Well, this “Bishop”, being long excommunicated, is clearly quite a character! He seems to have started his own little church. I don’t know whether he is more of an eccentric or more of a trail-blazer! If he could possibly put his ridiculous belief in things supernatural aside, I think we should adopt him as a kind of mascot, as a kind of mockery of the Pope, his Cardinals and all his ridiculous real Bishops!
he’s as legitimate as, if not more so than, most american preachers, he was ordained despite the “church” turning him out
But Mihangel it says he’s been excommunicated. Doesn’t that effectively mean he’s been completely stripped of his office and his membership of the Catholic church? His continuing to dress up in Bishop’s rigging and run his own church is all a sort of gallant effort on his part, but he’s no legit Catholic bish any longer, is he. What would you do if you were a Catholic bishop and you got stripped by the Vatican? Would you keep up the show, running your own little “schism”? Would that be the most rational thing to do?
What ever Pat Buckley is or is not, he’s a trail-blazer into the secretive, cloistered world of this very devious Catholic establishment.
I supppose it depends whether and how one views the act of ordination and excommunication – the can’t exactly unpriest you since its supposedly the holy ghost or something acting theough the bishop or whoever. I number of RC bishops have been turned out and carried on their own sect, and some have gone back in.
It’s all bollocks anyway, so him setting up his own sect is as valid as the one run by papa Bennie
I didn’t read it properly: he’s ordained as a bishop in the episcopalian church – as valid as anything papa can authorise
He ordained Sinead O’Connor into the catholic priesthood about 10 years ago as well. I think she remains the 1st catholic priest who identified as lesbian (even if she was only a lesbian for 2 days).
Bravo Pat Buckley! There’s a similar situation with a Belgian RC bishop who has quite a gay following. BRAVO.
Is this person a Roman Catholic bishop, no, never has been never will be, is he a bishop, well that is a horse of a different colour! It depends on how you define the word “bishop” and how you define the word “Catholic”. For example the Romans do not consider the Archbishop of Canterbury a valid bishop nor do they consider any of the Anglican clergy as valid because they say Anglican Orders that is ministry is null and void. Some of the extremely xenophobic Orthodox groups do not recognize anyone except themselves as having “valid” bishops including by the way the pope. According to these blokes his orders are dead! Methodist have bishops but do not claim any “apostolic” lineage, otherwise known as the Apostolic Succession, for their guys and gals. Old Catholics that is the historically legitimate ones have bishops that are recognized by the Vatican and Anglican folke as “authentic” bishops. This chap is probably one of a myriad of queens who like fancy dress and even fancier titles, some to rival the A of C, the Greek Patriarch, and the Pope of Rome combined, who has found someone claiming a lineage from the “historic succession of the Apostles” and who enjoys a very heavy tax break.If you go on the web you can find more bishops,most of whom have “churches” only on paper or in their walk in closets, than there are fish in the sea. In almost every case such claims are dismissed as shams and schemes by the “mainline” churches. So is he a “bishop” that all depends on which side of the discussion you find yourself. IF a person actually has folke he or she actually ministers to and are honest about their selves and history and does not care about regal titles and miters and who exists other than on the web and have more people than “clergy” I think it is entirely appropriate to extend the courtesy of the title bishop whether you believe in the “Succession” or not, after all ultimately the determiner of validity lies with a community, well an actual community of faith.
But Fr Gentry, he was ordained a regular catholic priest as I understand, so is a “priest forever after the order of Melchisedek”, is he not?
Good fortune and blessings be on both- have a good and happy ceremony!
That would be wonderful and a sign that Christianity is moving forward . It would restore my faith as a Christian again.
It would be a blessing to see Christianity move forward for a change and would renew my faith in the religion.
Fr. Andrew Gentry.
“This chap is probably one of a myriad of queens who like fancy dress and even fancier titles….”
Just luv that; thanks..!
There’s another one in Rome, just like her.
Lovely hat and bits and bobs; gorgeous; AND a face like a well- slapped arse, completes the picture.
Reminds me of Les Dawson’s and Roy Barraclough’s “Cissy and Ada”
And would that be the wee mammy standing alongside.?
It IS his mum..!
I have just read the small print…
It IS Cissie and Ada..!
Like two peas in a pod.
Says it all!
The daft bastard!
What’s wrong with RADA and a few panto seasons.?
Luv a duck!
Ah well; worrever rox yer boat..
