PAGE 21
Mr
D J Williams
"Priory Interlude for a Truth-Seeker"
by J O'D
Taken from The Pelican magazine, Summer 1963 — lent to us by Mike Byrne
When summer came this year to Bishop's Waltham, a familiar figure was missing
from the lanes which wander through the surrounding woods and downs. Had you
been walking along Dundridge Lane, or up to Steven's Castle Down, any fine afternoon
between two and four in 1961 or 1962, it is likely enough that you would have
chanced on a solitary walker, striding along plunged in thought.
But to find that figure now, in 1963, you would have to travel far over land
and sea to the Mother City of Christendom; and even then it would need close
scrutiny to recognize in the soberly-dressed ecclesiastic the erstwhile hiker
of Bishop's Waltham. For Mr D. J. Williams, who taught at the Priory
from 1960 to 1962, is now the Reverend Mr D. J. Williams, student of the Pontifical
Beda College, Rome.
Bishop's Waltham first saw Mr Williams in the early summer of 1960. Father English
had died, with tragic suddenness, in April, and although the arrival of Brother
Mennie at Easter meant that extra work could be coped with for the third term,
it was thought necessary to find another member of the staff for the following
year. Fathers, as always, were scarce, and it was suggested that a layman might
be found to fill the gap.
Friends in Portsmouth heard of the situation, and eventually the news came to
the ears of a master at Portsmouth Technical School, a recent convert, who had
earlier worked for six years as a Baptist Minister in Wales. He was still largely
unacquainted with the workings of the religious life in the Chiirch, and needed
a period of tranquillity to think about his future; from every point of view
the vacancy at the Priory seemed providential. So it came about that, among
many other guests who sat down to supper at the Fathers' table on the eve of
Pentecost, 1960, there was one figure conspicuous by his lay dress; Mr Williams
had arrived.
It did not take either the applicant or Father Fitzgerald, then Superior of
the Priory, lo 'ng to come to an agreement, and when Mr Williams returned to
Portsmouth the following afternoon subjects had been distributed and terms arranged,
and he had been invited to come into residence in
September.
It was an experiment on both sides. For the Priory, this would be the first
time that a layman had been admitted into the community to share the daily life
of the Fathers and Brothers; for Mr Williams it was very much a venture into
the unknown. The experiment turned out to be a great success for all parties.
A room which had previously served successively as Oratory and Boys' Infirmary
was fitted out for our lay master's use.
Mr Williams fitted perfectly into the community, and proved an agreeable and
stimulating companion. On the other hand daily intimacy with White Fathers and
Brothers cannot have done as much spiritual damage to Mr Williams as some had
feared, for after two years of it he decided to present himself to the Archbishop
of Cardiff as a candidate for the priesthood. He was promptly accepted, and
is now finishing the first of his four years of study at the Beda.
Those who had the pleasure of living with Mr Williams at the Priory have many
happy memories. One thinks of his unremitting kindness towards the many learner
drivers whom it was his misfortune to encounter just at this period; the Williams
Driving School became famous, and many were the hours he spent patiently watching
and instructing while the controls of his car were wrenched about by inexpert
hands. He had all the unflappability of a modern statesman, and endless patience
and generosity, both with his time and with his property. One remembers too
his lively conversation, at table and in recreation. He had a special penchant
for philosophy and the more remote areas of speculative theology, and liked
to flavour his talk with favourite quotations from Holy Scripture or from profane
literature. If you ever need to know who, and when, said, "We must squeeze
them until the pips squeak," ask Mr Williams, or anyone who was at the
Priory during his years there.
As for the boys, only they can say what their memories are, for the teacher
is on his own in the classroom. But one can certainly say that there was no
sign of any pips squeaking during Mr Williams's classes. In his first year he
taught History to the Sixth and English to the rest of the school; in his second
year, when the Sixth Formers had been transferred to St John's, he taught English
and Doctrine to everyone. As far as one could judge, he proved an able and successful
teacher; one always felt that although he was outstandingly successful in getting
boys through examinations, his ambitions for them went much further than that,
and the young men who were able to plunder his large and well-stocked mind have
surely taken something away which will stand them in good stead for the remainder
of their lives.
