True Stories of the Faith

Irish Jesuit Province

True Stories of the FaithAuthor(s): Delia GleesonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 59, No. 695 (May, 1931), pp. 300-307Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20513019 .

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TRUE STORIES OF THE FAITH.

HE fresh spring breeze whirled across the great wide road, down which Mr. Pickwicke drove into Essex, and the April sun shone down on the

congregation streaming out of the unusually imposing East End London church. The nine o'clock Mass was especially for the children, but it seemed also the

mothers' Mass, judging by their numbers, as they ambled slowly down the steps, smiling and animated, hailing their nieighbours and friends appearing through the wide-flung doors.

Little groups gathered here and there, young girls surrounding one or other of the ladies from the Settle

ment, discussing club matters or sodalities or coming dances. Sheila McDermott was standing on the outskirts with a keen eye for a delinquent who promtised to turn up-then a sudden sight, and a greeiting of satisfaction, followed by a hurried word of encouragement. Hailed by onie after another, she had a sally for all, but broke away as a knot of workhouse women began to disperse. 'She joined them, walking slowly their way until their roads parted. As she waved her adieux and turned to cross the street, one of them, old Mrs. Davis, put ther hand on her arm, looking up with sad, wistful eyes. "Did you see my Jer. in the infirmary this week? He

was brought in with pewnmonie. I 'aven't seen him for a. long time now; down in the country since he left the sojers; forgets his poor old mother, an' him all I 'ave! I know you'll like him, for he's not a bad lad,

but easy led, God help 1him an' I kept Ihim to the Catho lic school and all that; but once they grows up in Lon don 'tis 'ard to keep 'em straight. YouIll talk, to him,

won't you, and get him to his Eater duty, maybe, now that he's in the infirmary."

Sheila was instantly interested; Mrs. Davis was one of her particular friends. Through her frequent visits to the workhouse and infirmary she was brought into close contact with both inmates-and officials. Of all her



TRUE STORIES oP THE FAITH 301

interests at the Settlement this was the dearest and most congenial of her works. There was but time for a. little word of hope and sympathy, and the sad old

mother turned away to join the other women awaiting her.

Striding down the narrow streets, sihut in from the welcome spring sunshine by the tall buildings on either side, Sheila subconsciously we:nt to her destination, a dreary slum, to see a widow for whom she had found work; but all the way her brain was full of plans for Mrs. Davis's son Jer. How fortunate she had not left for Ireland last week, when her stipula-ted time at the Settlemenat had expired, and her successor was arriving on the morrow, but at the request of the priest and the head worker, together with her own ardent desire, she had promised to remain in London until after the Easter Communion at the Instituition on Holy Thursday. Entering the ward next day, she had good news of the patient; he had made rapid recovery and was uip and. soon expected his discharge. His mother had been to see Ihim yesterday, and the meeting had given her

great joy. She found him playing draughts, and as he rose to greet her, the tall, well-set-up soldierly figure and pleasant boyish smile attracted her notice; he was evidently a favourite, for the men informed her that Jer. was "c a great boy," ready with a, hand at anything, and for sure the Sister and Nurses would mriss him when he left. Indeed even tlhen, in ansver to lher ques tions as to recent arrivals, he told her of one or two cases whom the men suspected, were careless Catholics, and thought a visit, or a word even, as she passed certain beds, would be welcome. She saw him often during her daily visits throughout the week that followed, alluding often to his future, with work i:n the country, near a church, and a cottage perhaps, where hie could have his mother now and then to see him-they became great friends. Those were busy delightful hlours, coming down from the other end of London, huinting up strayed sheep, up and down stairs, and in and out of wards, with talks and, tales, and jokes, all



302 TER IRISH MON?ITLY

leading up to the great question. And when the answer came-often with a merry laugh or a moist eye "There, you have me nox?r. I was bred, born and reared in :the City of Limeriek, and I'll be glad to see

the priest when he comes for the Easter Duty, sure enough," and Sheila exulting at the close of evening, would rush away to catdh a bus homewards, ready for the interrupted fray in the morning.

Spy Wednesday afternoon broucght the end. The Sister's room was turned into a Confessional for those up and about, and the priest was kept going, at the work to which he was devoted for sone years; a young athletic curate admired by all. Holy Thursday morn ing Sheila caught the six o'clock train from Victoria, going down through tlhe city by the underground, past the Mansion House, Aldgate, Whitechapel, with

memories of Jack the Ripper, and a story told her by one of the women in her district came vividly before her. She was a flower-seller and had come back from Covent Garden market with her basket in the very early hours of a spring morniing. Leaving the undergrourd station she stood at the entrance to rest from fher load,

when from the deserted road a young man dashed in and stopped unexpectedly, then broke out excitedly: "Another murder this morning."1 And here followed details of the place, and the tragedy, and the speaker vanished as he had come, weirdly.