I haven’t laffed so much since I watched “Ar John’s a gay mahn noy, so ‘e az..!”
(Catherine Tate’s sketch … ‘Our John’s a gay man now!”)
Keith, how are you? In good humorous fettle, by the sound of it! Yes, I loved that line of “Fr. Gentry’s” too: “This chap is probably one of a myriad of queens who like fancy dress and even fancier titles…”
And thanks to “Fr. Gentry” for his contribution and confirming my take on the matter. Reminds me of that old queen-monsignor I told you about months ago, Keith, the one who was poncing round with his benediction clock on inside out – both sides sparkled and he didn’t take the trouble to determine which was which because all he wanted was to admire himself in the glitter in the mirror!
Or even his Benediction ‘cloak’…hahahah
Hello Eddy, bay-bee; yes I am still laffing at that..swishshsh! swashshshsh! swishy-swashy…. shum-shum vada…a gem…hahaha.
Always can guarantee a laff on these pages; luv it..!
That’s all I come on ‘ere now for, t’ tek t’ piss…
Old Ma ‘Hump-me’ Robinson; this daft twallop, Buckley; who else…er..? oh yes Harriet Harmonium…fill it full o’ wind an’ it’ll play whatever choon yer want….and a cast of dozens more.
Keep ‘em coming Mr. Ed. and all you luvly contributors.
I was in 7th heaven this afto.
Market St. Manchester was heaving today and slap-bang in the middle and on an upturned beer crate, mic. and bible in hand was this God-botherer.
Around were dozens and dozens of young people, mostly lasses.
ALL SINGING AT THE TOPS OF THEIR VOICES, LILY ALLEN’S “cKUFF YOU! cKUFF YOU VERY MU-U-U-U-UCH”…!
I hope there is a similar musical outpouring at Ratzy’s appearance on this festered isle.
‘Bishop Buckley described homophobia as “immoral and sinful”.’
Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he.
Anyway, good luck and all the best for the future.
Keith wrote: “Market St. Manchester was heaving today and slap-bang in the middle and on an upturned beer crate, mic. and bible in hand was this God-botherer. Around were dozens and dozens of young people, mostly lasses. ALL SINGING AT THE TOPS OF THEIR VOICES, LILY ALLEN’S “cKUFF YOU! cKUFF YOU VERY MU-U-U-U-UCH”…!”
Keith, this story needs to find it’s way into the main columns of the Pink paper or Gay Times! What a happening! And I think it could only happen in Manchester! There’s more wonderful rebelliousness in Manchester than there is in the rest of this entire island! I often miss Manchester. (Used to live in Old Trafford and used to teach in Moss Side.)
Old Trafford and Moss Side?
Well you’ll have earned your spurs then.!
All cleaned up now…or well on the way to being so.
I could go on…but we will be classed as an ‘item’ and as ‘page-hoggers’ and ‘road-hogs’ if I do.
Cleaned up a bit, eh? I’ll definitely have to have a day out and come up and visit. Any special recommendations of things to see in the new Manchester? Is Grassroots bookshop still going? Be nice to pop in there and see it again. Still run by lesbians, I hope.
We have our own, mini version – in swish, grey concrete – of the Berlin Wall, with, I think, 4 pissoirs for any man wishing to chill his ardour; ‘cottaging al fresco’ I call it; all plonked right in Piccadilly Gardens; you couldn’t make it up; you wouldn’t be believed..!!
10/10 and a gold star to the planning ‘authorities’ for those two ‘gems’
What’s a bookshop?
I can’t read so that’s all above my head.
Couple of good chippies if that’s any good; more my style.
Anyway if that bookshop was run by Les Bean…er…no thanks; I am still waking up screaming from Reverend Mother Mary Therese O’ Shaughnessy and her mate, Reverend Sister Maggotsden Pierce.
Stately as two galleons they were but as vishusss as Trident.
(Oh sorry, that should read ‘Magdalen’ not ‘Maggots den’; silly me; tlod uyo I kludn’t rede.)
Watch out for snipers.
We’ll get done yet fer hogging the page, thee an’ me; although maybe not; I think this thread has breeved its last.
The two Rev. ladies mentioned were the Headmistress of my Junior school and her ‘Deppitty Dawg’; two ladies of the ‘Velvet Beaver Club’ most deffy.
But of course such things don’t dawn, until one is well into one’s own nest of vipers; you suddenly realise all the ‘real couples’ that were there in actual fact, as opposed to that which was on show for public consumption.
