FR. JAMES TOLMIE
WF 1918-96
An appreciation by Eugene MacBride an ex-White Father student
and a member of the ‘Pelican Club’.
Lunch
was just over. We, the Priory boys, worked in a busy silence amid the clatter
of stacking plates. The Superior (Tom Moran WF) had just intoned the Miserere
and led his fellow Priests and Brothers out of the refectory, down to the
chapel, to pray for the dead of the Society. It was my first day at Bishop’s
Waltham. Throughout the meal my back was to the Fathers’ Table. I was
unaware of the one staff priest present I had still not encountered. Nor did
I realise we were working in such a severe silence because the operation was
under his unique surveillance. I piled the last of the greasy cutlery, turned
round to await dismissal and in amazement beheld James Tolmie WF for the first
time. The White Fathers I had met to date were all , smiling men. To say I
was startled by Jimmy’s first impression is to describe an experience
which will remain with me until I die.
At St. Columba’s, on the banks of the Tweed, back in the spring, Andy
Murphy WF had warned us of the inflexible disciplinarian who would so utterly
outstrip him for strictness when we transferred to the junior seminary in
Hampshire. I gazed awe-stricken at ‘Moaner’. Totally self-possessed,
the priest who was a Priory legend, stared us down from behind the Fathers’
table, back to the tall windows and the early afternoon sun. Truly it startled
me that a man of God, a White Father, could look so rigid and hard. Six months
later, on a March night after supper, I stood in the queue outside the infirmary
area awaiting the official attentions of the Prefect of Discipline. He came
briskly upstairs, crepe soles squishing on the stone, acknowledged stoically
and swept on into his sanctum to discard his bournous and prepare for action.
I had been caught (allegedly) infracting the Grand Silence. Sentence was pronounced:
“See Father Tolmie”. As victim I was immediately guilty as charged
without mitigating circumstances. ‘Moaner’ I caned me hard, two
on each hand. His role at the Priory 1948-53 was that of the Pharaoh who knew
not Joseph. Yet he never threatened the cane. He used it, under obedience,
on behalf of others. There was a lot more to him than the job that nightly
he did so well.
Before I left the White Fathers at St. Columba’s in March 1950, my parents
accepted cheery assurance that even if I gave up training for the Priesthood,
I would still have had “a good education”. The White Fathers conferred
many benefits for which I am eternally grateful but it was only in my final
year at the Priory that we were taught by a priest with a degree. Jimmy had
no degree. As he said himself: “In my day, the only letters we wanted
after our name were WF”. Yet I never met a finer academic. His first
mission was the Priory to teach Latin and English. It is hard to say how university
might have enhanced his grasp because he had expert command in both fields.
I do not say he was the best of teachers. He was a product of his times and
Jimmy expected boys either to cope or flounder. As 15-year olds he plunged
us into Cicero contra Catilinam. Even the best of us were lost utterly with
no idea how to construe the classical Latin prose. There were no print-outs,
not even chalk marks on a blackboard. Jimmy worked entirely from the book.
But dullness was no hallmark of his classes.
In English, he was an assiduous marker of the weekly essay (red ink, a dip
pen, a small neat hand with lots of loops). He would comment aloud, perceptively
and sagely on work as he handed it back. He seldom awarded more than 70% for
writing. 53% was a typical essay mark. He gave us the best series of Spiritual
Readings I was ever at during the Lent of 1951. He had each day’s Mass
ready in advance and I still remember his homilies on Susannah and the Elders
and The Man Born Blind as splendid examples of how to keep your narrative
vivid and alive with characterisation and dialogue.
He was a master of the fascinating digression: he told us one night of how
the news reached Carthage about Operation Torch, November 7 1942. So as not
to break the Grand Silence but because he could not restrain himself, he had
gone from room to room of the British scholastics at Maison Carree pushing
little notes under the doors: “The Allies Have Landed! The Allies Have
Landed!”
