steely stuff!

Not many days after arriving home, I was to receive another shock. I said to Mum and Dad that I had better go around the block into Third Avenue and visit Grandma's house (as we still called the former home of Dad's Mother who had died in 1948. I wanted to see my maiden Aunt Nell (Ellen) and Dad's Brother Bill particularly. Under the terms of Grandma's Will, the house was to be a home for the two unmarried people as well as Grandma's Brother Tom "Wingy" (for his withered arm-result of a childhood accident) and Abby (Albert) who, for all his constant presence in the family in my childhood days, I do not understand his relationship. Dad's Mother only had two children, my Dad and his younger brother Bill. Her husband, my Grandfather was a sometimes violent alcoholic and had not lived in the family home for years. Grandma had taken in a number of "strays" including her brother Tom, Abby, my maiden Aunt Nell (daughter of Grandma's other Brother Jack whose wife had died giving birth to Nell - during or after the First World War he re-married to an English woman who would have nothing to do with the daughter of his first wife) Grandma also took in two sisters Thelma (Joan) and Anne who were relatives in some way, but from the country- around Goulburn I think.

But I digress (in grand style!) So I walked around to the old house at 34 Third Avenue. It was a rambling old 1890's house built in several stages. I was chatting to Nell in the kitchen when in walked Abby. I was appalled and horrified to see that there was in his neck a large hole. When he breathed or attempted to speak, the most ghastly noises resulted. I felt physically sick, my mind was reeling. The poor fellow had, of course, had one of those distressing cancer of the throat operations which normally result in the person adopting the wearing of a special cravat. He was not the most sensitive of souls and had not yet been convinced of that necessity, though he was to do so not long after.

1911 MY GRANDMA DIXON WITH MY DAD ON THE LEFT  AND POOR ABBY ON THE RIGHT
DAD'S ONLY SIBLING, HIS YOUNGER BROTHER BILL IS ON GRANDMA'S KNEE
WHO ABBY WAS I DO NOT KNOW

There was no way I could "stay calm and carry on”, I could not get out of the place quickly enough and tried to make some pathetic excuse as I left. Not one of my more glorious moments.

When I got home, Mum and Dad were mortified that in all our pre-occupation with our own problems, they had forgotten to forewarn me.

Plainly, others had greater and more traumatic problems than I had.

As the days passed, the question of what I should now do came sharply into focus. Having planned and hoped for so many years to work directly for the Saviour of the World, all other things seemed like so much dross- all equally mundane and unimportant. But that was my choice. I wanted time to sort things out. But Mum and Dad were concerned that this would result in mere brooding and advocated that I should promptly seek work. The euphemistically titled "gap year" had yet to be invented. We could not have afforded it in any case!

At the end of Junior High School (Third Year in 1954) along with all my Classmates, I had undergone the State Government’s Vocational Guidance testing. This was obviously a fruit of the new "scientific age" and the limitless ambitions of modern Psychology, which, naively accepted, did so much to destroy many Religious Orders in the post Conciliar turmoil.

So I did all the marvellous scientific Rohrsach tests etc. staring into images of coloured circles to see what numbers I could discern, all the multiple choice questions and so on. I don't think we got to examining the entrails of animals- perhaps there wasn't time. Then I answered all the "cleverly designed" questions about what I would do if, and what I would choose if, to covertly discern my inclinations etc., etc. And, having laboured mightily, with careful analysis, the highly qualified Psychologist delivered himself of my Report and the judgment that I was suited, to "Arts, Law and Economics......really anything that you choose."

The wonders of Science!

My family had always voted Labor and so I had been brought up with an admiration for the Federal Government and particularly, Prime Ministers Curtain and then Ben Chifley. And occasional exposure to Frank Capra movies only reinforced those attitudes. On my own account, I had developed an admiration for the then Prime Minister the Liberal (in our own perverse way, by "Liberal" Australians mean "Conservative") Sir Robert Menzies.All of this, led to me in my immaturity, thinking that it would be good to work for the Federal Government. So I applied, sat for the examination, and was accepted and then appointed to the Bureau of Statistics!!! NOTHING COULD HAVE BEEN LESS APPEALING. Sure, it was adequately paid, secure and all that, but it was soul-destroying and brain-deadening and the published seniority lists rubbed in my face the vast numbers of people who would have to resign, retire or die before I could move up through the thousands of them.