As the summer holidays approached in 1962, we heard of Mr Williams's plans for
the future. After sundry mysterious absences, he informed us that Archbishop
Murphy had accepted him as a candidate for the priesthood, and that he would
be leaving the Priory at the end of the school year. One evening at supper it
was suddenly realized that this would be the last meal that Mr Williams would
take with us in community. Father Superior addressed to him, on behalf of all,
a few apropriate words of thanks and of good wishes for the future, and the
victim replied in an eloquent and witty ex tempore oration which those who heard
it will not easily forget. Preaching had been his love in former days, and he
showed us then that lack of practice had not deprived him of the old skill.
We envy those who in future years will have the privilege of hearing Mr Williams's
weekly sermons, from a Catholic pulpit this time, somewhere in Wales. It should
go far to compensate them for the lack of a parish bingo club.
The following morning the boys performed, this time by choice, a service which
they had often been called upon to render as a matter of necessity, by pushing
THT 172 down the Priory drive, and the old Hillman, scarred with many
a Hampshire adventure, disappeared down the hill for the last time.
Rome is far from Bishop's Waltham, and one does not easily associate the rather
unattractive Hampshire village with the capital of the ancient world; yet the
fact is that there are at present in Rome four people who in 1961 were together
on the Priory staff. The present Father Superior is making his Long Retreat
a few miles away in the Alban Hills; his predecessor is just finishing his studies
at the Gregorian University for the licentiate in theology; a third Father is
working in the Generalate of the White Fathers; and Mr Williams is at the Beda
College. He is thus being closely followed by his former colleagues, and it
is pleasant to report that he is in the best of health and spirits, in spite
of some previous apprehension about donning the Roman clerical dress.
Mr Williams has already broken several records—as the first full-time lay
teacher at the Priory, as the first ex-Baptist minister to study at the Beda
College; it is a pleasure to wish him in the pages of the Pelican a successful
end to his studies and many record-breaking years of fruitful apostolate when
he at length returns to his own people of Wales. For those of us whose entrance
into the Church demanded no conscious effort, and whose way to the priesthood
was smoothed by family background and education, it is easy to forget the many
and great sacrifices which Mr Williams has made for the cause of truth and in
the service of the Lord.
One thinks of Newman's words about one "who has given up much that he loved
and prized and could have retained, but that he loved honesty better than name
and truth better than dear friends."
For Christ's sake Mr Williams abandoned a promising career, caused pain to those
he loved, and in many eyes forfeited his good name; for there are still those
for whom Rome is the mother of iniquities and the Holy Father the triple tyrant.
Those noble offerings cannot go wit hout their reward, and it must be the hope
of all who came to know and admire him at the Priory that he will receive, according
to the Gospel promise, not only life everlasting, but also one hundred times
the worth, even in this life, of those human satisfactions on which he has so
magnanimously turned his back.
A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF THE
BEDA
by Mr D J Williams
Taken from The Pelican magazine, Summer 1963 — lent to us by Mike Byrne
If someone five years ago had told me that within a few years I would resign
the Baptist Ministry, become a Roman Catholic, teach in a Junior Seminary and
then become a seminarist in Rome, I would have told him to pay a quick visit
to the nearest psychiatrist. But it has happened; truth is indeed stranger than
fiction.
My last few months at the Priory were made very interesting by the hair raising
accounts given by the staff of the arduous life of the Roman seminarist. Fr.
Duffy did not in any way help by asking me if I'd ordered my cassock and my
Roman hat. I would not believe that I would have to wear that black, flat and
wide brimmed headgear, designed I am sure, either to test a seminarist's humility
or to make him look as unattractive as possible to members of the opposite sex.
Anyway I managed to survive the jestings and I duly arrived at the Beda College.
It is situated near the famous basilica of St Paul's outside the, walls—what
a vast and majestic edifice it is! From the outside, the Beda is not an attractive
looking building, and thus when the visitor enters he is quite surprised at
the pleasant interior. Its marble floors, long glass-lined corridors, gleaming
refectory and ultra modem chapel are quite impressive. The students' rooms too
are delightful—cool in summer and warm in winter,
The Beda can house about eighty students. These, -of course, are all late vocations
and come from all parts of the English speaking world. 'They are a unique crowd.
Where else in the world will you find living together voluntarily, one time
lawyers, clergymen, businessmen, army and naval officers, scientists, tinkers,
tailors ... the lot? It is thus impossible to become bored here, at least not
with one's colleagues.