It wasn’t my dad, Steve, and my mum; it was Steve and Stanley who were inseperable; my mum and dad hardly spoke; Steve and Stan didn’t speak either; they just held hands and stared at one another when they thought no-one was looking.
Reverend Mother Mary and Sister Magdalen were often seen together walking along link-armed; very against the norm of the religious life that there should be ‘no particular friendships/bodily contact’.
Fr. H and Fr. B; just such another item.
Frs. H & B thought there was no-one in the sacristy that Sunday after Mass.
But I was there, likkle me.
I was in the BIG CUPBOARD putting away the other boys’ cassocks and surplices, tidying them up on to their hangers; that was my job that week; all of us boys, after Mass, just used to rip off our robes and fling them, any-old-how, ‘at’ the cupboard; one boy had to stay behind and put everything in order.
I could hear laughing and rude, farty noises and I looked through the crack of the BIG CUPBOARD, where the door meets the casing at the hinges and there is Fr H. squeezing Fr. B’s bum; Fr. B then mock-retaliates by making a grab for Fr. H’s crotch.
All very sacerdotal, I am sure.
I was stunned at the horseplay but far too innocent or ignorant to ascribe to it any other significance than horseplay until years later.
But I did have the presence of mind at 10 y.o. to advise them that I was in the BIG CUPBOARD, by dropping something on the floor or coughing or summat.
Then there’s our Jozef and Georg; the way he (G.) fluffs up his father-figure’s (J.) fur-trimmed bits and bobs or straightens a shoulder-cape which has been ruffled by the breeze is quite touching, doncha fink..?
But it’s another deffy sign.
They must all think we know nowt and have no eyes.
“Do as I say!” – I think, not ‘do as I do’…
ARROGANCE …. 1
COMMON SENSE… 0
Thrilling writing, Keith. All of it. Love your writing style.
The scene in the sacristy. So true, so true, so authentic. Nice gay Catholic men playing with each other. But the DECEIT of it! Out of that sacristy and crossing the altar, spotting the “fools” still at prayer in the pews, they would transform, take up the act again. Lamentable hypocrisy. I know. I was part of it all those years ago. This guy who was hot for me drove me home and I daren’t let him know I was in a seminary so I directed him to the carpark of a block of flats next door. He wanted to come up, of course. I said the other “students” were all straight. So he pulls down my zip and goes down my cock and forcibly sucks me off. I didn’t exactly kick and scream! Said good night, headed for the flats, waited for him to go, and then it was through the hedge and back into the seminary. Shameful really. But I’m proud I eventually couldn’t live with it and left the whole thing hook, line, and sinker. Jesus, I’ll never forget the day the rector knocked on my door and told me there was visitor waiting for me over in priest’s wing, in one of their parlours. Went over there and found that this raging great queen in all her finery had got wind that I was in the seminary and had decided to visit. There was no mistaking “her”. If that didn’t make the rector think or even smile, he must have been very green. Somehow I reckon he smiled. Because six months I ditched the religious life, I heard he had! He and some nun had decided to “elope” and go live together in civvy street!
We should put all these stories in a book!
“Ooooooooo ! You are AWFUL…but I LIKE you.!” (with greatful thanks to wonderful Dick Emery)
(Eddy, I think we have this thread all to ourselves ‘ad reminiscendum’…leastways, no-one’s shut us up, moved us on, or ckuffed us off…shshhssshhhh.!)
Yeah…”the fools”… hahaha I had forgit about them…the WALLIES…the PUNTERS….the paying WHACKOES…completely fergit I had…!
Yeah a book…!
What could we call it.?
“Altar boy-Oh BOY!!”
Or…do you remember “I Leapt Over The Wall” by Monica Baldwin, an ex-nun.?
You could call your book, “I didn’t so much leap over the wall, more got slammed up agin it..!”
Hee, hee. Love that possible last title, Keith!
Yes, I remember that Monica Baldwin title. It was all over the place when I was young. From what I remember it was sort of “forbidden material”, not to be read by good practising Catholic. She’d done a runner, betrayed us all, I seem to remember. Thanks for bringing it back to mind.
“Altar Boy. Oh, Boy!” is a good title too for the kind of stories we could put together! We should think on this. Lots of truthful stuff in there but lots of humour as well. Have ‘em screamin’ with laughter while they read . . . even the priests. Books like that do get passed around the presbyteries by the naughtier ones!