Horrified and alarmed, the thoujght flashed througlh her brain: But how did the man know? The papers can't be out for some hours yet, and seeing a policeman on the beat she cried, "Run ! Jack the Ripper has gone down to, get the train. Now you have him at last !"I

The constable had covered the distance to the stair way and disappeared before her last Injunction was finished. She waited breathlessly, but when the police

man reappeared he was alone. " Why," he said, with disgust, " I searched, the whole train, but there was only an old man with a long grey beard humped up in a corner."I

" That was your man, don't you, know his clever dis



TRUE STORIES OF THE FAITH 303

guises.", Without a word the policeman fled down again to catch the train, but too late; the wire however was set in motion all down the line, but neither an old man nor a young man was to be found. An hour later, the first papers appeared with the exact detalls of the Jack the Ripper murder, such as were told to the flower seller in the early hours, and to her dying day Mrs. Barry inmplicitly believed that she had(M seen and heard the still mysterious Jack the Ripper!

"Stephney Green," in a porter's loud, raucous, Cockney voice, brought her back to the present, as the train pulled up, and ruinning lightly uip the stairs, she found herself once more in the open, and tihe freslh air lent buoyancy to her steps, which in ten minutes brought her to the Workhouse Lodge, and to the In firmary.

In answer to her question, the porter said the Father had arrived some time sinlce. Looking into the Sister's room Q)he saw that the nurses had puit fresh flowers on the altar, and all was bright and devotional. Walk ing slowly down the ward to gather the men, there was a ready response to her announcement that the priest had arrived. Even with those suifferinig, all wished to rise and receive the Lord on their knees, as they put it expressed in different ways, it is true, but in the same clear, true note; indeed the room was almost full on her return. Tihe little congregation must have 'impressed the priest also, for as he passed Sheila he said: " Stay and make a Thanksgiving with them," and handed her an open book with the prayers he wished her to read.

Usually on those occasions, she preceded the Father with a ligthted carndle, kneeling at each curtained bed, while he gave Holy Communion, passing on to the next, so as to avoid keeping the Blessed'Sacrament waiting, atnd to assure that no one should be passed over or for gotten.

In an-instant she had decided on the manner of carry ing out the old method, fearing any one should be dis kappointed. Raising her eyes, she saw JTer. entering the

doorway, his tall figure erect, a solemn astonished look



304 THE IRISH MONTHLY

in his eyves and sihe drew him aside. "Will you -go witlh the priest through the wards with the Blessed Sacra

ment?" aid -she held out the candle -He drew back. "t I"1 a-nd his tone of depreciation and something she could not quite grasp will always be remembered.

Another moment and he had taken the candle humbly, listened to the instructions sihe wished carried out, and knelt down as she began the Confiteor.

How often since has Sheila, thought of that Holy Thursday Communion in the little room of the Work house Infirmary, its simplicity, sweetness, and solem nity. In all the churches in London that morning did the good God come with greater blessings? It was the old scene in tlhe public life, when the Master was sur rounded by the sick, and the poor, and the homeless, and she prayed that of that little band at His Feett, not one of them should be lost.

That night Sfheila crossed to Ireland, and caught up by other work, and unexpected interests in Dublin, it was almost a year before she could pick up the threads and resume her visits to the East End London Work house. There was always a joyful meeting, wheni standing at the door of one of the dayrooms she would give her familiar cry: "Anyone at home?" followed by a chorus of " Welcome back, we was a thinkin' 'twa-s time you came soon." Pausing in their midst she would look around to see if anyone were missing and noticed

at once that old Mrs. Davis whom she particularly wished to see was absent. To her inquiry there was a strange unwonted pause, and at last a voice answered that the old lady had passed away!

Astonished, and rather shocked, she sought further information, but there was nothing apparently forth coming beyond the fact that she had not been well, and the Doctor had ordered her to the Infirmary where she had died. The seeming indifference and lack of sympathy struck her with a pang as unusual. Mrs. Davis was so, kindly and gentle, and a favourite with all, yet no one had a word to say about her, when as a rule the women

were so full of details of kindly deeds and pleasant




ways when any of her old friends had died in her ab sence.