The Bureau of Statistics was located near or perhaps in the same building as the large DYMOCKS bookshop, still in the same premises in George Street, Sydney, between King and Market Streets. My co-workers consisted of two Greek chaps in their forties, one quiet and pleasant, the other goggle-eyed, sex-obsessed and bitterly anti-Catholic. There was also a fat young Anglo fellow who considered himself a free thinker, but that did not seem to have been to any great purpose. The boss was a moustachioed ex-Army War veteran whom the others ( behind his back )regarded as a fool, and his contempt for them was pretty clear. I was on a train to nowhere.

I had gradually decided that I wanted to be a Lawyer and preferably a Barrister. This seemed to be a way to do good, to argue for what was right and to defend the innocent and all that. But my family could not afford to send me to University.

At the same time, my Dad recalled a friendship with a gentleman he greatly revered. A real gentleman that is, not abusing the term in any way. Mr Howsley Farnsworth, to whom I was introduced by Dad, was a very Senior Executive in the New South Wales Department of Railways administration.(The Railways have, in the intervening years undergone numerous ludicrous name changes and organizational changes, to give the appearance of real progress.)

RAILWAY HOUSE YORK STREET ABOVE WYNYARD STATION WHICH ALSO EXTENDS UNDER THE PARK IN THE FOREGROUND - IT WAS KNOWN AS "THE GREEN HOUSE" FOR OBVIOUS REASONS

The result of this happy introduction was that I was appointed to a clerical position in the Solicitor for Railways office in the Green House above the underground Wynyard Station in the heart of the City.

The Solicitor for Railways was one Sydney Burke, not an endearing character, and there were about 16 solicitors in the Office supported by about 12 Legal Secretaries and  5 clerks of whom I was the least. I had found a "home", or so it seemed. 

"THE END OF THE BEGINNING" - LOOKING BACK

*1957 - LOOKING BACK TO THE SEMINARY 

I have very happy memories of those Seminary days.

Not the most impressive picture of yours truly,
I believe this was Day One just after our arrival.
My Dormitory bed was just under the window
showing next to my right arm.

As I tried to find my bearings after leaving the Seminary, things continued to come to hand, which cast my mind back to my days there, with happy memories.For example, some photographs taken on my rather pathetic camera : 

Inclining slightly to the left from the point at which the photo above was taken, one could see the Recreation Hall.

I have no recollection of the purpose of the smaller hut to the right. The bushland surrounding the Seminary was

dense and largely untamed.It made the Seminary an outpost of spiritual and intellectual endeavour - 

a type of metaphor for the Church in Australia as a whole.

On occasion, we got to enjoy an excursion. These pictures were taken on a day trip to the Blue Mountains resort town of Katoomba :

A great bunch of guys from a variety of NSW Dioceses, several made it through to Ordination,
with varying types of Priestly service, some did not.

Posed to mock the Camera 

Even Seminarians have to eat, and there are two real trenchermen in this picture.

              But the photos below are closer to showing our daily routine:

Returning from one of the several daily Recreation walks around the Grounds.The fellow in
  civvies would be from the Special Latin Class or 5Th Year Secondary School Class.

Infuriating unintended double exposure on what was otherwise a great shot, and well composed if I do say it myself.
One of these fellows became a hotshot international tax expert. Really fine young men willing to discern their vocation.

It wasn't only photos, but books, I believe my massive Liber Usualis I managed to give to another Seminarian. There was also the clothing: Cassock, Surplice, Collar and Biretta, these also went to the Seminary for anyone in need. The process was a little dragged out overall because I suppose, I had little enthusiasm for the pain it caused. But finally, it was all done. And there I was .....going nowhere....adrift.

I ought to have been praying for guidance as to what I should do. I may have done so. I would be surprised if I did not. But I have no recollection of doing so. Sometimes I think, people are so much pre-occupied with the turmoil in their lives and in their heads, that they can overlook the fundamental importance of praying for guidance.