Pat Donnelly WF took over as Priory Superior in September 1951. Jimmy was
appointed our class tutor and it is for this I asked permission to write an
obituary. He revealed a side to his character which I had no idea existed.
The glitter in his eye became a twinkle. We became very important to him,
we suddenly mattered to a Priory priest. He was an expert photographer both
in colour (slides) and black and white. We became the special objects of his
study. We posed for him as a Vienna Boys’ Choir, then as carol singers
in cottas and cassocks with lanterns. He played football for us, he whacked
bowling all over the bottom (cricket) field for us. He painted us a class
shield which was a masterpiece in itself.
Above all else, he taught us to sing in chorus. He started us off with a class
anthem in Latin: “Eia, Quartani (Quintani) omnes ...” which in high
middle age I still sing and I hope they will perform at my funeral. He would
teach us in an upstairs classroom after supper. He would write out the words
for us to copy and many of us still have them carefully preserved, including
Bishop Michael Fitzgerald in Rome. For Jimmy, the tune was all important,
the words (and this scandalised some) far less so. Thus we sang ‘Aupres
de ma blonde (qu’il fait bon dormir)’, a double entendre which they
tell me nowadays refers to no more than a bottle of beer.
More unforgivably perhaps, he taught us ‘Die Fahne Hoch’, the battle
hymn of the Sturm Abteilung, Hitler’s Brownshirts, a masterpiece of its
kind. We did not know what the words meant. Essentially Jimmy was teaching
us a melody that kept (Fascist) feet on the march. Years later I heard Hugh
Carleton Greene request it of Roy Plomley on Desert Island Discs; it was the
Devil’s Tune but he wanted it so as to conjure up the memory of Berlin
in the ‘thirties.
I have one memory of Jimmy singing solo. I was at the top of the Fathers’
house one bright Ascension Day dawn, a brilliant camp at Galley Down in prospect.
Below me, the crepe soles squished across the brown lino. Their owner was
singing blithely: “O, what a beautiful mornin’, O, what a beautiful
day ...”
Jimmy Tolmie left the Priory in 1953. He spoke to us in the refectory at a
formal do to commemorate his departure. I don’t remember all he said
except for these few word: “Partir, c’est mourir un peu” (to
leave a place is to die a little). He went on to be Superior at St Columba’s.
I have heard he wasn’t half the force he was as Prefect of Discipline.
When last I saw him he was wrecked by Alzheimer’s. I told him he was
the best teacher I had ever had. He died on January 20 last. He had a horrendous
Litany of the Dying he used on First Fridays to terrify us. I don’t know
if he believed in it himself but I hope it ever entered his head at the last.
May he rest in peace (if he wants to).
May He Rest in Peace
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Brother
Modeste WF 1873 - 1956
(Petrus Broekman)
(Source: Eugene MacBride)
Brother Modeste ("Moddy") — famous for the beer that
he brewed — was 82 when he died and was buried at The Priory.
Taken from his
memorial card :
PRAY FOR THE SOUL of Brother Modeste WF
Who died on 22nd February 1956, fortified by the rites of the Holy Church
in his 83rd year and in the 51st year of his Missionary life.
Quis nos separabit a caritate Christi.
Inveni quem diligit anima mea, tenui eam, nec dimittam, donec aspiret dies
et inclinentur umbrae.
The
Golden Jubilee of Brother Modeste
Taken from The Pelican, Christmas 1954 — by Michael McDonnell, Form
V
On Tuesday the second
of November, everyone at the Priory was busy and excited over their final
preparations for the Golden Jubilee of Brother Modeste. Many visitors were
expected from other houses, among whom would be Reverend Father Provincial.
Brother himself must have been very excited, for one of his greatest hopes
was about to be realised.
At last the great day arrived, quite a sunny one for the grim month of November,
and it soon proved an exciting one also for us all. Even before High Mass,
many visitors arrived and were received with a warm welcome.