Love your emphasis on “the paying WHACKOES!” They’re extraordinary, aren’t they. Must be blind, you’d think. Come to think of it, my partner and I know one such right now. It’s an old work colleague of his. She basically a nun. Unmarried. On her knees every Sunday, and a few other days besides down at the Oratory in London. Behaves like nun, lives like a nun, never be fuc*ed, and at the same time “a really good person” in that you can rely on her etc., to do the right thing according to the Holy Book. Trouble is she’s got all this sh*t in her head. Anyway, she trundles out here last summer for lunch and to meet the queer monster, . . . ME! (He’d only just come out to her a couple of months before.) Was on me best behaviour, of course. Didn’t say anything foul or vaguely contentious. Behaved like a nun myself while she was here. Apparently once she got back home she reported that she thought I was “nice”. Of course, I was just catering to a “paying whacko”, trying not to upset the apple-cart. Now the constant joke from is, “So, when you gunna invite the old girl to come and stay then, eh?” Jesus, even I don’t think I could cope with that 100%. I mean if we’re all sat watching the telly in the evening or something and something appalling comes on the news, like the Pope says again that all the queers are killing the rainforests, I am not likely to be able to stifle a loud and angry “What the f***** b***** s***** is that f****** on about now!??????” And that would COMPLETELY upset the Paying Whacko, don’t ya think?
Keith, I reckon if we bookmark this page, it’s our private channel of conversation forever and anon! (Funny though if after a couple of month it suddenly appeared in the “most popular” box!)
FAME at LAAAAST…!
SOOO deserved; so richlyyyy deserved..!
(Better stop now!…going into Kenny Willams mode..!)
“For ever and anon…?? what is THAT.??
PLEASE in Latin, please!
Remember to’m whom youm are talking to’m…
“Per omnia saecula saeculorum..”….if ya don’t mind..!
Sister Clodagh Raghbagh.
………………………..and ‘BOOKMARKED’ it is..!
So if you rememeber Monica’s book then I guess you are about a 1940′s babe too.?
I remember that book so well.
How I ever got a copy I do not know because I think it was on the list of proscribed books, no.?
Anyways, I never devoured a book so fast in my life and only a child too; I am sure that book set me on the path to ‘speed-reading’.
I could not wait for the next juicy bit altho’ at that young age I am sure much of it must have gone over my head.
We knew nowt about owt in them days, did we?
I don’t think the silly ckuffing Irish Christian Bros. knew owt much either…well….we wont go down THAT route.
I mean !! I thought it was for pee-ing thro’ until I was 20!
And I had taken a vow of celibacy at 17 totally oblivious of what I was mumbling on about.
So there you have it.
I did not really need to read Monica’s book did I..!!
I jumped over me own, real, live, yer actual, wall a couple of years later..!
Or was I pushed?
Anyways, when I told the powers as was in the seminary that I thought I might be h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l (oh the horror of it!) …I was over that wall in double time and a half, pushed or not.!
There was more plastic in that seminary the day I left with all the plastic smiles and faux handshakes than in the whole of I.C.I.
Hildegarde of Bingley.
Hee, hee, hee! So you were in a seminary too! Woweeeee!
“I leap over the wall” had a wonderfully dramatic egotistical ring to it, I always thought. Sort of heroic. “I’m going to give my life to God”. “I wish to be used for God’s service”. “I shall sacrifice my life to Jesus”. All this just has to lead one day to “And I shall leap right over that seven-foot fuc*ing wall!”, don’t ya think?
I see that ex-Sr Mary Monica also wrote a novel about nuns! You might enjoy it, if you haven’t read it already. See:
You know, some five or six years after I dumped the seminary, and religion and the whole bloody charade, an attractive bloke caught my eye on the High Street one Saturday morning. (And he was carrying a bunch of roses! How SWEET was that! Ah, an angel, I thought!) Anyway, we did the lingering in the windows thing and got talking and half an hour later he was back at my digs begging me to pull hard on his hair, fu&k him silly, and treat him like sh*t. I did my best (completely acting, of course – I’ve always had a knack for it) and he announces at the end he wants to meet again.
Turns out the roses were for the altar of Our Lady and he was in the local Anglican seminary! A couple of visits later he said I simply had to come Vespers, eat with them all in the refectory, and then have a drink upstairs in their rooms afterwards. Well, after such a long divorce with all such nonsense, I thought this could be interesting, particularly as I had no knowledge at all of Prody seminaries.