God is always ready, and quick and generous in response, but we must be active in seeking His involvement in our affairs, in showing openness to His Will. Just look at the Parable of the Prodigal Son (better called The Good Father in my view). As soon as the prodigal has repented and begun his return, his Father sees him from afar off and hurries to meet him.That is how it is with prayer, God's response is generous and often surprising.





                  "Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. 
                                But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

                       Sir Winston Churchill, Speech in November 1942

Posted 6th December 2011 by vexilla regis

Labels: BIRETTA CASSOCK KATOOMBA LIBER USUALIS ROMAN COLLAR SEMINARY SURPLICE

1957 SEMINARY - LIFE AND LEAVING

SEQUEL   *1957 SEMINARY - LIFE AND LEAVING 

High Mass as it was celebrated at the time.

EASTER

Holy Week and Easter are, dare I risk being accused of a pun, crucial times in the Church's liturgical and spiritual life. I have loved them since I was a little child, and year by year, my love has grown as my knowledge and appreciation have grown. The liturgical ceremonies were conducted with all appropriate devotion at St. Columba's.

At the completion of the Easter Vigil,  very late in the night, we repaired to the Refectory to celebrate Easter in a human way with an abundant supply of various cakes -  the Nuns in the Kitchen had excelled themselves. And there was also Coffee!!This very special High Tea was greeted with simple joy and a genuine air of relaxed celebration.

MEALS

As I said, we had designated tables for our meals. There was a Table Prefect appointed for each table, responsible for organizing the collection of the food from the kitchen servers. The food was prepared by Nuns, though I only ever got distant glimpses of them. The food was then served onto the plates stacked at the aisle end of the table and then passed along to each individual. The food provided followed a fairly predictable routine.

Breakfast

Breakfast consisted of Cereal or Porridge with fresh milk from the Dairy on the College grounds. This was followed by sausages and eggs or "Cannon Balls" (VERY large rissoles - probably the ultimate favourite meal of all the students) served with gravy. Then Tea with bread/toast with butter and jam or honey.

Dinner (Lunch)

Meat and vegetables and a simple dessert or fruit to follow.

Tea (Dinner)

A lighter meal with a simple sweets dish and tea and bread and butter and jam (I think) to follow.

The food was always good and plain- never anything exotic, but I never felt let down or hungry. In fact, at my table, there were a number of real trenchermen. I recall one fellow- C.A. - who later enjoyed some small media fame as "the surfing Priest”, who sat on my right and would frequently say to me “If you are going to leave that, I’ll have it!" So his diet was regularly supplemented as was that of another good fellow- F.W. - who sat on my left, a really nice bloke and certainly less wiry than the first, who also often assisted in clearing the substantial meals from my plate. They both had great appetites, but I always ate enough to never be hungry.

I previously noted that most meals were eaten in silence unless there was a visitor or it was a major Feast Day. On those occasions, the Rector would tap a glass with a piece of cutlery to indicate we were free to talk.

BISHOP ( LATER ARCHBISHOP AND CARDINAL) JAMES FREEMAN

I recall Bishop (later Archbishop and then Cardinal) Freeman visiting us on one occasion and the Rector becoming so engrossed in conversing with his guest that he forgot to “tap the glass" I have never known silence to be so "aggressive"! But it seemed to have become like a battering ram and the Bishop felt it. He drew the omission to the Rector's attention and the traditional signal was given. The silence broke with a thunderous combination of laughter and talk!

But during most meals, there was reading by one of the students. On some occasions, it was from the Roman Martyrology, on others, something from Hilaire Belloc, e.g. "The Path to Rome". Various students brought very different skills to the task. Sometimes this also produced some relieving humour. One such unfortunate was a late vocation. He had been a carpenter before entering the Seminary and was in his late thirties. He was a nice man and one would imagine his trade would provide a suitable background, considering the occupation of the Great High Priest prior to His public life. This fellow had a high-pitched rather scratchy voice which did not make for ideal delivery, and it happened that one morning instead of reading "and camels in throngs" he read " and camels in thongs"(the Australian term for what are called "flip-flops" in some countries) he caused uncontrollable laughter to break out in waves until the Rector demanded silence. The Queen of Sheba had never raised such mirth before, nor has she since, I'll wager.