High Mass was sung by Very Reverend Father Provincial, at which Brother Modeste,
who was in the sanctuary, received Holy Communion. At the end of the Mass
a fervent Te Deum was sung.
When everyone had left the chapel, there was much excitement and happy conversation
between the visitors from other houses and the community of the Priory. It
was a wonderful opportunity for the boys to make the acquaintance of many
more Fathers of the Province.
After a visit to the chapel, community and guests assembled for lunch which
afforded many delicious things for all. The family spirit which reigned over
the whole gathering was most remarkable and very inspiring for the students.
When there was very little more than empty dishes left on the tables, entertainment
was provided by the choir, who sang airs suited or adapted to the occasion.
Much talent was shown and there were one or two particularly fine solos.
After the songs, Brother Modeste was offered gifts by Fathers, Brothers and
boys, and many were the compliments paid him in the speeches of Very Reverend
Father Provincial, Reverend Father Superior and Brother Patrick. Brother Modeste
himself was too moved to speak, but his emotion told its own story.
The happy company came together again for high tea, at which Brother refused
to cut his cake until an extra holiday had been granted to the boys. Needless
to say, the boys' champion prevailed and then the cake was cut.
After tea and Solemn Benediction, there was a very enjoyable film show to
conclude a very happy day. The boys retired to bed that night tired, but very
contented, and pr pared to enjoy the next day's holiday. For all privileged
to be at the Priory on November the third, the Golden Jubilee of Brother Modeste
will always remain a precious memory.
Brother
Modeste
By James Lee, Form 5
Taken from The Pelican, Christmas 1954
Perhaps no one person has done more in the foundation of the Priory than Brother
Modeste. Brother is a short stocky man of four score and three years. His
merry features belie his age. His twinkling eyes and handsome beard take ten
years from its actual tally.
Last November he celebrated his Golden Jubilee, surely the climax of his missionary
career. Never having been to the mission fields of Africa, Brother found his
Africans in the pleading faces of Priorians begging for apples. And what better
example of the ideal missionary could we have? Not only is he always ready
to help us but his example is an inspiration to us all.
Many a Priorian has satisfied his thirst in a huge glass of Brother's beer.
By the way, he laughs at our crude French, but always understands the two
words pomme and biere. No matter what he is doing, he will always go out of
his way to please us with regard to pomme and biere.
In him we have an unrivalled model of punctuality. He is never late. He still
serves Mass and still sings lustily at Benediction. His many fine qualities
are a proof of many talents.
He has spent fifty years unselfishly in God's service, and the sense of humour
which he still retains gives one some idea of his interior happiness.
His love of nature's beautiful gifts is apparent in his beautifully trimmed
flower beds of roses and chrysanthemums. Perhaps in this, Brother's work,
is symbolised the importance of his activities at the Priory and throughout
the Province.
Brother has spent almost forty years at the Priory, an appointment which is
surely a record for the British Pro Province, if not in the history of the
whole Society.
The Society, while in its infancy in this Province, depended on such men,
as did the legions of missionaries who have passed through the Priory.
Looking back over those past fifty years of his religious life, perhaps we
take too much for granted—only God knows the value of Brother's magnificent
and unflinching devotion. Surely he can now say with full confidence: "
I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course."
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FR.
BOUNIOL
Taken from The Pelican, Summer 1958 - by an anonymous contributor
It
was my good fortune to know Fr. Bouniol not only when
I was a student at the Priory, but also for a few years after my ordination.
The impressions I received as a youth of a great man were not only confirmed
but strengthened in later life. I count it as a privilege to have been asked
to write these few lines about him.
As a new arrival at the Priory, I soon learnt that Fr. Bouniol was a man of
authority. Some people are fortunately blessed by Providence with certain
physical aids to help them in inspiring obedience—piercing eyes, beetling
eye brows, or a resounding voice. He had none of these. When needed he just
showed his displeasure and that was enough. At times this displeasure would
be accompanied by some withering remarks which made the poor culprit wish
that he could be transported elsewhere. He did not believe in delaying his
remarks, and on those occasions when corporal punishment was considered necessary
it was administered then and there. There was no waiting about for painful
interviews. Yes! Fr. Bouniol inspired a reverential fear.