Basically the routine is much the same as in any other seminary except that
we are allowed far greater freedom and we rise somewhat later than other less
fortunate seminarists. But even so getting up at 6.00 a.m. is a bit of a strain
on the nervous system—but for that matter getting up at all is no joke,
when the faint and feeble spirit has to move a huge deadweight of flesh.
The morning is taken up with three lectures. Three does not sound much but I
have become painfully aware that as one approaches the two score period of life,
one's mental reactions are much slower (as many boxers have discovered to their
cost and usually to their crown's!). The lectures in the first year are devoted
to Philosophy, Canon Law and Scripture. We have a mid morning break and it is
quite a remarkable affair. After the second lecture, students young and old
of all shapes and sizes scamper away as fast as their legs can carry them to
their rooms in order to "put the water on." This tea making session is one of
the day's most important rituals, and all participate in it except the "half
barbaric" Americans who go out for coffee.
Talking of Americans, we have eight of them and they are a great credit to their
country. Two are ex-colonels of the U.S. army, another was one of the chief
representatives for Pepsi Cola. He must find seminary life pretty irksome at
times, having been accustomed to have two chauffeurs to cart him around.
Lunch at the Beda is in true Italian style, spaghetti, pasta, and lots of wine.
Incidentally, we change our table colleagues at the beginning of each term and
it is an occasion for some excitement "Who sits next to you this term?" I find
keeping awake after lunch a physical impossibility and I can hardly summon sufficient
energy to climb on to the bed. On sliding into a peaceful slumber my thoughts
often drift to the Priory where lads would be "hard at it" after lunch. Again
unlike most seminaries we are free for the afternoon, at least officially.
Supper at 7.30 is followed by the rosary and then recreation in common. This
recreation can become most irksome but I think it is necessary. It prevents
the formation of cliques which constitutes a danger in a college like this where
the students have such a. variety of background. Recreation is followed either
by night prayers or Benediction. And this brings me to the subject of ceremonies.
The ceremonies at the Beda are carried out with extraordinary precision. At
first they can be quite frightening, especially to someone like myself with
a Nonconformist background. We are all given meticulous instructions for every
ceremony. For High Mass there are rehearsals every Saturday morning and evening.
When I first acted as acolyte I took off the humeral veil long before it was
necessary and so I find myself holding it guiltily in my hand, much to the amusement
of the community.
The chapel is pleasant, although the sanctuary is rather small. Visitors who
attend High Mass must find the whole scene an impressive sight. From the balcony
they look down and see eighty students from different parts of the world and
from all walks of life gathered for the great act of homage to God. Some of
them have given up prosperous careers; others have had to change their entire
mode of life. In a few years most of them will be ploughing lonely furrows in
God's vineyard. But in spite of this knowledge very few leave the Beda. They
are prepared for the loneliness that awaits them for they have made their decision
to take tip the cross in the full bloom of life and are thus aware of all its
implications. In the priesthood the loss of years is compensated by a wealth
of experience, and consequently the Beda men can bring to their task the sympathy
and understanding so necessary to help the faithful live full Catholic lives
in an hostile world.
GLANCING BACK
by Mr D J Williams
Taken from The Pelican magazine, Summer 1961 — lent to us by Mike Byrne
ONE Saturday morning fifteen years ago I asked my ministerwhether I could enter
the Baptist ministry. He was obviously pleased, for he began making arrangements
for my entry into the South Wales Baptist College at Cardiff. A few months later
I was accepted by the authorities and was to spend six years in the College.
During that time, Catholicism was a closed book to me as well as to my fellow
students. For us, the Catholic Church was as remote and alien at Buddhism. We
regarded it as an institution supported by superstitious fanatics who were dominated
by bigoted priests. But in my sixth year I heard a welleducated Frenchman give
a calm and reasoned lecture on Catholicism. He also managed to make short work
of questioners who tried to ridicule his position. Many of my colleagues were
amused, and some dismissed him as a crank. However, he had succeeded in making
at least one of his listeners a little more tolerant.
My first and only church as a minister was in East Monmouthshire. It was a strong
and active church, and I began to settle down to a comfortable, existence. Trouble
howevet arose like an unexpected gust of strong wind. One of my members asked
me to marry her daughter to a divorced man. This I did; but I felt most uneasy
about it. Baptists have no definite teaching on the subject, consequently I
was not sure whether I had done the right thing. This practical problem set
me thinking and for the first time in my life I began to think seriously about
divorce and other questions about which I felt uneasy.