It is, of course, the constriction of an ordered life, be it religious, naval or military or civil ceremonial that makes these small accidental events so delightful - simple pleasures! Lacking that rigorous order in our modern free-form lives, entertainment is more and more sought for its own sake and ever more forcefully, so that it has come to be confused with reality, as so often in the United States for some little while and now increasingly here.

Our Recreation walks around the grounds in Cassocks gave us good opportunities to get to know one another better, and to simply relax. The evening walk caused one Italian late vocation- J.P.- to say to a group of us once:" tonight I think you can't understand me, because you can't see my gesturing!" we all enjoyed the joke. He was a very nice fellow and we all enjoyed talking to him and learning a little about Italy.

THIS BLUE MOUNTAINS PICTURE BRINGS TO MIND THE
SAME BUSHLAND SURROUNDING THE SEMINARY

On Sundays, we occasionally got to have a half day off when, in casual gear, we would go for a hike along the well-established bush tracks to a variety of known destinations such as St.Joseph's Bower, Our Lady Of Mt.Carmel Grotto and "Egg Rock". On one such occasion to a rarely visited spot, we found ourselves off the track and confronted by a high sandstone rock face. The decision was taken to go around its face. Easier said than done. As it happened, I, never a great or even a minor athlete, became stuck - unable to go back or forward, spread-eagled on the effective cliff face. I was petrified by fear of disaster in the shape of a deep fall down the rock face. Others were pre-occupied with their own problems, but one capable but kind soul who was from a lower class, perhaps Special Latin or 5th Year came to my aid. It would have been so easy for a more capable person to be dismissive or overly assertive in such a situation. But not him. His Surname was Grainger and I think his Christian Name was Jim- yet I can't find his name on the Class lists. Anyway, he was the very model of calm and self-effacing ease of manner, he climbed across to me and then putting himself around me gradually moved my hands and got me to place my feet on his until, in a few minutes, all was well and I could move independently. His manner throughout was one of kindness and helpfulness, making light of the situation during and afterwards as well. In my mind, he deserved a Medal! He has my undying gratitude.

THE STUDENT BODY

In general, I was surprised by the diversity of the personalities composing the student body. But by and large, I liked and, in many cases, admired them. There were a very few, no more than three, I would rather have nothing to do with, they either did not make it through to Ordination or, those who did, subsequently left the Priesthood in the post- Conciliar turmoil. One, now a retired judge has written a distasteful book about his time there. He evidently feels the need to put down the institution to build himself up. Failed. His reminiscences about the Seminary say more adverse about him than the Seminary. Googling his legal career is not a pleasant exercise.

My decision to leave the Seminary in May of that first year was certainly not because of any perceived fault in the Seminary or its staff or students or the Church, either then or in retrospect. In fact, I loved the place and the people. The problem was my lack of maturity I believe. I had led a very quiet and sheltered life in a very loving family environment. I was a shy person and had not had any systematic opportunity to deal with others and with organizations other than schools. But I did have an almost insatiable desire to be involved in all that was going on in the world. This was the nub of the issue of my immaturity, for that desire overcame my commitment to the vocation I had aspired to. Well, I can see that now, 54 years later, but not then, not so clearly. It was more intuitive and felt. I was in the wrong place and should leave.Any non-Catholic reader might be surprised to learn, that although I had all the normal sexual impulses, these matters were not remotely an issue in my decision.

I was certainly devout and earnest, but then, lacked that spiritual depth I have begun to achieve with age , and I lacked  mental rigor which, oddly enough, did not come to me from any academic source but from the disciplines of the commercial world, and  in the Naval Reserve in later years, and from my own private reading and study and prayerful reflection. 

In my earlier schooling, I had always done very well without ever seriously studying- coming first and second in my classes. In my later Secondary schooling (at a larger school), I still came 5th in my classes without changing my habits. But no-one, least of all me, perceived the problem that I was never seriously, systematically, studying and never reading or doing more than was prescribed. It was a hopeless approach in any academic endeavour and yet another reflection of immaturity.

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN?

