Unspoken

by Gerard Stembridge

  ‘Pope Paul is about to promulgate Sacrosanctum Concilium, the practical effect of which will be far-reaching, changing the experience of worship for, if I may so express it and very much between ourselves, Mr Kiely, even the most passively ignorant of our flock. If I may quote from memory a short passage which is particularly germane to our conversation today: “The rite of the Mass is to be revised in such a way… that devout and active participation by the faithful may be more easily achieved.”’

  Fr Mullaly saw that Cormac Kiely clearly understood the profound implications of the Pontiff’s text.

  ‘Father, are you saying it is really going to happen? In our lifetime? That we are actually talking about –’

  He paused, looked at the altar and opened his palm towards it in what Father Mullaly interpreted as a graceful and reverential gesture.

  ‘The priest facing the people?’

  ‘That is exactly what I am talking about and, Mr Kiely, believe me, it will happen more quickly than any of us would have dared to prophesy. Which is why I ask you here today. I want you to design a refurbishment of this church, a refurbishment that will reflect, affirm and indeed celebrate the new dispensation. I want Our Lady of Consolation to be the first church in the diocese, perhaps in the country, to represent physically, archtecturally, the theological developments advanced by his late Holiness Pope John and about to be decreed by his successor, Paul. Do you think you are the man for the task?’

  Mr Cormac Kiely said it would be an honour, and then delighted Father Mullaly even more by immediately asking quite a profound question.

  ‘If the priest is now to face his congregation during the liturgy instead of turning his back as has been the practice for centuries, how will that alter the relationship between pastor and flock? Isn’t there a danger that barriers might be broken down in a way that might not be appropriate or healthy?’

  Cormac Kiely had cut right to the heart of the matter. There were subtle dangers involved in these profound changes. Father Mullaly was all too aware after fours years in charge of this parish that many of his flock had minimal education and only the most basic grasp of their religion. Pope Paul’s proposals were of such consequence that ignorant people might misunderstand and possibly abuse the new dispensation. It was, he observed tactfully to Mr Kiely, up to those who understood better and more fully appreciated what was happening to guide their less-educated fellows very carefully. In this instance an architect might have to shoulder, if it was not too great a burden, a measure of theological responsibility. Father Mullaly’s inclusive smile, as he spoke those words, was returned with warm understanding by Mr Kiely. They would get along very well together. Before leaving, the architect delicately broached a practical matter.

  ‘In considering possible ways of doing this, Father, should I have a particular budget in mind? I have found that it is always better to know the financial restrictions from the beginning.’

  Father Mullaly appreciated the question. He had given some thought to this himself.

  ‘Well, of course we’re not building St Peter’s Basilica.’

  Both men smiled.

  ‘It is a refurbishment of a small parish church. However, neither is it merely repair work. Let us think of it as, first and foremost, a task of Divine significance and I will be emphasising this to my parishioners when the question of serious fundraising arises. Also it has been noticeable – I’m sure you have seen this in your part of town – that, over the last couple of years, the employment prospects of the men of the parish have greatly improved. Many now have more money in their pockets and my perception is that this situation is likely to continue and indeed improve further – would that be your view?’

  ‘It certainly would, Father. I am of the strong opinion that our unfortunate little country may have finally turned a corner.’

  ‘Exactly. So, to answer your question, we won’t let budget considerations restrict more sacred priorities. I am confident that, in the context of their own increasing prosperity, the generosity of ordinary parishioners towards the important work of the Church will be all the greater. I certainly intend to make it so.’