So it came about that I started re-examining such fundamental points as the
reason for man's creation, the Divine Sonship of Our Lord, the Roman Catholic
claim to infallibility. Gradually I found myself making a personal investigation
into the position of the Catholic Church. I read Catholic literature, nervously
entered Catholic churches, and visited Catholic countries. The more I read and
thought, the more convinced I became of the reasonableness of Catholicism.
After four years of this, I became mentally tired of trying to find a weak link
in the strong logical chain of Catholicism. I then decided to drop the whole
subject and carry on with my work.
In August, 1958, I spent my holidays in Dublin. I was immediately impressed
by the many fine churches I found there, thronged daily with worshippers. This
unsettled me again. I felt lonely and found myself anxious to whisper my troubles
into the ears of some understanding priest. Eventually I plucked up enough courage
to make an appointment with Father Bonaventure Fitzgerald, the Prior of the
huge Carmelite church in Whitefriars Road. This was the first time I had spoken
to a Catholic priest, and it so happened that he had become acquainted with
Nonconformity in South Wales during a period as priest in charge of St Mary's
College, Aberystwyth. I put my cards on the table; so did he, but he had a much
stronger hand, for he quickly disposed of all the objections I could muster.
It was a very bewildered minister that returned to his church in South Wales.
During the following months, I again examined carefully the doctrines which
the Roman Church taught, and I had to come to the conclusion that they made
sense. I soon realised that my position as a Baptist minister was becoming intolerable.
Still, to believe is one thing, to act on that belief is another. The Baptists
regard the Catholic Church as an evil, poisonous growth, spreading its insidious
shoots everywhere. For a minister to embrace Catholicism was to commit an act
of treachery. It was a degradation, an unnatural throwing away of all human
dignity and freedom. In short, the Baptists would consider that a man guilty
of such a deed was in danger of losing his soul. The prospect facing me thus
appeared very uninviting. But I decided to risk it, and with mixed feelings
I resigned the pastorate of the Church.
I spent the next two years teaching in Portsmouth, and it was while I was there
that I entered the Church. Then came the invitation to teach at the Priory,
and so I find myself now writing this little article.
To live and teach in a house such as the Priory is for me a very novel experience.
Most ministerial students are what Catholics would call "late vocations."
They have been clerks, army officers, teachers and so on. They have thus had
plenty of experience and are quite mature. Furthermore, they gain a great deal
by mixing with every type of student at the University; they join social and
political clubs. All this is to the good. Another interesting feature of College
life for a candidate for the Baptist ministry is the system of preaching practice.
The students are out preaching every Sunday throughout Wales. By the time I
had left College I had preached over six hundred times—but not six hundred
sermons!
There are however grave defects in the training which a Baptist minister receives.
Too much stress is laid upon examinations and on obtaining degrees. Apart from
a brief morning service there are no spiritual or devotional exercises. This
is left to the individual student. It is up to him to find the means of nourishing
his spiritual life. Unfortunately he can without proper guidance find himself
in a theological maze. There is little or no discipline. Apart from fifteen
or so lectures, the student's time is his own. Indeed any attempt by the authorities
to impose discipline is met with stiff resistance. In fact on one occasion the
students went on strike! This lack of discipline very often has unfortunate
consequences. When the student is faced with opposition in his ministerial life
he is ill-equipped to deal with it, as he has never learned the hard lesson
of obedience. In short, life in College is too soft and relaxed.
Here at the Priory the ethos is altogether different. The boys are much younger
and naturally discipline is strict without being severe. If accepted in the
right spirit, the discipline is a wonderful help to the formation of Christian
character and braces the seminarian for the hard and exacting life of the priesthood.
To run a junior seminary is not easy and requires great wisdom on the part of
the Fathers. This they exhibit, for they themselves have learned that only those
can rule who have first learned to obey.
COMINGS AND GOINGS
by John Fowles
Taken from The Pelican magazine, Summer 1963 — lent to us by Mike Byrne
We are not unfamiliar with comings and goings of staff at the Priory. Each July
we say "Good-bye" to a priest or brother on his way to another house in the
Province or, if he is very fortunate, to the African mission fields, and each
September besides welcoming new arrivals among the boys, we are glad to open
our doors to those who will fill the vacancies in the teaching staff and help
in running the school during the following year.