I have often wondered what might have been the result  if I had continued and had been Ordained. The Class I belonged to was among those newly-ordained Priests who hardly had time to get on their knees before the maelstrom of post-Vatican II stresses descended on them and rocked the ground beneath their feet! Several of those I knew, bent to the winds of deceit so far, that they have become false "spirit of the Council" types. Others ended up leaving the Priesthood and others still fought the good fight, staying true to the continuing Church and the letter of the Council, even in the face of radically wrong Bishops. How would I have contributed? Would I have been a relevant force for good, or a rigid stumbling block in difficult situations? How would I have been affected? The questions are irrelevant. It did not happen. Only one Person knows. Perhaps I was saved from doing harm in that time of trial or saved for later action in other ways.

TIMES OF LUNATIC LITURGICAL ABUSE

It is, nevertheless, interesting to reflect that every time we cross a set of points (to use a railway analogy) in life, one group of possibilities opens and another is closed.

Had I not left the Seminary, my dear wife would have married someone else; ten people would not have been born (our three children and seven grandchildren). The spouses of our children would have married someone else, or not married. The Secretariat of the Australian Confraternity of Catholic Clergy would have been without free service for the eight years we operated it and did much more, and the lesser number of years my wife desktop published its magazine "THE PRIEST". The many thousands of Catholic books and magazines we promoted and sold for ten years would not have been promoted and sold, and on and on it goes. God knows, and it is to Him we must all give an account for all we have done, and all we have failed to do or failed in doing.

FRIENDS

The manner of leaving the Seminary in those days was to do so with the minimum of attention, so as not to disturb the student body. When I had made my mind up -  a process evolving over several weeks -  largely in my head and on my knees, I made an appointment with the Spiritual Director Father Ted Shepherd and gave him a very polite, carefully worded letter indicating my desire to leave and thanking all involved for their assistance during my time at St. Columba's. He asked a few telling questions to test my resolve, and that was it. I had expected a difficult process, but no - I had made my decision and he wished me well.

I was a little surprised by this lack of contrary persuasive effort. I still am.

I was leaving a great group of friends whom I really liked and respected, but I knew that the nature of their commitment and my decision would make it hard to maintain contact with them.

And so one morning (a pity about the morning, a reference to "nacht und knebel "would have been nice, but morning it was!) a taxi called and whisked me off to Springwood Station, where in due course, a good reliable C36 Class Steam Loco hauled its train in from the West, to take me swiftly down to the coastal plain and on to Strathfield where I changed to catch an electric train back to Lidcombe and a taxi home.

I felt rather deflated. The hopes of years past and for years to come, the noble intention, the sacred proposal, had been derailed , all of these  were crushed, and by my own decision. And I had no clear direction, hope or inspiration to guide me for the weeks and months, let alone years ahead. What would I do now? Had I done the right thing? And how would I handle the succession of contacts with relatives and friends? Would people think less of me for having left?

But others had their own pre-occupations.

Posted 5th December 2011 by vexilla regis

Labels: BISHOP JAMES FREEMAN EASTER EGG ROCK HOLY WEEK JIM GRAINGER OUR LADY OF MT.CARMEL GROTTO ST.JOSEPH'S BOWER

1957 TO THE SEMINARY

*1957 TO THE SEMINARY 
"Prequel" to Yesterday's Post

YOURS TRULY WEARING HOLY NAME SOCIETY BADGE
READY FOR THE SEMINARY - NEEDS A BLACK TIE
CAN A BIRETTA BE MADE TO FIT SIZE 6 7/8ths?

1957. -  TO THE SEMINARY

For a very long time, I had hoped to become a Priest. It was not a casually, or even easily, formed idea. Rather, it was one that I struggled with. I have very clear recollections of a long period in which sermons on the need for Priestly vocations used to really upset my peace of mind and cause pangs of conscience because I had put the idea out of my head for a time.

I suppose the preparation of the "ground" to receive the seed of the idea, dated back to my very early childhood and the time of my First Holy Communion at age 7. From that time on Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament has captured my heart, soul and mind, and has, mercifully, never let go even in times of very great distress. Naturally, loving Our Lord, I loved the Catholic Church in which we are one with Him as He has intended. So, it seems to me, it would not have been a large leap to be attracted to the idea of Priesthood.

But the decision is not that simple, and one must always be open to what God wants us to do, not simply what we might want to do. And this balance is worked out in many and various ways, not always predictable.