Wasn’t in the stalls of the chapel one minute when I recognised one of the priests at the back. I’d suc*ed his absolutely fuc*king humongous di*k literally only days before, behind a bush in the park! He blushed. I was tickled pink! F’ing hypocrite, I thought, I could expose you here and now if I choose to yell out, “Oi! You! Weren’t you the one . . . ”
Anyway, Vespers was followed by a kind of school-dinners meal in the ref., and then I got bundled upstairs. All the out homos had been gathered together in one priestling’s room and out came the sherry. I had a feeling they wanted some “fun” out of me but I was over-ridden with the hypocrisy of this situation I wasn’t willing. One of them though was hot for me (and HE was pretty hot too) and he slipped me his number and for months afterwards he came round to my digs and we had a wild old time at it! Last I heard he’s still a parish priest down in Streatham, South London.
And that reminds me, moved up to Birmingham a couple of years later after the above and got corralled by another desperate seminarian! I guess they must STILL be out there, living their double-lives, though with all the papal pronouncements recently about how the queers have to be weeded out before they get anywhere near the seminaries it must be bloody difficult for the ones who manage to scrape through. All the more dangerous? All the more thrilling, perhaps?
What some people do for kicks, eh, Keith? When they could simply ditch the whole show, go find themselves a nice boyf, and snuggle up somewhere for the rest of their lives.
Yes, I was seminarian in a religious order; 3 vows all the bit; I thought you knew that.
Ah well, makes no-never-minds now.
I find that very sneaky of the Church to pass that phrase thro’ a boy’s head about ‘Do you think you might be called to serve Christ as a priest or brother?’
And then follow that up with the gubbins about ‘if you deny the call’ or ‘he who loves father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me.’
So what is the ultra- religious, daily mass-attending, Church-mad, altar-server going to do?
He is not going to deny what he thinks is a call, is he, that which he thinks he has heard in his little 14 year old’s head?
He is not going to love mum and dad more than JC is he?
After all, “mustn’t be ‘unworthy’ of Christ, must we”?
I attended an Irish Christian Bros. school and was absolutely entranced with the idea of being one of them.
In the Catholic paper, ‘THE UNIVERSE’, a religious congregation, which was trawling for vocations, or fishing for them, or ‘phishing’ as we might say today, was advertising for young men and youths who thought that they might be ‘called to serve Christ’ to come down to the south coast, to their seminary, for a retreat; all found.
(No such thing as a free dinner..! Yer what..??!!)
The mornings were to be spent in meditation and discussion with the priests – and the afternoons were free to go on to the beach; there would be barbecues (many of the priests were Americans) etc. etc. etc.
I had already made up my mind, before going on this holiday/retreat to become a Brother in the Irish wotnot wotnot and told the priest, giving the retreat, of my intention.
Indeed my application had already gone in to the Brothers for consideration; I gave it in to Rev. Bro. Headmaster on the last day of term, July 1958; the retreat holiday was for the middle of August; I was 15.
When I returned from the retreat-holiday in Bournemouth back to Blackpool there was a letter waiting for me from the I. Ch. Brothers with ‘deep regret … tee bla tee bla tee bla…’
My academic outlook was not what they were looking for (I was/am hopeless at Maths) and also I was the boy last to be picked to play on the rugby/cricket pitch and I was always a missing-link at games / P.T. time….as in gone home..!
So of course this all gets noted; in other words, “thanks-but-no-thanks – you would not fit in”; you are not what we are looking for, altho’ they don’t say it in so many words.
Undaunted, and as I was tearing up the I. Ch. Bros rejection slip with my left hand, I was writing a ”Please can I join your religious Order?” – letter with my right hand..!
(I have always been ‘handy’.)
Haha……well, you know what I mean….no grass grew under MY feet, so smitten was I with the Church at that time.
Actually two of us went on that holiday.
A friend of mine, let’s call him Peter.
It was Peter who had originally found the advert. in THE UNIVERSE and asked me if I thought we could go.
I am a couple of years older than he; maybe his mum would not let him go alone but would have let him go had there been 2 of us and I was just that bit older, he being only 13 and me at 15?
Who knows now.!
I don’t know; I am just guessing; walking down Memory Lane privately at this point so apologies; and anyway, it does not matter now.
So probably that was it.
So off we jolly well went – him and me -from Blackpool to Bournemouth; 13 and 15..babies.. to give away the rest of our lives to Christ.