-Throughout the busy days and weeks that followed in and out and at odd moments, through Sheila's mind flashed thoughts of Mrs. Davis, but more especially of

her son Jer., now indeed alone in the world. She felt it a duty to the poor old mother to look after the way

ward son, but all her efforts to find him were in vaini. She came across in the streets, or after the Sunday

Masis, the men who had been his friends in the Infirmary, a.ll so appreciative of her desire to help, and sorrow for the mother's loss, buit one and a11 wound up the con versation with decided doubts of success, or a low mournful 1 'Tis only God Almighty could tell where to find poor Jer.," which was always disconcerting, and only added fresh ardour to her quest. At last when she haad almost decided to trust to the future to solve her difficulties, she was coming out of the chiurch one even ing, and was greeted warmly by an old man of the parish, whom she had known since her first arrivavl at the Settlement. He had been in the Infirmary for the

Easter Communion, and was only now returning from a convalescent home. She had not seen him since that Holy Tlhursday morning. From news of his own health they drifted to recent events, poor Mrs. Davis's death, and then naturally Jer. 's disappearance. He had known both mother and son for years, and listened sympathetically to Sheila's anxieties.

"c The boys were telling me that you were troubled about that misfortunate Jer., and I felt sorry that you know nothing about him. If the priest was here he would. be able to help, but of course now that he has got a parish and left us there's no one that knows about him as Father did; his Reverence was a rare one to get round and understand' them boys.

"' You didn't have a letter from the priest some little time after you left for Ireland maybe?" and Cullen looked at her earnestly.

Sheila racked her brain, then cried, enligihtened: "Why, yes, a card saying, that one of the women of



306 THE IRISH MONTHLY

the district and a club girl had narrowly escaped death in the Infirmary from influenza and should like to hear from me," then she stopped to thinik, aand, " Yes, now I remember, there was a line scrawled at the end, which I made out witth the greatest difficulty, and I have never understood its meaning; some words like this: ' You have seen all about M. C. in the papers.'"

The old man's eyes lit up-" I thought it wasn't like Father not to prepare you somehow. Can't you guess who was M. C.?"

Instantly she understood they were Jer. 's real initials. For obvious reasons h-is name and his

mother's are fictitious in this true romance. "Was there trouble then?" and from tihe anguish in

tihe old man's face she felt some dire calamity had hap pened.

"It wasn't trouble, God help us, but disgrace of the worst, and it broke the poor -mother's heart and upset the priest and the boys more than ever I could tell youi. They were all pleased that you were away in Ireland."

"Jer. did not leave London as we expected then when he was discharged from the Infirmary?"l

"No, indeed, he hadn't that much luck; you know anyone could lead him, but never for good. EHe fell in

with a rough lot -and we lost sight of him for a time.

Then one morning early he met Shaw and borrowed a half-crown , with that he went straight into a shop and bought a knife, then returned to a bouse and cut a woman's throat! The unfortunate fellow found him self robbed and ruined and fflung out into tihe streets, and in a sudden rage he made up his mind to- do for her.

God forgive me, she deserved it, for she turned that boy off the straigiht road when his mind was set on doing right, but the law don't lopk on it in that light, and in another hour he was behind bars! The one thing to do now was to keep the awful news from the poor old

mother, and as she was failing, and not so well that morning, the doctor ordered her over to the Infirmary where she could be guarded from gossiping visitors. It worked well for a while, until one afternoon when there




wma no nurse about, a woman passed) into the ward

during the trial, and said to the simple, innocent old woman that she was sorry for her trouble and that she hoped that her son would be let off-and it was all out!

They thought that Mrs. Davis would die that niglht, and Father was sent for, but brought her round by promising to take her himself next day to see Jer.-you know the big heart of him-and suire enough that was the best day's work the good priest ever did, for it brought mother and son together as when he was a little

Iad running around her and depending ona her for every thing. In his sha-me and misery and fright inothing could keep her away from him, and the priest's kindness to his poor old mother opened Jer. 's eyes to his true friends. The grace of God came with that visit-and it wasn't the onaly one. The last evening miother and son spent together, Father brought Iher to the door and at the end came to give his blessing and a final wordl to

Jer.--a new Jer., I believe-who went before his Judge next morning humble and remorseful, with a message to the boys and a hope that they would all mLaeet in a

better world. "I We buried his poor mother soon after; she was long

ing to go, for she felt sure that Jer. was safe, and only waiting to welcome her home."

Sheila listened to the end in silence; it was her first real contact with crime, and for a time was crushing, but it was a lesson of the wonderful winding ways of I)ivine Providence in search of souls. Poor Jer., with his heritage of faith from those exiled throuigh famine dand oppression, was ix.ow from the degradation of the London slums to rise triumphant through that divine spark that shone on that Holy Thursday morning in the workhouse ward, but was to illuminate those last fateful days before his execution.

DELIA GLEESON.



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True Stories of the Faith