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Accompanied by photographer and Holy
Family website guru Bernard Stanley,
I met this at times rather brusque and yet paradoxically
unassuming man at his retirement flat in Burnham. During
our question-and-answer session I was surprised –
astonished even – at his level of forthrightness. He
held absolutely nothing back in regard to his feelings
for Fr Crawfurd and the time they spent together, to the
degree that I was forced to say I could not possibly
publish much of what he was saying.
‘Why ever
not? It’s the truth,’ was his robust reply. I countered
that, as a professional journalist, I would not normally
be displeased to uncover snippets of controversy and
even sensationalism but in this instance was producing
an article for the consumption of the Holy Family
parish, and perhaps even the diocese as a whole, and was
loath to include comments that would inevitably turn
people against him. Fr Brian had by this time served
just short of fifty years as a priest and his own Golden
Jubilee celebrations were bright on the horizon. It was
for his own sake and I did not mind telling him so.
He was unabashed. The old catchphrase, ‘Publish and be
damned’ might almost have been coined by him. He wanted
to tell the truth as he saw it -- the whole truth and
nothing but the truth. I remember thinking he was either
very brave or very foolish; and I had a good deal of
thinking to do about how I was going to present his
comments. On the other hand, I could not help harbouring
a sneaking regard for his honesty and utter
fearlessness, even at the risk of tarnishing his
reputation.
During the course of the interview, when I was following
a particular line of questioning, he asked me out of the
blue if I would write his life story and get it
published in the diocesan newspaper, The Vine. I
did not know quite what to say or think, beyond
wondering whether his story was indeed worth writing. I
said I would think about it and give him a ring, as I
was doing a lot of work for the brochure and did not
want to get too bogged down. I asked him if he had any
family photos I could look at – pictures of him as a
youngster, perhaps along with his parents. He had none.
I was incredulous. ‘Surely you have some photos
somewhere?’ He said he had got rid of them all and I
straightaway concluded that this must be a man with a
store of unhappy childhood memories.
Suffice to say, I decided in the end to write his story.
It was duly published in The Vine and revealed
among other things an interesting set of circumstances
leading up to his decision to become a priest. So much
so that colleagues to whom I spoke following his Golden
Jubilee Mass at St Ethelbert’s in 2007 told me they
could scarcely believe that this was the same man they
had known all those years. He had been revealed, to coin
another phrase, as a bit of a surprise packet. They
began to view him in a different light.
True to form, Fr Brian was most put out when he saw in
the brochure that I
had omitted several of the poison-tipped barbs he had
aimed at Fr Crawfurd. ‘You left it all out,’ he said
with the despairing air of an editor reproving a junior
reporter for discarding all the best bits. I began
seriously to question my own judgement. My editing out
of the ‘best bits’ had been, as stated, for his sake and
perhaps in the end it was the wrong decision. I
immediately regretted having done it when I saw how
disappointed he was…a bit like a nervous cub reporter
with a streak of yellow running down his back. Publish
and be damned: he had been right all along. It was his
story after all; and if he was game, why shouldn’t I
have been? I think that’s largely how he felt.
And it's largely how I
felt at the time
Looking back on it
all, however, I think I was being a little hard on
myself. My action in omitting much of what Fr
Brian had told me was driven by a noble premise:
that of wishing to preserve the good names of two
outstanding priests who had served their Church and
their community with unstinting selflessness and
loyalty. Now, in sober contemplation, I'm glad I
did. And that is where we will leave it.
On a different topic, he had revealed that his happiest
years had been as parish priest of St Ethelbert’s.
Indeed, so well known was he in cosmopolitan Slough town
that he was constantly stopped by his former
parishioners during our tour of the Queensmere shopping
centre adjacent to the church, much like an ageing pop
star being greeted by fans of yesteryear. One lady
insisted on buying him tea – ‘It will warm you; you
mustn’t catch a chill.’
He told me he had to get some throat lozenges. I was
amazed when he bought not just packets but boxes of the
stuff. His preference was for Hall’s lozenges, so strong
that many people cannot take them. I asked why he
needed to buy in bulk. ‘They’re much cheaper here in
Slough than in Burnham and so I’m taking the opportunity
to stock up.’ It was the most incredible thing I
had seen. Here was this man of the cloth marching out of
the store with me in tow armed with box upon box of
Hall’s lozenges. I imagined he must have had an
addiction to them and sucked them like sweets. Small
wonder, then, that his sermons had been of the old
biblical fire-and-brimstone variety!
Similarly on the journey back to Burnham, when a driver
cut sharply across us on a roundabout. I can report that
there was no priestly blessing for that particular lady.
In the brief time I knew Fr Brian, I grew to like and
understand him; and I believe the feeling was
reciprocated. He struck me as an honourable, kindly and
basically decent man who had been intent on living a
life of service to others, wanting little for himself.
Of
such are saints made.
Even slightly grumpy ones.
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