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I was a good priest. I was very kind and understanding and I became a good listener to people. Being a priest enriched my life no end. To have people trust you and want to talk to you and to confide in you was a great privilege and I look back on all those daysContinue reading “True confessions”

Sometimes people have asked me if I ever miss anything about being a priest. ‘Do I miss saying Mass?’ for example. The truth is that I do not miss anything about being a priest, since when I left I moved into a fuller life for myself when I came away and married. It was aContinue reading “To raise a hand in blessing”

Chris Gaffney, a contemporary of mine, and of blessed memory, came up with a theory of Redemptorist life, which I feel sure, is true of all life. In this world, he said, there are barons, intellectuals and boneheads. People fall into, or are divided into one of these three categories. The barons rule the roostContinue reading “The Corridors of Power”

‘Sure, you know yourself,’ my brother, Michael will say in his e-mails to me, whenever he tells me something. It is a comical homage to that old, wise, Irish way of engaging with another in friendly conversation. Rather than dictate life to anyone an Irish person might lay out a scenario and then add thisContinue reading “Sure, You Know, Yourself”

I am sitting on the floor in the dining room. Mammy is in the kitchen at the kitchen sink washing up, or perhaps doing the weekly laundry by hand, in those days before we got a washing machine. I am playing with my toys, perhaps with my favourite farmyard and its animals and beside meContinue reading “The Coastline of Mayo”

Two lassies in a car, lost in the lanes of Limerick, looking for an abbey. Murroe, is it? Hopelessly lost among the lanes they saw a farmer in his field and stopped to ask his help. ‘We’re lost,’ they said. It was that hopeless definition on their situation. The end of the world: How wouldContinue reading “The Lanes of Limerick”

When Margaret diedI thought the game was upHappiness was gone for evermoreNo more I’d take the field of playI’d sit up in the standsAnd one day the seat I hadWould never see me more No matter that I had my sonWhose life I cherish soI could not see a happy Brian thereI’d do what IContinue reading “Rising Again”

I wrote this six years ago and it is worth sharing today.(May 2021) Still grievingIt was a very sunny morning this morning when I went out for a walk. Nearly three years since Margaret died and I am feeling sad. My sadness does not seem to want to leave me. The sky was blue andContinue reading “Daily Reflections 1”

Saturday Sunday morningsOn the ‘Bottom Field’Boys gathered round the game to playTwenty a side sometimesDidn’t bother usThe memory of itWith me to this day Over on the commonThe Boys Brigade in tuneMarching up and down for all they’re worthOne day a son of mine would beA member of that bandNot TyldesleyBut on Stirling’s sacred earthContinue reading “Post War Playtime”

Tyldesley had a language of its ownAn accent and a dialect so strongOthers from a few miles down the roadCouldn’t fathom ‘owt’ about what’s wrong Cousins in from Manchester– That’s foreignTheir accent much milder then by farBut my friends in Bongs didn’t think soAnd they listeningCouldn’t wait to give their verdictAnd to jaw My palContinue reading “A Language That The Stranger Does Not Know”

We used to play at busesWhen we were childrenSitting on the stairs in single fileOne was the driverOne the conductorThe other two were passengersFor a mile The driver made a noiseJust like the engineChanging gearChanging tone of voiceThe other gave out tickets and took moneyThe other two just sat there with no choice Lancashire UnitedContinue reading “Astley Brew”

Do you know the JigIn Tyldesley?It’s a set of streetsThat tumble down the brewMiss Rush lived her daysIn one of themShe was my teacherWhen I came from Infant Two Infant Three her classAnd all before herKnew how to best behaveAnd make no dinShe could look sternAnd shoutedIf she needed toBut we knew misbehaving was aContinue reading “Miss Rush”

I had a fightWith my school pal Kenny ThompsonOn the crescentWe had a right set-toI didn’t like to fightBut there’s a limitWhen another lad is forever goading you My mother came to stop meFeeling anxiousBut my father pulled her backKeep well awayIf you stop him you might well break his spiritHe’ll never learn to fightContinue reading “The Good Fight”

To Hell With Death’s Dominion How could World War TwoHave been prevented?A question that I often ask myselfIt didn’t have to beI get the feelingIf other factorsCame down from the shelf The bloodshed and the crueltyEnormousSix long years of bloody miseryTurning a blind eye toGrowing rumblesLetting evil men go onScot-free The shock of World WarContinue reading “To Hell With Death’s Dominion”

It’s beautiful, KinnoullA hill above the TayThat forms a bendFlowing from DunkeldAnd lapping PerthIt makes a turning eastwardFor Dundee and the seaAs I beheld Standing on the heightA world around meA cliff face sheerDropping to the floorAnd on the gentle slopeA monasteryHidden by some treesYou should explore Once a stone bare buildingOn a barren hillAContinue reading “Kinnoull”