In September last, the two newcomers were Father Brian Garvey and Father
John Conlon. Father Garvey, who spent one year at the Institute of Education
after graduating at Oxford, is no mean asset to our staff. Besides having abundant
academical qualifications, he is keenly interested in many of those extra activities
which are so important a part of school life. Throughout the winter he devoted
his "spare" time to coaching the rugby team and now the cricket team receives
his full attention. Besides this he somehow manages to produce plays and look
after the choir.
Father Conlon comes to us directly from the scholasticate to take up
the arduous and unenviable office of procurator. Fortunately he is full of enthusiasm
and energy, qualities which are eminently necessary if the storms and problems
of house management are to be controlled.
In July, farewells were said to Father O'Donohue and Father Geraghty,
to Mr Williams and also to, Mr Heath, who although not a resident
member of the staff has certainly been a very active one for many years. As
our choir master and organist, he has shown unparallelled zeal and devotion.
When other commitments forced him to retire, we felt a little sad at the. parting.
He can be sure that he will be remembered with affection by generations of Priorians—and
with deep gratitude by members of the staff.
Father O'Donohue, a man of many parts, served the school wholeheartedly
for four years, turning his attention to every aespect of school life. His amazing
capacity for work was noticed by all his colleagues and—unfortunately for
them—by his superiors in Rome who decided to take him off to the Generalate
where he now renders sterling service to the whole Society.
Father Geraghty spent only a few months here as bursar—just long
enough for the powers-that-be to realize that he was just the. man for the job
at St Edward's College, Totteridge. His quiet efficiency made him respected
and admired by the boys and we were all sorry to lose him. Mr Williams's
departure for the Beda left a gap which could not be adequately filled for he
became much more than just a member of the staff. His complete frankness and
good humour won the hearts of all. We miss him a lot.
To those who have gone we say a sincere "Thank you" and to the newcomers a belated
"Welcome."
Return to top
"MURDER
IN THE CATHEDRAL" by T. S. Eliot
by Anthony Ryan (Form 5)
Taken from The Pelican magazine, Summer 1963 — lent to us by Mike Byrne
The air was cold and damp and its penetrating nature made the Cathedral at Canterbury
an ill place to be on a black misty winter's night. The clink of chain mail
broke the silence amid the shadows of the still, grey amphitheatre, an a drunken
voice hurled a challenge through the blackness: "Where is Becket the traitor
to the king? Where is Becket the meddling priest?"
Parishioners of the Priory parish church were watching one of the foulest murders
in history—in the "amphitheatre" of the Priory's gymnasium. This
was the climax of two months work. For those who are familiar with T. S. Eliot's
"murder in the Cathedral" will doubtless realise that this, though
an amateur production, at least had a script of genius, to which we, in our
humble way, attempted to do justice. Fr. Garvey, the producer of the play, with
his characteristic drive battered us into shape and showed us that these rather
nebulous lines had meaning—the reader should grasp the significance of
that!
In fact the night when we performed the play was cold and damp, and our clothing
was far from warm. In the style of the Middle Ages the tempters wore thin tights
and by the time the first act was over they were glad to don the woollen "chain
mail" of the knights. The tempters entered one by one to be repulsed in
turn by Thomas. It was the fourth tempter with his subtle language and suave
demeanour, a complete stranger to Thomas, who nearly convinced him that his
death would be in vain. The first act ends with a decisive "No!" from
Thomas, which word neatly sums up the act.
The second act is concerned with the ultimatum of the knights and the death
of Thomas. Then the play takes a curious turn. The knights go to the wings,
collect a chair each, sit down facing the audience and proceed to lecture those
present on the circumstances of the archbishop's death, claiming it to have
been a political necessity. The speeches are very persuasive and would be irrefutable
if the audience had not seen the actual murder.
Kevin Gregson as the Archbishop dominated most of the scenes. There were
also many pleasing minor performances, and Liam Colgan as the third tempter
and Peter Johnson as one of the priests could be picked out for particular
mention.
A lot of thanks should be given to those who helped to prepare the stage and
the lights—Bro. Colin Connisbee, Christopher Shirley and
George Dunnion. Above all though, our thanks are due to Fr. Garvey
who conceived and carried through the whole thing, virtually single-handed.
