many fine people in the IRA but he’s not one of them. He was a thug and a bully and was expelled from the organisation. He came to Scotland and he still mouths off about his so-called rebel heroics.”
“What happened then, Father?”
“Your father confronted him with the information about young Pat and his cohorts and asked what he intended to do about it. Sean laughed and praised his son for his initiative.”
“That would be like waving a red rag to a bull,” said Theresa, “I know my father’s temper.”
“Yes, I’m afraid your father smacked him around and, like all bullies, Sean capitulated, pleading your father to stop, asking what he wanted from him.”
“And just what did my father want?”
“He ordered Sean to get Pat to report to me at the presbytery so that I could put him to work for our community. Since then, Pat and his little gang of miscreants have been helping your father at the sports ground. Furthermore, they seem to be enjoying it. That’s the good news – the bad news is that Sean bears a grudge against your father for humiliating him. My guess is that he’s exacting revenge by these letters.”
“I see,” said Theresa, “that makes sense, so what do I do, Father?”
“Give the letters to me, lass. I’ll fix it.”
Martin Michael Rutherford was baptised in St Patrick’s Church and all adjourned to Silvertrees. Theresa had hired Dawson’s Catering to supply plenty of food and ordered the liquid refreshments through her uncle Kevin. Her father had not attended the baptismal service. He was working a double shift to pay off the bookies. A ‘sure thing’ at the races had run last. Eddie Waters, his shiftmate, had a greyhound called Wee Rose. “It can’t lose, Martin. It’s the class dog in the field.”
Round the last bend, Wee Rose, in the lead, drifted off the track and finished stone motherless last. “I’m sorry, Martin. We’ve done our dough.”
“Don’t worry, Eddie. The problem’s easily fixed. The dog just needs balancing.”
“Balancing!” said Eddie. “What the hell are ye talkin’ about?”
“The dog drifts right, so we balance by inserting a little bit of lead in its left ear.”
“How do we do that, Martin?”
“With a bloody 303 rifle!” retorted an irate Martin.
Father Gallagher did his best to get Martin to come and wet his only grandson’s head but, to no avail. “I’m surprised that a Catholic priest can bring himself to baptise a child who is illegitimate in the eyes of the Church.”
“Martin, Martin, there is no such thing as an illegitimate child, only illegitimate parents, and I’m sure young Theresa is not one of those. Are you without sin, Martin? Will you cast the first stone? Have you no compassion, man, for your first-born?”
Martin shook his head and walked away. This matter had soured his relationship with the priest. Father O’Neil would have taken the correct line. He would never have condoned fornication. Father Gallagher looked after him and reflected about the sign outside Gavin’s church proclaiming, “This church is not full of hypocrites. There is always room for more.”
He’d suggested something similar outside St Pat’s but the bishop deemed it unnecessary, “We always have a full house, Dermot. It’s a mortal sin to miss mass, as you well know.”
“I’m real sorry your father isn’t here, Theresa. He’ll not listen to reason, at all, at all.”
“Don’t worry about it, Father. One day, he’ll relent, I’m sure. Now, will you favour the company with a song? My mother tells me you’re a big success.”
“I was invited to record a selection of Scottish and Irish airs and I’m glad to say they’ve been very popular with the public. I’ll sing the song about our own Lochside – Gavin, the key of F, if you please.”
By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes ,
Where the sun shines bright on loch Lomon’ ,
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae
On the bonnie, bonnie
“What happened then, Father?”
“Your father confronted him with the information about young Pat and his cohorts and asked what he intended to do about it. Sean laughed and praised his son for his initiative.”
“That would be like waving a red rag to a bull,” said Theresa, “I know my father’s temper.”
“Yes, I’m afraid your father smacked him around and, like all bullies, Sean capitulated, pleading your father to stop, asking what he wanted from him.”
“And just what did my father want?”
“He ordered Sean to get Pat to report to me at the presbytery so that I could put him to work for our community. Since then, Pat and his little gang of miscreants have been helping your father at the sports ground. Furthermore, they seem to be enjoying it. That’s the good news – the bad news is that Sean bears a grudge against your father for humiliating him. My guess is that he’s exacting revenge by these letters.”
“I see,” said Theresa, “that makes sense, so what do I do, Father?”
“Give the letters to me, lass. I’ll fix it.”
Martin Michael Rutherford was baptised in St Patrick’s Church and all adjourned to Silvertrees. Theresa had hired Dawson’s Catering to supply plenty of food and ordered the liquid refreshments through her uncle Kevin. Her father had not attended the baptismal service. He was working a double shift to pay off the bookies. A ‘sure thing’ at the races had run last. Eddie Waters, his shiftmate, had a greyhound called Wee Rose. “It can’t lose, Martin. It’s the class dog in the field.”
Round the last bend, Wee Rose, in the lead, drifted off the track and finished stone motherless last. “I’m sorry, Martin. We’ve done our dough.”
“Don’t worry, Eddie. The problem’s easily fixed. The dog just needs balancing.”
“Balancing!” said Eddie. “What the hell are ye talkin’ about?”
“The dog drifts right, so we balance by inserting a little bit of lead in its left ear.”
“How do we do that, Martin?”
“With a bloody 303 rifle!” retorted an irate Martin.
Father Gallagher did his best to get Martin to come and wet his only grandson’s head but, to no avail. “I’m surprised that a Catholic priest can bring himself to baptise a child who is illegitimate in the eyes of the Church.”
“Martin, Martin, there is no such thing as an illegitimate child, only illegitimate parents, and I’m sure young Theresa is not one of those. Are you without sin, Martin? Will you cast the first stone? Have you no compassion, man, for your first-born?”
Martin shook his head and walked away. This matter had soured his relationship with the priest. Father O’Neil would have taken the correct line. He would never have condoned fornication. Father Gallagher looked after him and reflected about the sign outside Gavin’s church proclaiming, “This church is not full of hypocrites. There is always room for more.”
He’d suggested something similar outside St Pat’s but the bishop deemed it unnecessary, “We always have a full house, Dermot. It’s a mortal sin to miss mass, as you well know.”
“I’m real sorry your father isn’t here, Theresa. He’ll not listen to reason, at all, at all.”
“Don’t worry about it, Father. One day, he’ll relent, I’m sure. Now, will you favour the company with a song? My mother tells me you’re a big success.”
“I was invited to record a selection of Scottish and Irish airs and I’m glad to say they’ve been very popular with the public. I’ll sing the song about our own Lochside – Gavin, the key of F, if you please.”
By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes ,
Where the sun shines bright on loch Lomon’ ,
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae
On the bonnie, bonnie
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