  *

  It was dark by the time Marian Strong came home from school. She was thrilled to see the television turned on, but thought it was very funny that Gussie and Francis were just sitting staring at the test card like eejits. ‘How long have you been waiting?’ ‘None of your stupid business,’ was the only answer she got for her trouble. Marian told them that it didn’t start until six o’clock and the Angelus would be the first thing on, she had seen it over in Pauline Cosgrave’s. Gussie just said, ‘Shut up will you!’ Marian said that in Pauline’s house they all knelt down for the Angelus. When Gussie shouted at her again, with an awful word this time, Marian turned and went straight out to the scullery and told her mam that Gussie had no manners and he was giving out to her for no reason. She was delighted that her mam went into the back room straight away and said, ‘Leave Marian alone, you. Now, get some coal and light the fire.’ Gussie marched through the scullery in a temper. Marian whispered as he went past, ‘You’re stupid, looking at the television when it’s not even on.’ Then she ran into the front room and slammed the door in case Gussie came after her.

  Now Francis was on his own, waiting. How long more? From the front room he heard Gene Pitney on the record player. It was the only LP Marian had and she was always playing it. He thought about what he was going to see when the television started. He thought it might be like the pictures in his storybooks, only everyone would be moving and talking. He wished it would start. When was six o’clock? Gussie came back in with a bucketful of coal, lit the fire really fast and ran out to put the coal-bucket back in the shed.

  Of course, as soon as he was gone it all started. First there was music and a different picture came up; a kind of a big cross and the words Teilifís Éireann again. Francis shouted, ‘It’s started, it’s started!’ His mam came in, calling everyone. Gene Pitney was turned off, Ritchie and Martin thumped down the stairs and Gussie rushed in, wiping his hands on his jumper. Francis heard a voice say: ‘Teilifís Eireann anseo agaibh.’

  He knew this was Irish. He had started learning some words in school. Teilifís Éireann was Irish television. He also knew what ‘anseo’ meant because when Miss Barrington called out his name at the start of school every day he had to say ‘anseo’. That meant ‘here’ or ‘here I am’. So ‘Teilifís Éireann anseo’ meant ‘Irish television here’. But what about the other word that sounded like ‘a-gwiv’? Francis didn’t know what it meant, and there was no point in asking his mam because she’d just say ‘shut up and don’t be always asking questions’. Now the television had a picture of Holy Mary kneeling in front of an angel and a bell was ringing. His mother blessed herself. Everyone did the same. Then she started praying.

  ‘The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary.’

  All the family answered, except Francis: ‘And she conceived of the Holy Ghost.’

  The bell kept ringing. They all had their hands clasped and were staring at the picture on the television.

  ‘Behold the handmaid of the Lord.’

  Again, everyone except Francis knew what to answer. He was annoyed that he didn’t know. Why had he never heard this prayer before? He thought he knew all the prayers.

  ‘Be it done unto me according to Thy word.’

  Then they said the Hail Mary. He knew that all right. Then his mam went down on one knee and stood back up.

  ‘And the Word was made Flesh.’

  ‘And dwelt among us.’

  After another Hail Mary, his mam started to say a long bit on her own. She said it very fast so it was hard for Francis to understand all the words until near the end.

  ‘… through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.’

  They blessed themselves and at that exact second the bell stopped and the picture changed. Francis saw an old man with a serious face.


  ‘Good evening. Here is the news, read by Charles Mitchell.’

  Francis knew what news was. His mother was always saying it if she met someone or someone came to the house. ‘Any news?’ Then they would talk about people. His mam liked doing that, but not as much as his Aunt Mona, who knew everything about everyone. His dad said, ‘Here comes the news of the world,’ whenever he saw her walking up the road and his mam always laughed. Francis thought Charles Mitchell was like his Aunt Mona. He knew about loads of people. He said Pope Paul had spoken to a crowd in St Peter’s Square. President Kennedy had made a speech. Francis remembered that President Kennedy was in Ireland ages ago before they went to Ballybunion on their holidays and before he started going to school. Some of the people Charles Mitchell talked about had funny names. Francis liked the way they sounded. U Thant, Krus-choff, Mak-ar-ios, Athan… Athanag… agoros. The man whose name was really hard to say had a big black hat and huge grey beard. He looked like he was hundreds of years old. He looked older than Grandad Robert looked when Francis went in to see him dead. Charles Mitchell had a deep voice. He smiled when he said goodbye. His mam said, ‘Hasn’t he a beautiful speaking voice?’