It came therefore as a surprise to me to learn after a few months that he
also inspired confidence and affection. I remember very well one of the senior
students telling me, "Look here, if you have something on your mind tell
Fr. Bouniol about it." I went along to his room one evening and was obliged
to queue up. Before his appointment as Superior his confessional was always
crowded on Saturday evenings. All this is a very long time ago, but I well
remember how patient, kind and sympathetic he was every time I went to see
him.
There was no doubt about Fr. Bouniol being a man of energy. During the afternoon
recreations his usual companions were pick and shovel. His appointment as
Superior of the Priory in 1925 seemed to unleash new sources of energy. In
practically no time he had started the White Fathers' magazine, edited the
first book on the White Fathers in English (he would never admit that he was
the author) and arranged a system of collecting boxes for benefactors. At
the same time he was taking his full share of classes.
In those days the football field at the Priory was the side of a hill, good
enough for kick-abouts, but pretty hopeless for proper matches. One father
was heard to remark, "It would be a good idea to level the field."
Soon afterwards Fr. Bouniol with tape and level was to be seen amidst an admiring
crowd of students making certain incomprehensive calculations and measurements.
Suddenly the decision was made, "We begin here" and he promptly
filled the first wheel barrow with earth; the work of levelling the football
field had begun. His enthusiasm was catching and not only fathers but also
students were to be seen day after day digging furiously.
Such untiring energy and devotion to the task committed to his care was based
on one thing alone—prayer. We did not need lengthy conferences on the
value of prayer. We had before our eyes a living example of solid piety.
Finally Fr. Bouniol instilled into us all a great ambition, namely to work
on the missions in Africa. Being a White Father he had an ardent desire to
go there himself. However his superiors thought that he was needed elsewhere
and so he realised his ambition through us. We left the Priory with one ideal,
“Ad Salvandos Afros.”
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Fr.
William Burridge WF 1909 - 2000
Taken from the White Fathers - White Sisters magazine, May
2000
Many
regular readers of 'The Universe' will no doubt remember the articles, on
the Missions, the Church, Ecumenism, and a variety of other subjects, written
over a period of almost 30 years by Father William Burridge who died on 13th.
January, at Nazareth House, Hammersmith, aged 90.
Father Burridge was born in Portsmouth in 1909. He entered the White Fathers'
noviciate in Maison Carree, Algeria in 1929 and was ordained a priest in Carthage,
Tunisia in 1936.
For the first twelve years of his priesthood, Father Burridge was teaching
in seminaries in this country and he also had the unenviable task of trying
to raise funds for the training and upkeep of future Missionaries and the
work of the Missions during the War years when Britain and Africa were cut
off from the support of occupied Europe.
After the war, he was asked by the Mother House, to set up and run a course
which would help prepare non-British missionaries to work in the fields of
education and administration in what were then British colonies in East and
West Africa.
In 1960, Father Burridge was asked to take over as Editor of the White Fathers'
magazine and it was in this capacity that he learnt and perfected his skills
as a journalist, building up a vast network of contacts and lasting friend
ships with other Catholic journalists, while contributing articles, book reviews,
and translations to a multitude of Catholic publications in this country and
abroad, although the greatest part of his work at that time was for 'The Universe'.
Father Burridge never actually worked in Africa as a missionary, but in the
early sixties, 'The Universe' was one of those responsible for sending him
to visit the newly independent countries in Central and East Africa, to use
his contacts to find out how the Church was coping with the changes at the
grass-roots level. He became a kind of 'foreign correspondent' and sent back
a series of weekly articles from wherever he happened to be. He was actually
in the Congo at the time of one of the uprisings and had to be evacuated along
with other missionaries by UN forces.
