Journey of the Foundresses

We were there sometime when we decided to visit the Cathedral.  It is a huge, dark church, obviously bearing the marks of what a priest said one time was the sign of a good parish, “It looked well used.”  There are many side Altars—the Little Flower and St.  Margaret Mary being especially remembered.  We had very little time, however, for sightseeing, so drove up to our lodgings, “The Beauview Place.” We were shown up to our rooms as they say, being four in a group, so even here we had the opportunity of waiting to be put in which room, with which people! We had tea then in the midst of which our third contingent of three more Sisters arrived.  Br. Kieran had been delegated by the lady of the house to look after us (we were rather privileged characters there that day as you can see) and this he royally did even to our very cabins on the Britannic.  He kept bringing in cups and pots of tea as more of our “force” appeared from the valley of the Blackwater.  At the same time, he and Br. Lochtene were trying to have a peaceful tea in the corner. In the midst of this peaceful confusion, whose voice did we hear but Archbishop Cushing’s; come to see if we were safe and sound.  He was all dressed up in his purple, with biretta and sash, and brought a wave of cheer to his little family.  We already regarded him as a father, and as time went on, our love and veneration for him increased.

Fr. Carthage and Fr. Coleman had finished tea and left for home immediately after ours.  Fr. Carthage gave us his blessing and as one sister remarked, his was the best of all.

We went to bed after catching up on our Office, and just then our last absentees arrived; so we were all under one roof again.  We were just nicely settled when we heard a sudden loud clanging, just outside in the street, as we thought, then a second similar one more pronounced, which harmonized with the first.  It was the Cathedral chimes just across the way.  It struck the hour of 9:00, then followed a half hour of piano and chimes concert, in honor of his Excellency, as we learned the next day.  Under other conditions they would have been appreciated as they should have been, for they were beautiful, but we had been up since 2:00 and much had taken place since.  The concert lasted for an hour with spells of quiet in between, when we thought it was over.  So we will always remember our last night in Ireland—it was rather singular.

The next morning Br. Kieran took us to the Cathedral for Mass celebrated by Dom Celsus.  We must have been quite an odd sight, fourteen of us, two by two, in absolute silence, led by this patriarchal figure in brown, with “hands devoutly joined” and black felt hat too large for him, drawn down over his ears—like convent girls with their padre.

He understandingly led us right up to the front seats—it was practically empty at this hour, 6:00 a.m.  Mass followed shortly and Dom Celsus was a dear familiar figure in all the unfamiliar surroundings.  He was served by four old-hand altar boys who could not resist making a few “useless signs” and giving each other nudges for their cues.  After Mass we managed to get in the entire night Office while Fr. Finn said his Mass at a side Altar.  He had joined the party the night before, and as only priests were allowed to go out to the ship with us, he came by all means and was with us to the last, standing by Sr. Patrick til the very whistle for the tender to return to land.

There were many people in the church by now, so we returned leisurely, and an amusing little incident occurred on the way, not for the first time and by no means the last; a man on the street corner hiding his face with a camera.  Of course, we tried to look unconcerned and tried harder to keep our smiles hidden.

To be continued...