as he hurried away, leaving a mystified Timmy to his sheep. If the good missioner thought Timmy was unusual he was soon to meet an even more out of the ordinary character. As he turned away from Deery’s lane a car shuddered to a halt beside him. A genial face festooned with a black handlebar moustache and heavily brylcreamed black hair shouted out of the window.
‘Can I gie ye a lift, I’m goin’ te yon toon o’ Roggart?’
‘Oh thank you so much. I must get away from this awful godless place.’
Fr O’Connor got into the front passenger seat and was nearly knocked out by the overpowering smell of aftershave and hair oil.
‘Ah ken yr a mon o th’ cloth. Are ye here on yr’ holliers?’
‘Oh no, I’m giving a mission in St Forly’s. Are you a Scotsman?’
‘Hay did ye guess? Ah ma kilt gaye me awa. Ma name is Donald Dunlace, descended from the Dukes of Lammermoor and a distant relation o’ Robbie Burns, the greatest poet the world has ever knane. So, yr geen a mission tae the heathens o’ Roggart. Well my advice is gee them hell fire and brimstone.’
‘I believe you are right, Mr Dunlace, I sometimes wonder why they go to church at all.’
‘Like ma famous ancestor, I’ll answer you in rhyme.’
Some gae te kirk te sigh and pray,
Some gae tae pass the time o’ day,
Some gape at pictures on stained glass,
Some wink at every bonny lass.
‘Here we are in Roggart, Father, where do ye want te be dropped off?’
They were coming near the Parish Church.
‘This will be fine, Mr Dunlace, and thank you for such an interesting conversation.’
‘May the gude laird gae wi ye, father, and don’t forget, fire and brimstone.’
That evening Timmy arrived five minutes late for the mission and Fr O’Connor had already started his sermon when he spotted Timmy slipping in at the back near the choir.
‘Ah, here’s the man who sings modern songs,’ he called out.
‘Stand up, man, are you going to give us Doris Day tonight?’
‘Day tonight?’ Timmy repeated.
‘These pop songs or whatever you call them, they undermine the faith.’
‘Is it your faith you are seeking to undermine?’
‘Answer up, man, what do these songs undermine?’
‘Undermine?’ repeated Timmy.
‘Yes, undermine!’
‘Under yours?’ Timmy was losing track of the question.
‘What’s that, speak up man,’
‘Is it under yours or under mine?’ Timmy queried
‘It’s undermine.’
‘What is?’
By this time the congregation was at bursting point with laughter and realizing that he was going to lose their attention completely Fr O’Connor told Timmy to resume his seat and he himself, with great difficulty, completed his sermon. On his return from the mission in Roggart Fr O’Connor surprised everyone when he resigned from his order and left to join a strictly enclosed monastery where he remained for the rest of his life.
The queen came to Roggart each year
Her kin-folk all trembled with fear
But a former old flame
So affected this dame
She still carried a torch, that was clear.
11
T HE A RRIVAL OF THE Q UEEN OF S HEBA
‘Come out, Maloonys, she’s coming, she’s coming.’
Andy and Oilly Maloony were startled by loud shouting outside their house. They had just finished having their evening tea after a busy day dosing cattle. They both stopped in their tracks and their faces turned white as a sheet.
Timmy Deery’s booming voice continued, ‘Are yez deaf or what?, the queen is coming, the queen of Sheba, she’ll be here in ten minutes, she’s at the station.’
The queen referred to by Timmy was an older sister of Andy and Oilly whose name was Anne but was known as Queenie to her family and friends. Queenie had gone to England as a young girl to train as a nurse. She had been small in size and hoped to train in Ireland but the matron in the Dublin hospital said she would not be strong enough to lift and turn heavy male patients and other strenuous work which would be required. So she decided to
‘Can I gie ye a lift, I’m goin’ te yon toon o’ Roggart?’
‘Oh thank you so much. I must get away from this awful godless place.’
Fr O’Connor got into the front passenger seat and was nearly knocked out by the overpowering smell of aftershave and hair oil.
‘Ah ken yr a mon o th’ cloth. Are ye here on yr’ holliers?’
‘Oh no, I’m giving a mission in St Forly’s. Are you a Scotsman?’
‘Hay did ye guess? Ah ma kilt gaye me awa. Ma name is Donald Dunlace, descended from the Dukes of Lammermoor and a distant relation o’ Robbie Burns, the greatest poet the world has ever knane. So, yr geen a mission tae the heathens o’ Roggart. Well my advice is gee them hell fire and brimstone.’
‘I believe you are right, Mr Dunlace, I sometimes wonder why they go to church at all.’
‘Like ma famous ancestor, I’ll answer you in rhyme.’
Some gae te kirk te sigh and pray,
Some gae tae pass the time o’ day,
Some gape at pictures on stained glass,
Some wink at every bonny lass.
‘Here we are in Roggart, Father, where do ye want te be dropped off?’
They were coming near the Parish Church.
‘This will be fine, Mr Dunlace, and thank you for such an interesting conversation.’
‘May the gude laird gae wi ye, father, and don’t forget, fire and brimstone.’
That evening Timmy arrived five minutes late for the mission and Fr O’Connor had already started his sermon when he spotted Timmy slipping in at the back near the choir.
‘Ah, here’s the man who sings modern songs,’ he called out.
‘Stand up, man, are you going to give us Doris Day tonight?’
‘Day tonight?’ Timmy repeated.
‘These pop songs or whatever you call them, they undermine the faith.’
‘Is it your faith you are seeking to undermine?’
‘Answer up, man, what do these songs undermine?’
‘Undermine?’ repeated Timmy.
‘Yes, undermine!’
‘Under yours?’ Timmy was losing track of the question.
‘What’s that, speak up man,’
‘Is it under yours or under mine?’ Timmy queried
‘It’s undermine.’
‘What is?’
By this time the congregation was at bursting point with laughter and realizing that he was going to lose their attention completely Fr O’Connor told Timmy to resume his seat and he himself, with great difficulty, completed his sermon. On his return from the mission in Roggart Fr O’Connor surprised everyone when he resigned from his order and left to join a strictly enclosed monastery where he remained for the rest of his life.
The queen came to Roggart each year
Her kin-folk all trembled with fear
But a former old flame
So affected this dame
She still carried a torch, that was clear.
11
T HE A RRIVAL OF THE Q UEEN OF S HEBA
‘Come out, Maloonys, she’s coming, she’s coming.’
Andy and Oilly Maloony were startled by loud shouting outside their house. They had just finished having their evening tea after a busy day dosing cattle. They both stopped in their tracks and their faces turned white as a sheet.
Timmy Deery’s booming voice continued, ‘Are yez deaf or what?, the queen is coming, the queen of Sheba, she’ll be here in ten minutes, she’s at the station.’
The queen referred to by Timmy was an older sister of Andy and Oilly whose name was Anne but was known as Queenie to her family and friends. Queenie had gone to England as a young girl to train as a nurse. She had been small in size and hoped to train in Ireland but the matron in the Dublin hospital said she would not be strong enough to lift and turn heavy male patients and other strenuous work which would be required. So she decided to
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