As he got on in years and his health declined, Father Burridge's literary
output diminished, but he kept up his contacts with the world of Catholic
writers and for many years served on the committee of the Catholic Writers'
Guild.
Father Burridge's funeral was held at Nazareth House on Tuesday the 25th.
January, 2000.
May He Rest in Peace
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Michael
Bolan 1934—1996
An Appreciation by John Morton,
his friend and brother-in-law.
Michael,
who was better known to most students as Ebby, went to the Priory in 1947
as a boy of 13. We first met in 1950 when I myself went to the Priory. Even
at that early stage he was showing a keen interest in the Arts especially
Music and Painting which were to become his lifelong obsession. I well remember
my first introduction to Classical music listening to Beethoven's Pastoral
symphony on Mike's old 'wind up' gramophone.
From the Priory Mike went on to Broome Hall to study Philosophy. As with most
students he loved his time there after the rigours of the Priory and spoke
about this period with great affection. He went on to complete the Novitiate
at s' Heerenberg .
After the Novitiate he was sent to Carthage to complete his Theological studies.
He found the regime and the climate difficult to adjust to in North Africa
but he applied himself well to the changed environment. His artistic skills
were developing and he produced a number of striking water colours of Thibar
and the surrounding area. Examples of these can be found on the Pelican website.
By 1959 he was having serious doubts about his vocation and he decided to
leave the White Fathers just prior to the Diaconate and return to England.
Following a traumatic few months he decided that his future lay in teaching
and he completed a course and qualified as an Art teacher. He spent many happy
years teaching which was the ideal vehicle for his great talent for communication.
Mike was married for a number of years and had a son. His Art work and Poetry
became central to his life and he held a number of successful Art exhibitions
throughout the country. He retained a great interest in Theological matters
and held strong views on Church Authority and Celibacy. Eventually these led
him to leave the Catholic Church and he became an Anglican.
He had a boundless enthusiasm for life despite its ups and downs and always
remained uncomplaining and positive. Mike had a wide circle of friends and
was the ideal person to invite to any function.
He was extremely gregarious and usually the last person to leave from any
party. In the latter stages of his life he became a Pelican and enjoyed the
opportunity of meeting so many of his friends from the past.
By 1996 a brain tumour had been diagnosed and he died peacefully on the 25
th April 1996. He was buried in sight of his beloved Lichfield Cathedral.
May
He Rest in Peace
One
of the watercolours that Ebby produced while at Carthage
(10 of which can be seen on Pages 97 & 98 of the Gallery
section)
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Fr
Herb Herrity WF (1928 — May 4th 2000)
Taken from the White Fathers - White Sisters magazine, June-July
2001
Born
in Glasgow on the 16th. March, 1928, Herbert Herrity had long wanted to become
a priest but he kept his thoughts about his vocation a secret from his family
until on completion of his 'Highers' he immediately asked to enter the White
Fathers' seminary.
It must have been a difficult time for everyone. His father had died in 1937,
leaving his mother to bring up the family of three boys and a girl; and the
years he spent in secondary education in St. Mungo's Academy in Glasgow corresponded
almost exactly with the war years.
Fr. Herb had done well in his examinations but he had never been given the
opportunity of studying Latin at school, so he was sent to the Priory, the
junior seminary of the Society in Bishop’s Waltham, to acquire what was
in those days an essential prerequisite for study for the priesthood, before
beginning his Philosophy at St. Boswells and later in Dorking. He received
the habit in 's-Heerenberg in 1949 and also did his scholasticate in Holland.
With him at that time were two Germans who had fought on the Russian Front,
a Scotsman who had sailed on the Murmansk convoys, airmen from both the Luftwaffe
and the R.A.F., and others who had spent the war years in occupied France
and Holland. For Fr. Herb, as he said himself, it was a lesson in mutual acceptance.
