1953 had been a very abysmal year for me. My mother passed away, leaving just my father and myself. I attended a catholic school, my mother was catholic and my father anglican. Religion was paramount at school, being the first lesson of the day. The school was next to the church, so we were all expected to attend mass, especially Sundays, absence was noticed and explanations forthcoming by Monday were assured. My mother being a devout catholic would take me every Sunday to church, teachers with their families were also present, so everyone in the congregation expected to see you at least attending one of the 4 masses on Sunday.
Once my mother passed on, my presence at church faded away, it was noticed by my teachers, and I soon fell from grace with them. My father did not attend when my mother was alive, so the urgency of Sunday mass became irrelevant.
There were two priests in attendance at the church, Father Watson a very stern, no nonsense type being in charge, and Father Hannah a soft spoken likeable man whom I had met on many occasions and who seemed to have a rapport with my mother, she would always attend mass and sermons conducted by him.
Father Watson visited our school classroom and pointed out various pupils in the class as an example of their excellent attendance record at mass, with the exception of one, myself. Absences had been noted, and before he left, requested that I leave the class and meet him in the corridor.
After listening to his grievances, he insisted that I attend confession at church, during the coming week. Checking the roster at the church I found that Father Hannah was due to hear confessionals on the Wednesday.a much better option than Father Watson, he would be more sympathetic to my situation. This particular evening vespers would be at 6.00pm,confessions between 4-30 - 5.30pm. Sheepishly I made my way over to the church, went to the font inside the church door, and sat in the pew opposite the confession box, awaiting my summons when Father Hannah arrived.
The church was almost empty except for two elderly ladies near the front, and the altar boy polishing a crucifix on the altar. To the left of the altar was the vestry, and within a few minutes to my dismay the door opened and Father Watson appeared and proceeded to walk up the aisle to where I was sitting. In his usual stern manner he reiterated his previous statement about atoning for my absences from mass, and that confession would put me back to where I was previously, in Gods favour. He told me Father Hannah would be along shortly and then proceeded to walk back down the aisle to the altar. He turned left towards the vestry, looked back and pointed towards the confession box for me to enter and wait for Father Hannah. I proceeded to the confession box and entered, sat down facing the muslin covered portal which always struck an eerie feeling in me, the dark surroundings of the box, cut-off from light. My approach was to tell Father Hannah how sorry I was and exit as soon as penance was passed.
I heard footsteps approaching the box,outside light flashed into the portal as the door opened on the other side, and again semi-darkness in front of me, except the outline of the priest sitting sideways on. The hand in front of me made the sign of the cross, the only light reflecting from the ring on his right hand. Father Hannah proceeded to ask for my confession, which I duly related to him in the best possible way. We spoke briefly about my loss, my mother would always be around me, but I must fulfill my obligations to myself and God. Concluding his penance I left the confession box and returned to the pew for the prayers I was asked to do.
The congregation had increased since my confession, more people had arrived, seated in the pews around me. I got up to leave,knelt in the aisle and proceeded to exit via the church door, when a lady in the congregation inadvertently caught my attention. She pointed back towards the altar, I turned and saw Father Watson holding up his hand beckoning me to stop. I pondered for a moment, as he approached he apologised for the wait that I had in the confession box.
Father Hannah had been called away unexpectedly to a parishioner who had become very ill, so he would quickly take my confession instead. I explained that he had already taken it and had fulfilled my penance and was leaving. Father Watson's face became a rustic colour and he became infuriated about what I had just said. He insisted I return to the confession box and I refused. As I walked away his voice became louder and manner angered, this was not to be the last that I would hear about this. I walked home feeling numb and confused, what had taken place was a virtual re-run of the first experience I had encountered at the sportsfield months before.
There was no point in explaining to my father what had happened, he never seemed receptive to my problems, and was not a person whom you would confide in, my mother always took that role. My apprehension grew the following day about attending school, and knowing full well that Fathers Watson's wrath would come upon me, and that the teacher in my class would echo his words once he was informed. I decided to go and face the outcome whatever it would be, it would catch up with me sooner or later.
During our morning class the door opened and Father Hannah walked towards my teacher and had a quiet word. This was at least a reprieve as my thoughts of incurring the wrath of Father Watson for a second time was horrendous. Father Hannah then beckoned me to follow him out of the class. Once in the corridor he told me that we would talk in the headmasters office. My immediate thoughts were that if he was to be involved, my demise was imminent. Father Watson must have told them both that I was a liar, and although I had turned up at the church for confession, did not fulfill my obligations.
Various scenarios on the outcome flashed through my head. On entering the headmasters office it was empty. Father Hannah told me to sit down across the table from him and reiterate my story to him, as Father Watson had already informed him of my story the previous evening on his return to the church. I told Father Hannah everything that had happened in depth, what I remembered from the moment he entered the confession box to when I left. His hands were clasped on the desk as he listened intently to my story, and as I looked at his face to his hands there was no ring. I informed him that I distinctly remember him wearing a ring on his right hand, making the sign of the cross behind the portal. He got to his feet and looked out of the window onto the playground. Turning around he told me that the year must have been terrible for me and my father, losing a mother at such an early age was tragic, things become distorted in ones mind until the loss heals. I explained to him that the truth had been told, and although sympathetic informed me that it could not have been him in the confession box, and although he knew I had arriived first for my confession,having been informed by Father Watson, had hastily left the vestry 5 minutes later to attend the sick parishioner via the vestry door. The only explanation he could give was one of a confused and lost child needing comfort, and putting his hand on my shoulder informed me that he would always be around if I needed to talk in depth with him. I knew there was one thing still that mystified him and thought I had nothing to lose by asking him if he believed what I told him. He pondered on the question and informed me that the ring was a mystery to him. The only priest that wore a ring on his right hand was Father Whitfield, and he had passed away 5 years ago.
Father Hannah was a novice to him when he entered the priesthood. Father Watson had assumed the position later. I asked Father Hannah if anyone had seen a priest leaving the confession box, whereas he suggested I forget about the whole matter, Father Watson had taken the confessional duties in his absence, and according to him he was the only person to enter the confession box.
So who was sitting in front of me that evening?, maybe Father Hannahs advice was right, some things are best left alone.