  Then a nice woman looked at them smiling and said that all the children would be happy now because the next programme was… and she said something that sounded like ‘Daw-hee Locka’. Everyone stayed watching. Francis saw the words ‘Daithí Lacha’. He knew Daithí was Irish for David because David McCarthy was in his class and Miss Barrington called him Daithí MacCárthaigh, but he didn’t know what ‘Lacha’ was. The story was about a big duck who wore stripey underpants or maybe they were swimming togs. Was he Daithí Lacha? But he didn’t move or speak. It was only like pictures in a book and a man’s voice told the story in Irish so Francis didn’t understand it. Gussie said it was stupid and his mam said if he didn’t like it he didn’t have to look at it.

  After that a programme called Bat Masterson came on. Gussie said, ‘Oh, this is a cowboy film, it’s brilliant.’ It started with music and words on the screen. B-A-T spelled Bat so Francis knew the other big word must be Masterson. Then he saw more words, STARRING GENE BARRY. He could say Gene because it was the same as Gene Pitney on the cover of Marian’s LP but he didn’t know what the other words were. There were cowboys riding around on horses. They were very mean to a poor old woman. Then Bat Masterson came. He looked different from everyone, not like a normal cowboy at all. He wore a shiny sparkly jacket and had a walking-stick that was gold on top. His hat was different too. The bad guys laughed at him. Francis thought they were going to kill him but Bat won in the end because he was clever and he could talk better than any of them, so he made fools of them. By the end Francis really liked Bat Masterson. The best thing was that he was different from all the other cowboys.

  His mam suddenly said, ‘Oh my God, is that the time? Marian, lay the table for the tea.’ She went out into the scullery but everyone else stayed watching the television. The next programme showed a bird in a hedge hopping from branch to branch. Then there was another bird. And another. A man’s voice was talking in Irish. Francis couldn’t understand him. Gussie said he hoped there was something better coming on after this stupid thing. His mam came in and said, ‘I’m turning that off if you don’t sit down and have your tea.’ They all ran to the table and tried to grab chairs facing the television. Francis wasn’t fast enough. he had to sit with his back to it. His mam said stop turning round, so he gobbled his bread and jam and drank his tea fast. Martin could look straight past Francis at the television and he kept saying things like. ‘Oh wow, look at that. Oh Francis, you’re missing it!’

  ‘I’m finished now Mam, can I look?’

  ‘Put your crockery in the sink first.’

  Francis took his cup and saucer and plate and ran out to the scullery. When he came back, the nice woman was talking again.

  ‘Now it’s time for the lady who puts a smile on everyone’s face. It’s Lucille Ball in I Love Lucy. His mam was very happy when she heard this.

  ‘Oh, Lucille Ball. I have to watch this. She’s great. She’s pure mad.’

  His mam sat down on the couch and Francis sat next to her. She put her arm around him as the happy music started. STARRING LUCILLE BALL. It was the second time he saw the word STARRING. He wished he knew how to say it.

  ‘I’ll let you watch this so, but you’re going to bed as soon as it’s finished.’

  Ritchie asked who was Lucille Ball and his mam said she used to be in loads of films years ago. A woman with fair hair opened her front door. Francis heard people clapping. She was holding a pair of shoes in her hands and came into a room. It was huge, bigger than their whole house. The woman went on tiptoe as if she didn’t want anyone to know she was there. Now Francis heard people laughing but he couldn’t see them. Then a man came in from the kitchen and said, ‘Lucy,’ and she jumped like she got a big fright. Now people were laughing and clapping. Where were all these people? Were they in the house too? Lucy and the man took no notice of the people laughing, they kept talking to each other. Francis couldn’t really understand what they were talking about, but his mam and Gussie and Ritchie and Marian thought it was funny. Francis kept wondering who were all the people on the television laughing that he couldn’t see. His mam squeezed his shoulder and said, ‘Lucy is funny, isn’t she?’ Francis said yes.