How toe-curlingly, cringe-making is that, now!
I doubt whether that would be countenanced today.
How my mum said ‘yes’ I will never know..
Anyway, I mention Peter because he remained and has remained to this day in the Order.
This was the July of 1958.
I became a postulant in the August of ’58 at age 15, the 21st, the day before the Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.
I entered the novitiate exactly one year later on the 22nd of August, 1959, the actual Feast of the I.H.M. (August 22nd) aged 16
Exactly one year later on August 22nd 1960, I took simple vows for 1 year and became a scholastic and in that year, Peter, by now old enough to become a postulant followed in my path, from Blackpool, having been unable to do so earlier, because he was too young at 13; now at 15 in 1960, he could join.
He did so and, as I said above, has been a priest and religious ever since.
We lost contact over the years for whatever reason, but he always sent my mum a card at Chrimbo.
Then one day, in the 80′s, he just walked into the small souvenirs kiosk that I had on the seafront at Blackpool and the contact was resumed from then on, albeit briefly.
I told him why I had left the seminary and he said that he already knew all about it.
Anyway, I must have got on his nerves, because I went banging on and on about it (homosexuality) and he just turned to me and said, “Keith! It cannot be healthy for you to be so obsessed with the Catholic Church..!”
Point taken at the time…oh…some 6/7/8 years ago now when I last saw him…but I was not happy with that put-down from him, although I said nothing at the time; just took it on board and let it fester for the last few years.
Then it all fell into place more or less overnight and only last year, at that; my reply to Peter, were I ever to meet him again was there on my lips waiting to be said having been stewing at the back of the oven for years.
When all this scandal broke, in very recent times, about the child abuse, that which Peter had said to me about my being ”unhealthily obsessed” with the RCC and that about the child abuse suddenly fitted together like jigsaw pieces, vis-a-vis the default position of the Church’s clerics in general and the hierarchy in particular..
The answer on my lips now, were I ever to meet him again, would be to pick up the conversation exactly where we (he, it was, actually) finished it.
And I would say, “Oh? Unhealthy for me to be so obsessed, is it? Yes; that is the default position of the RCC. Would you also, Peter have wished -for the greater good of the RCC – that those children, now adults, had kept quiet and also not been as ‘unhealthily obsessed’..?”
Indeed, I am so boiling with rage at their arrogance, ignorance and hypocrisy about homosexuality that it is very difficult, now that I am retired not to move to the parish, in Wales, where he now serves as a priest, attend the Sunday services and pick him and his brother-priests up there by the pubes every time, were I to hear one derogatory syllable about homosexuality; I would stand my corner now like a pit-bull; I would rant and rave and bang fists on pews to emphasise my point, so much so that it would be thought that Hitler had been raised from the dead.
I am not the meek little seminarian that slipped out of the seminary, convinced of his unworthiness and uselessness because of this ”dreadful (homosexuality) disease”
To the point where I would disrupt every single service if necessary and have the police called every day that I attended a service and heard a derogatory comment about homosexuality.
I told Peter that.
His reply was that he did not think it would serve any purpose.
Much the same, again, as I suspect the abused children, now adults, were told all down the decades.
I was only a grain of sand in it all.
But look at Archbishop Roddy Wright of the Highlands and Isles.
He ran off with some woman and dumped the lot; from that exalted position.
He went to N.Z.; as far away from Europe as poss.
All the church did was disown him as it disowns everybody who falls short; it looks the other way.
Georg W. Bush said, “If you are not with us, you are against us” and that is much the same hymn as the RCC sings.
Indeed the only one who would not be treated like that would be the/a Pope himself were he ever to ‘sway’.
He would just wake up dead.
All ‘pro bone Ecclesiae’ of course.
You remark in your post about all the shennanigans going on in the Church; you have seen it; I have seen.
The question has to be asked, “What else can these people do, leave..?”
Remember the “Nun’s Story” with (?) Audrey Hepburn)
The door just opened to let her out and that was the end; no ongoing help from the RCC; not one iota.
The institution is greater than any of the component parts.
‘Weed all the gayboys out before they take up Holy Orders or even before setting foot in a seminary?’
They’ll never do it; it is lip-service and they know it.
Why, if it were not for gays the churches, of all persuasions, but espesh the RCC, would simply cease as we know it.
The ministry certainly would, as in, a church here and another over there.