I believe it was in Second Year of High School in 1953, at Marist Brothers High School Lidcombe that the idea of becoming a Priest first crystallized in my mind. The Archdiocesan Vocations Director visited the School and spoke to the senior classes. I don't recall his name - it may have been Father Enright (? - probably not). Anyway, he was a good and sincere Priest, not at all pre-possessing or charismatic - just your ordinary meat and potatoes sort of Aussie. He spoke to those of us interested, individually. No conclusions were reached of course, but I was a contact to be followed and glad to be such.

In 1954 there was a new Vocations Director, Father Kevin McGovern a short man with reddish hair. I admired him very much. He was a typical hard-working Aussie Priest of that time, and Chaplain to the large migrant community in the Chullora/Greenacre area. Chullora's principal claim to fame was the massive Railway Workshops located on the large triangle of land bounded on the North by the Regents Park to Enfield Marshalling Yards goods line, and on the South-East by Liverpool Road. Across the railway to the North lay the immense Rookwood Cemetery, one of the largest in the world.

Father McGovern lived an austere, tough life. From time to time small groups of prospective Seminary entrants visited him for a few hours in his home. It was either a demountable or a large caravan (I can't focus my mental picture closely enough to say which, but there was scarcely room to move).It was very cramped. He had no real privacy. Since his "home" was sited on Workshops land, he had a steady stream of those in his care coming to the door. It was an excellent introduction to the unglamorous aspects of the life of a Priest. It certainly gave the lie to the later glib jeers of false "spirit of the Council" types about "Sacristy Priests “ in their imagined pre-Conciliar Church! His was a tough life, but with his strong Faith, he was the man for it. He obviously loved it. Father spoke some Italian and, through various multilingual workers, this gave him the ability to communicate with workers from many countries. These were the days of almost exclusively European migration. I vividly recall him relating how one of his co-operants had complained to him that "it is impossible to teach some of these people English - they don't even speak their own language properly!"

St Patrick's College Manly
(the flags show it is a post Seminary days photo)

Father McGovern arranged for groups of us to attend open days at great Saint Patrick's College Manly, the Major Seminary. It's massive sandstone pile dominated the scene above Manly Beach - the building still does but, on a long-term lease, it is now a Catering College (thanks? to Cardinal Clancy).Its very beautiful Chapel with seating arranged in Choir is still impressive ( though to turn a buck as the Americans say, it is hired out for weddings, as in the case of Nicole Kidman etc.)

Then, in 1956, Father took us on a tour of the Minor Seminary, Saint Columba's at Springwood on the Blue Mountains. We went up by car and entered the Seminary through the formal gateway and up the curved driveway. We were greeted at the entrance by the gregarious Dr George Joyner whose deep booming voice would become very familiar. Although not built on the heroic lines of Manly, the Minor Seminary was impressive and ordered around a quadrangle with a fine Chapel off its Western side. Once again, the Chapel seating was arranged in Choir and this was quite a novelty for most of us. Before we were shown around the Seminary the formidable Rector, Monsignor "Charlie" Dunne joined us and cast a critical eye over his prospective charges.

St.Columba's Minor Seminary Springwood
(the Sign behind the car was not there when it was a Seminary- a "sign of the (bad) times I guess)

Many tales are told of the legendary Monsignor Dunne. One I enjoy, which comes out of a long-gone tradition of spiritual rigour and testing, involved calling a student to his office. As the student entered, he would inevitably be confronted by a letter "dropped" on the floor. If he chose to helpfully pick it up, he would be challenged for suggesting that the Rector kept an untidy office! If he ignored it he would be berated for being thoughtless and sloppy!

At least he would always treat the Rector with greater caution!

Monsignor Dunne had a habit of holding the bottom corner of the cape like lapel of his cassock with his left hand, which became a cypher for those mimicking him to show who their intended target was. But that lay in the future.

Toward the end of 1956, the time arrived to make a formal application for admission to the Seminary. This brought to a head the question of my parents' attitude to what I had intended. Both my Mum and Dad were opposed. I am sure that it was a matter of genuine concern for what they believed was in my best interest. But, in time, first Mum and then Dad came to reluctantly agree to my seeking entry to the Seminary. This meant that I needed to obtain a reference from our Parish Priest the Irish born Father Con Donovan, whom I had known since my childhood.