  Fonsie Strong heard laughter as he came in the door. When he looked into the back room he saw the strangest sight. The whole family was sitting together, all looking in his direction and laughing. Of course he quickly realised that he was standing next to the television.

  ‘Fonsie, look who’s on. Lucille Ball. She has her own programme.’

  Fonsie couldn’t sit down because he was filthy from work so he stood near the fireplace and watched. Lucy was in her kitchen opening the fridge. Francis asked, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A fridge.’

  ‘What’s a fridge?’

  Fonsie thought to himself it was bad enough before, but now with the television there would be no end to the questions from that child.

  ‘Shh, I’ll tell you after.’

  Francis knew his dad would forget. He said the word in his head so he would remember it. ‘Fridge.’ And ‘a-gwiv’. He would ask Miss Barrington these words tomorrow.

  Now Lucy dropped the bottle of milk and it went all over the floor and she started crying. She scrunched up her face and she sounded like a baby. Francis thought that was funny. Then the man came over to her and went shh shh like she was a little baby who wouldn’t stop crying and that was funny too. Everyone was laughing now, his mam and dad and Ritchie and Gussie and Marian and Martin and all the people on the television that Francis couldn’t see. Then the man said, ‘Oh Lucy, it’s no use crying over spilt milk,’ and the people on the television roared laughing and started clapping. Francis didn’t know why.

  When the programme finished his mam said she was sick from laughing and his dad said, ‘Very good, very nice.’ Francis knew what his mam would say next but he hoped she wouldn’t. ‘Come on now, bed.’ His dad went upstairs to wash himself as his mam pulled Francis towards the door. He said, ‘Please Mam, can I stay up a small while?’ But his mam said he’d seen more than enough for one night and his dad, climbing up the stairs, said the television would still be there tomorrow. Francis wanted to start crying but he knew that would only make his mam really angry and she might bring the television back to the shop and then everyone would blame him, so he didn’t.

  He had to wash his hands and face in the bath because his dad was at the sink. Francis liked the smell of Swarfega. He asked his dad could he have some but his dad said that he wasn’t old enough or dirty enough. His dad was funny sometimes. Then his mam tucked him in and told him when he was five he could stay up later. ‘When am I five?’ His mam just said good night and turned off the light. After a small while Francis got up and crept out to the top of the stairs to peep down but the door of the back room was closed so he couldn�
�t see the television. It wasn’t fair. He went back to the bedroom. The words he didn’t know the meaning of came into his head again: ‘a-gwiv’, ‘fridge’. What was that other word he saw twice? He got his pencil and copybook out and tried to remember. He wrote down S-T-A-R-I-N-G and got back into bed. Just before he fell asleep he remembered another thing he had to ask Miss Barrington. Where is Dublin?

  1964

  Seven: May 28th

  The officials had managed his entrance with marvellous ease. He had been guided expertly and discreetly to the podium, where he saw a hand stretch to shake his and then a face came close enough for him to make out the smiling features of the Speaker of the House. ‘You are welcome, Mr President.’ The Speaker then drew his hand expertly towards the Deputy Speaker, who took it and shook firmly. Then Éamon turned and reached out to find the lectern. Resting his clasped hands there gave him an anchor and he could be confident that he was positioned correctly for the microphones.

  The reception from the distinguished audience was above and beyond. Éamon could not help but be flattered at the persistence of the ovation which went on for surely several minutes and seemed unlikely to abate until, eventually, the Speaker had to employ the gavel. Gratifying indeed, but it made him somewhat more apprehensive about what was to come. He would be speaking without notes. What use would they be to him after all? It helped his concentration to know that the Congressmen and Senators were seated in a wide semi-circle around him, even though, as he peered left and right, it was like viewing an image, almost washed of colour, through a rain-spattered screen.