It would be one dedicated soul ministering to thousands.
Perhaps that is what they want.?
You know, the “…many are called…few are chosen…” bit.
Obsessed of Ordsall.
riveting, fuc*ing riveting, Keith.
The partner insists we go out hunting for necessary provisions, so will come back later to respond . . . but just had to read all the above before rushing off! Riveting!
How come, “riveting”.?
I would think my small story could be repeated thousands of times down the years by just such as me.
Fr, ‘Peter’ -as he now is – told me that the Order no longer advertises such ‘retreats’ in order to ‘trawl’ for ‘vocations’..
Just been reading about the mass protest that is being planned on Valentine’s Day against the September visit of the Pope.
I can’t stop looking at that photograph of Buckley and his mum..!
The things mums do for their sons!
She must be a wonderful woman to support a klompf like that.
Two crusts short of a loaf, that one.
He really needs to be told to dump La Mamma.
What a dead ringer for Hermione Gingold..!
Imagine him getting the top job..??
There he is on the balcony in St. Peter’s Sq.
HABEMUS PAPAM…ET MAMAM EIUS QUOQUE..!
HABEMUS… ‘B.O.G.O.F’ !!!
GRATIAS AGIMUS TIBI, DOMINE..!
“There’s No Business Like Show-Business”
Strike me PINK..!
Morning Keith! (And what a beautiful morning it is.)
Well, “riveting” perhaps not to 99% of people, but I’m not in that 99%. “Riveting” because what floats out from your account is that you have been left with a conviction re. Catholicism/Church/religion which is as powerful as mine, and I know that is rare. I am delighted to find you!!!!!
I would say that the only people who manifest a similar depth of feeling, re my loathing of the Catholic church and all religion, are a few exceptional non-believers like Dawkins, Grayling, and Hitchens and those who utterly believe (i.e. the extremely devoted of all religions). The vast majority of others just sit on the bloody fence or just can’t be ars*d!
You’ve had the put-downs, just like me. I bet you’ve even had the “Oh, the pendulum will swing back one day and then you’ll assume a more reasonable position!” No, it effing won’t! It never will! What they suggest is that I will lose my conviction, let go of my integrity. They want us to, of course, because our strong feeling threatens their comfy nonsensical little game!
The other night I asked the doctor talking to the Humanist meeting what we can all DO to fight the bastar*s. He replied to the hall: “Never fail to speak out when you feel the tips of the wings of any religion are fluttering over the edge of your world!” He went on to remind us how religionists are constantly saying their rights are being curtailed, but there is never absolutely any thought of ours!
One of the most amazing things he brought me to understand in the course of his address is how my foreskin got ripped off when I was only a day or two old! Why did it happen? Because of beliefs rooted in religion. He proved to us that it’s actually violent enforced genital mutilation. My foreskin got whipped away and with it, says this expert humanist doctor, four of the most erogenous zones of the dick, leaving me with just one! (Don’t worry, I’ve still managed to get quite a lot of fun out of the thing!) He said they seek to justify it on the grounds of cleanliness – though they don’t advocate removing a child’s arms at birth so that the child will never suffer underarm odour – but the truth is that it all stems from a desire to deprive the person of sexual pleasure. Sexual pleasure is to be fought, conquered, kept under control. Whip their foreskins off at birth so they’ll grow up good honest hard-working men forever on the straight narrow . . . and dull!
Back to work.
So…you are half an ounce short too, eh.?
Same way fixed.
My grandad was a Jew so that may be why.
Old knocked-in things die hard.
But he married an Irish Catholic, so it (his Orthodoxy) cannot have been all that ingrained or ‘knocked in; it did get him thrown out of his tribe, however; his father, an Orthodox Rabbit, would have nothing to do with him for marrying ‘out’..
But neither he, nor my grandmother or their daughter (which was my mum) EVER went to Mass….so it has always remained a mystery to me why I was sent to the nuns and brothers for schooling.
And now, of course, they are all gone, so I can’t ask..
I would love to ask them, scold them actually, “What the ckuffing hell did you send me there for, when I could just as easily have gone to Palatine or Baines Grammar (non-denominational secondary schools)…?
I’ll never know.
A big dis-service that, looking back.
Yep, the decisions that parents take, eh? And the profound effects of those decisions. Only a tiny percentage can really have any understanding how profound their decisions regarding their kids will be.
Do you think that not having a Mass-going mum, and perhaps a secular homelife, made you more susceptible to all the “magic” of the nuns’ and brothers’ abracadabra?