Cast
Thomas of Canterbury Kevin Gregson
First Tempter Anthony Ryan
Second Tempter John McIntyre
Third Tempter Liam Colgan
Fourth Tempter Sean Hughes
Priests: Terence May, Paul Maggiore, Peter Johnson
Chorus: Old Man: C. Campbell, Young Man: David Walker, Old Woman: Philip Mason
Messenger: James McKinlay (?)
First Knight Anthony Ryan
Second Knight Ian Netton
Third Knight Ciaran McGuinness
Fourth Knight Sean Hughes
Prompter, Hans van Well
TOUR
OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT: Easter 1963
by Ian Netton (Form 3)
Taken from The Pelican magazine, Summer 1963 — lent to us by Mike Byrne
Our Tour of the eastern half of the Isle of Wight began on Tuesday April 16th.
The party of five rose at 6.45 a.m. and after donning T. shirts and khaki shorts
we were soon speeding towards Gosport. We were in Ryde by 9.15 and here we met
our group leader Fr. Fowles who had come over some days previously. We
walked together along the beach to Quarr Abbey where we attended'mass
sung by the monks. To me the monks looked like a lot of black robed witches
in the gloomy unlit interior of the Abbey. Outside however the building is very
beautiful and the style quite unique.
After mass we started across country for the Youth Hostel at Thitwell 16 miles
away, where we were to spend our first night. Having cut through a wood and
braved a few bogs we joined a road where we were able to ask the way of an old
rustic. In brilliant sunshine we followed the road for a few hours until we
arrived at Arreton, a small village half way along the road to Whitwell. The
village contains an old Norman church of the Eleventh Century. We ate dinner
in a bus shelter and then resumed the trek, crossing some fields encircled by
mist and electric fencing—a dangerous combination. Eventually we came to
a disused railway track which we followed all the way to Whitwell. We arrived
at the Youth Hostel at half past five. Supper followed at 7.30 and bed at 10
p.m.
The next morning it was raining as we set out after breakfast and it continued
to rain all morning. After going through a long pitch black tunnel we found
the road and made our way to the path running along the cliff. The sea seemed
rather angry that morning and it lashed the rocks spitefully.
An hour later we arrived at Ventnor where we heard mass, and then after a picnic
lunch took the road to Shanklin. Meantime the weather had cheered up, and the
sun condescended to show itself. The town of Shanklin is split into two parts.
There are the old but neatly thatched cottages on one side and the new modern
bungalows on the other. A beautiful "Chine" runs down to the sea.
This is a wooded dell surrounding a stream that has hollowed a gorge right down
to the beach.
We paused for a quarter of an hour in Shanklin to admire the sea, by now quite
serene and undisturbed, and the long pier which we photographed. Then we walked
along the pebbly beach towards Sandown, the pier of which was also in sight,
the town being only three miles away from Shanklin. Here some of the more adventurous
members of the party swam and thereby earned a sarcastic cheer from some warmly
clad spectators on the promenade.
Thursday was really the best day of all as regards sunshine. Our destination
for the day was Cowes about 14 miles away, where lay the third and last youth
hostel on the island. We walked first to Newport where we visited Carisbrook
Castle. Charles I was imprisoned here during the Civil War and he also escaped
from the castle. At three in the afternoon we left the castle for Cowes, only
about five miles distance. Walking first over fields we eventually reached Parkhurst
forest, close to the famous Parkhurst prison.
On Friday, the last day, we contented ourselves with having a look at Cowes.
We took a ferry across the River Medina from West to East Cowes, which enabled
us to catch sight of a hovercraft anchored a few yards off. We then went to
see Osborne House where Queen Victoria died in 1901. It is one of the stateliest
buildings I have ever seen. The interior is beautifully decorated with mosaic
floors, marble statues and priceless Victorian furniture. Certainly a residence
fit for a king or a queen.
At length at 4.35 p.m. we took the ferry back to the mainland, this time to
Southampton, On the quay the van was waiting to pick us up, and soon we were
speeding back to the Priory, nostalgically thinking of the Isle of Wight, for
the island possesses a charm that few places have.
Finally I would like to thank Fr. Fowles on behalf of all who went, for taking
us, and for the enjoyable time that we had.