A giant of a gift from Ireland
Parish Priest Father Con Donovan
and at his feet LH Corner of pic -Yours Truly
after First Holy Communion 1947

But, as a family, we were not "Churchy" people, and certainly not ones to have close relations to the Clergy or Religious - or, for that matter, to anyone else outside of family! So that contacts with our PP were always at the formal level.

When I was about 7 or 8 Father had asked me after Mass one weekday if I would be an Altar Server. I desperately wanted to say "Yes!", but I was painfully shy and had always had it drummed into me not to be pushy. So I said, "No thank you." Father tried once more to convince me, but when I again said "No" he put no pressure on me and let the matter drop. I can recall sometime later the School Principal Sister Austin, whose favourite I believe I was, expressing disappointment at my decision - I think she had been the promoter of the idea. She was always very kind to me and I loved her soft Irish accent and the lilting way she called me "An'tny" . God rest her Soul.

Then after a year or so, Father entrusted me one morning after Mass to carry the Mass Kit up to the Presbytery. Such was the state of my excitement at this Sacred Trust, that I stumbled unseen as I crossed the grassy paddock, and the box fell to the ground. It appeared undamaged so I said nothing. a week or so later, Father asked me one morning after Mass, if anything had happened to the box when I carried it. I had to tell him. "Ah well, that's it!" Said he. "There is a small dent in the Chalice, but I shall be able to get it fixed -don't worry. Thanks!" And that was that. No recriminations, not even a grim look - Pastor Bonus!

So I made an appointment and at the due time went to the Presbytery where Father Donovan told me he would be happy to provide me with a recommendation. We spoke about the fact that another young Parishoner was about to enter another Seminary and then Father reminisced about his own time at All Hallows Seminary in Ireland. I recall him saying that the Rector there had forced the abandonment of Gaelic Football because the violence it provoked was contrary to Christian Charity. When the time came to leave, I found great difficulty in getting up out of the Lounge Chair in the Presbytery Study. It was so constructed that the seat was very close to the floor. It was very comfortable to sit in but left one flailing around like a maniac trying to get up!

First Australian born Archbishop of Sydney __ Norman Thomas Cardinal Gilroy who enlisted in WWI by lowering his age, with Father Con Donovan
at the Blessing and opening of one of the many Church buildings erected in Father's hard-working , self-effacing time.

In due course, I received a letter from the Seminary requiring me to present myself at Saint Mary's Cathedral for an interview. I arrived in good time on the appointed day and found that the interviews were to be conducted in the Sacristy area. There was a large number of us, and we gathered in a passageway off the Sacristy sitting on long pews. I recall one of the students was greatly excited about his forthcoming visit to the Melbourne Olympic Games. He is now a Priest in Sydney's West.

Finally, I was ushered into the Sacristy where the interviewing panel was headed by no less a person than the Archbishop, Cardinal Norman Gilroy. Monsignor Dunne was also there and Dr. Joyner I believe, but I couldn't vouch for the rest. But I think there were five in all.The word SILENCE in large red letters dominated the Sacristy.

His Eminence did almost all the talking, perhaps after a brief introduction by the Rector. He was the soul of kindness and generosity of spirit. He understood that I had gone to Marist Brothers Darlinghurst (about 14 miles from my home)to preserve my Latin and knew that was a token of my earnest intention. But he was concerned at the "great difficulty" such lengthy travel to and fro each day must have been. I had never thought much about it. But I was mightily impressed that a Cardinal could think of my personal difficulties.

 In the end, I was thanked for attending and told that I would receive a letter in due course. I walked out greatly relieved and joyful and yet wondering how things would be. A visit to the Blessed Sacrament followed before I went out into the world it was all about saving.

Posted 24th November 2011 by vexilla regis

Labels: CARDINAL GILROY DR.GEORGE JOYNER FATHER CON DONOVAN LATIN MONSIGNOR CHARLIE DUNNE SACRISTY SAINT COLUMBA'S COLLEGE SAINT PATRICK'S COLLEGE SEMINARY