worried Hedda.
‘Is this all true then, Hedda my boy?’
‘Yes, Monsignor,’ he said. ‘The constable thought it best if I came to you, although the Lord knows what we can do about her.’
‘She’s smitten with the faith, so she is,’ smiled the priest. ‘And terrible it is when folks get like that. Now, if we – or if I – tell her she’s doing wrong, that she’s sinning even or misbehaving in the sight of God, she might go all to pieces, eh? We might lose her all together. She won’t understand at all. If she’s so smitten, we’d by playing with dangerous emotions, so I think we’ll leave her to her own devices – but we’ll be cunning with it,’ he added with a smile.
‘But Monsignor,’ I protested on behalf of Hedda Flynn. ‘You can’t let her go on giving all the family income to the church …’
His eyes flashed, albeit with understanding. ‘I can, constable, I can, and I will. But I can give it all back to Hedda, not to Teresa.’
He stood up and went to a safe behind a painting on the wall, unlocked it and handed a roll of notes to Hedda.
‘Here you are, Hedda Flynn. I’d been wondering where these huge amounts were coming from, and one day I saw Teresa stuffing the money into the box. I didn’t think she could afford all this but didn’t like to offend her or you by questioning your generosity. Now I know the truth, and it’s your money. So take it. And now, you must continue to let her think she’s doing the right thing – it’ll keep the peace at home, eh? Let her put the money into the box, and then, every Friday, you come around at tea-time, and I’ll give it back to you. How’s that?’
‘Oh, thank you, Father. Thank you,’ beamed the happy fellow. ‘Now I can pay all my bills … yes, I’ll do what you say. But isn’t that being deceitful? Isn’t it unfair to Teresa to deceive her in this way?’
‘I think the constable will agree I’m committing no crime by breaking into my own offertory box to give you your own money back. So just tell your Teresa that the Lord is providing as she believes He will, and let it rest there,’ suggested the Monsignor. ‘Don’t try to explain. Let this thing work itself out.’
And I agreed. I was pleased Hedda wasn’t the thief, and later I saw Teresa walking with a saintly air about her, believing the Lord was providing all her family needs.
We never did catch the other person who was raiding the offertory boxes. I can only hope it was someone whose need was as genuine and as great as that of Hedda Flynn.
Another man with a theft problem was Rugby-player Ted Donaldson, a strapping local butcher who stood six foot six inches tall and who weighed seventeen stone. His worry caused my mind to return to my training school lectures and to problems of criminal intent, or mens rea as legal men prefer to call it.
‘Gotta minute, officer?’ he approached me as I stood beside the telephone kiosk in Strensford’s bustling fishmarket.
‘Yes,’ I said, wondering why this massive fellow wore such a worried look.
‘You might have to arrest me,’ he said, and I must admit it was a thought that did not appeal to me, even if he was currently very docile and submissive.
‘Why, have you done something wrong?’ I asked.
‘Dunno,’ he said, and with that he produced a brown leather wallet from his jacket pocket. It was the type many men carried, the sort which could be bought at most chain stores. Then he produced another identical one and showed me them both, weighing one in each of his massive hands.
‘Identical, aren’t they?’ he said, and I nodded.
‘So, what’s the problem?’ I put to him.
‘You’ve not had a report of a robbery with violence, have you?’ he asked. ‘You chaps are not looking for a bloke like me?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Should we be looking for somebody like you?’
‘Bloody funny,’ he said. ‘Well, I’d better tell you the story.’
He reminded me that the summer season in
‘Is this all true then, Hedda my boy?’
‘Yes, Monsignor,’ he said. ‘The constable thought it best if I came to you, although the Lord knows what we can do about her.’
‘She’s smitten with the faith, so she is,’ smiled the priest. ‘And terrible it is when folks get like that. Now, if we – or if I – tell her she’s doing wrong, that she’s sinning even or misbehaving in the sight of God, she might go all to pieces, eh? We might lose her all together. She won’t understand at all. If she’s so smitten, we’d by playing with dangerous emotions, so I think we’ll leave her to her own devices – but we’ll be cunning with it,’ he added with a smile.
‘But Monsignor,’ I protested on behalf of Hedda Flynn. ‘You can’t let her go on giving all the family income to the church …’
His eyes flashed, albeit with understanding. ‘I can, constable, I can, and I will. But I can give it all back to Hedda, not to Teresa.’
He stood up and went to a safe behind a painting on the wall, unlocked it and handed a roll of notes to Hedda.
‘Here you are, Hedda Flynn. I’d been wondering where these huge amounts were coming from, and one day I saw Teresa stuffing the money into the box. I didn’t think she could afford all this but didn’t like to offend her or you by questioning your generosity. Now I know the truth, and it’s your money. So take it. And now, you must continue to let her think she’s doing the right thing – it’ll keep the peace at home, eh? Let her put the money into the box, and then, every Friday, you come around at tea-time, and I’ll give it back to you. How’s that?’
‘Oh, thank you, Father. Thank you,’ beamed the happy fellow. ‘Now I can pay all my bills … yes, I’ll do what you say. But isn’t that being deceitful? Isn’t it unfair to Teresa to deceive her in this way?’
‘I think the constable will agree I’m committing no crime by breaking into my own offertory box to give you your own money back. So just tell your Teresa that the Lord is providing as she believes He will, and let it rest there,’ suggested the Monsignor. ‘Don’t try to explain. Let this thing work itself out.’
And I agreed. I was pleased Hedda wasn’t the thief, and later I saw Teresa walking with a saintly air about her, believing the Lord was providing all her family needs.
We never did catch the other person who was raiding the offertory boxes. I can only hope it was someone whose need was as genuine and as great as that of Hedda Flynn.
Another man with a theft problem was Rugby-player Ted Donaldson, a strapping local butcher who stood six foot six inches tall and who weighed seventeen stone. His worry caused my mind to return to my training school lectures and to problems of criminal intent, or mens rea as legal men prefer to call it.
‘Gotta minute, officer?’ he approached me as I stood beside the telephone kiosk in Strensford’s bustling fishmarket.
‘Yes,’ I said, wondering why this massive fellow wore such a worried look.
‘You might have to arrest me,’ he said, and I must admit it was a thought that did not appeal to me, even if he was currently very docile and submissive.
‘Why, have you done something wrong?’ I asked.
‘Dunno,’ he said, and with that he produced a brown leather wallet from his jacket pocket. It was the type many men carried, the sort which could be bought at most chain stores. Then he produced another identical one and showed me them both, weighing one in each of his massive hands.
‘Identical, aren’t they?’ he said, and I nodded.
‘So, what’s the problem?’ I put to him.
‘You’ve not had a report of a robbery with violence, have you?’ he asked. ‘You chaps are not looking for a bloke like me?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Should we be looking for somebody like you?’
‘Bloody funny,’ he said. ‘Well, I’d better tell you the story.’
He reminded me that the summer season in
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