(photo source: Petit Echo N. 917)
Although the courses were in English, Fr. Herb picked up a smattering of Dutch
and struck up some friendships in Holland which lasted all his life.
At the end of his studies, Fr. Herb returned to Scotland, and on 10 June 1954
he was one of twenty-three White Fathers ordained priest by Archbishop, later
Cardinal, Gordon Gray of St. Andrews and Edinburgh. After ordination, Fr.
Herb was asked to go to Heston, a parish run by the White Fathers, near Heathrow
Airport. There he got some pastoral experience and was popular with the parishioners.
Then, a year later, he got his appointment to Ghana. After a short period
in Tamale, Fr. Herb was sent to the parish of Damongo. This was a completely
new area being opened up and Damongo was only the second parish in what is
currently the Archdiocese of Tamale and the Diocese of Damongo combined was
a vast area, but in those days still sparsely populated. From then on, for
the best part of thirty years, Fr. Herb alternated between spells of mission
animation in Scotland and periods in the Archdiocese of 'Tamale, mainly at
the Cathedral. Other place where he worked were Bole, Jirapa, and Holy Cross
Parish in Tamale.
One day, in March 1987, while he was Parish Priest of Holy Cross, Fr. Herb
awoke to find that he could not see out of one eye. There was no suitable
treatment available in Ghana and Fr. Herb was advised by the Eye Specialist
in Kumasi to return home for treatment. That was effectively the end of his
work in Africa. He lost the sight of that eye and subsequently had problems
with the other.
In 'Doodles in the Dust', some personal meditations on his life in Ghana from
1955 to 199l, which he had printed in 1994, Fr. Herb describes how he arrived
as a newly-ordained priest among the Gonja and Dagomba people in 1955. He
tells of his great desire to make many converts and to build up the Church
find vocations there. However, things did not work out as he had hoped: "There
were no mass conversions among the Gonjas, and truth to tell, there was not
much sign at that time that we would ever make much impact on them. It is
in that situation, when there is little sign of progress, that disillusion
can creep in with disastrous consequences.”
It was at this point that Fr. Herb met some people who were living the Focolar
spirituality. "I feel that I could have grown into a soured old priest
had I not had the great fortune to meet up with friends who helped me to understand
that I had just one task in life, and that was to love with the love of God
himself. It was not a question of achieving anything.”
Because of ill health and encroaching blindness, Fr. Herb spent the last few
years of his life in Scotland, first at the Promotions House in Edinburgh
in 1991, and then, after the session retreat in Jerusalem in 1994, in Rutherglen.
However, his missionary spirit remained alive and well as he explained: "Now
that I have returned to the home country with limited vision, I find that
I am not less a missionary. I may not be a missionary in Africa, but I can
still be a missionary to God's love wherever God puts me . . . It gives me
great joy and, please God, it will do to the end."
The end came perhaps sooner
than Fr. Herb was expecting it, although in letters to friends while he was
waiting for a heart operation, he showed that he knew full well how serious
it was. When he eventually got an appointment for the operation, his confreres
went with him to the hospital, made sure he was settled in, and said goodbye,
promising to come and see him afterwards. How great was their shock, then,
when the surgeon told them two days later, that Fr. Herb had not survived
the operation.
The crowded church at Dennistown in Glasgow for the funeral of Fr. Herbert
Herrity was a fitting testimony to his life and to the network of relationships
he had built up during his forty six years as a missionary priest. In his
sure and unobtrusive way Fr. Herb had touched the hearts of hundreds of ordinary
people, both in Ghana and in his native Scotland. In fact while his funeral
was taking place in Scotland, a great 'celebration' of Fr. Herb's life was
also taking place at Holy Cross Parish in Tamale, Ghana, his adoptive country,
at which the Archbishop presided.
May He Rest in Peace
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Father
Pierce English died of coronary thrombosis in a Winchester hospital on 1st April
this year, having been taken ill some thirty-six hours previously. He was thirty-nine
years of age.