Quite the opposite from yours, my mum and dad were up to their effing eyeballs in the local church, on their bellies before anything in a dog-collar or veil, carrying out their slightest suggestions to the T. So I had it all stuffed inside my little skull by the Sisters of Cruelty and the “Christian” Brothers. Then at 14 I rebelled and said I wanted to go to an ornery old state school. I was amazed my parents immediately said Yes! I reckon it suited their pockets. The private school was expensive, the state school was free!
Anyway, was I then a fish out water, or what?!!!!
There were guys in my class sneaking girls in my class home at lunch-time for much more than just sandwiches! I had thrown myself into the real world and I sank! It took maybe ten years before I really had myself fairly confidently up on the surface.
But I look back and wonder how all those boys who continue on with the Brothers fared. Well, I know actually. They moved on into very very dull little lives – largely because they had been indoctrinated to be always humble, never object, never say no, never talk back, never rock the cfuking boat!
EDDY YOU WROTE:-
“Do you think that not having a Mass-going mum, and perhaps a secular homelife, made you more susceptible to all the “magic” of the nuns’ and brothers’ abracadabra?”
Do you know, I have absolutely no idea why they sent me to the “Christian” (haha my arsehole) Bros.
Not a clue.
They were the least religious people in the world; I never once went into a church with mum, dad, grandad, or grandma….not once.
I, on the other hand, was absolutely entranced with the whole Mass (in Latin) business and the candles and the incense and the flowers and the vestments….especially the vestments..hahaha..!
I remember that we ‘Peter’ and me (my friend who is now a priest) had offered to stay behind one Sunday evening after Benediction to help the priest sort out some old, and VERY moth-eaten vestments and clerical garb.
There were old chasubles, birettas (hats) and 2/3 very large wrap-around black cloaks.
Didn’t we just put them all by the back door just as we were finishing, insead of in the dustbins!
Didn’t we just don the lot and WALK HOME IN THEM 3 miles along the streets..!!…blessing everything ‘Urbi et Orbi’ along the way…practising for our own instalation as pope(s)
“Et benedicat vos ….
……………………Pater et Filius et..
Today we would know immediately that there was “something wrong with THAT boy..”
Not so then; all you got then was “He will be canonised, the little saint…so devout…a saint, a saint in the making!
Then of course puberty sets in and ckuffs the lot up…I could no longer hit high ‘E’…so, no longer was the apple of the choirmaster’s eye…no longer sought after by the Vienna Boys’ or the Obernkirschen childrens’ choirs (The Happy Wanderer)
Just so much pubescent scrap now..
What a story you have, Keith! What a story! Jesus! So wrapt up in the magic of it all you and Pete trotted the streets in the garb. Amazing! And with no condemnation either, just “He’s called that boy, obviously!” No, we wouldn’t say so today, not at all. We’ld say, “That one’ll end up in fashion. Another Gok Wan, by the looks of it!” Did you hear that shallow twat on Desert Island Discs this morning, Keith? Actually told the nation that before he does ANYTHING he thinks about what clothes he should wear to do the thing in! Supermarket: which clothes will I look best in. Gardening: which garments will I look best in. One great fabric queen if ever there was one. Mind you, I have to admit I have a penchant for the cloths me-self, Keith. Fabric shops give me quite a buzz! Especially the braids, the dazzley stuff, and so on. But at least I have long long got over any notion of needing to swirl around in the damned stuff, like some drag queen! If I didn’t have more important things to do, I’d be quite happy to make exotic bedspreads out of luscious squares, or something like that!
Someone should have stopped you and Pete on the street and whipped you off to the world of panto and the costume-mistress’s room and shown you the ropes! Damn sight more healthy than “fabric and lies” in some church sanctuary.
Anywhere, have just come across the following. You may enjoy!
Religion’s (other) Ten Commandments:
Thou shalt not question us. Ever.
Thou shalt respect, obey and, for ye highest amongst us, dutifully facilitate depraved, child-abusing clerics who after all are god’s appointed ones.
Thou shalt, at our will, mutilate babies and children to appease our..ahem..child-loving god.
Thou shalt only apply thy troublesome Earthly laws to us when we say so.
Thou shalt not dare be born of a sexuality that will inhibit our congregation-building baby farming, nor protect thyself against spreading deadly disease should it have the same effect on our farming targets.
Thou shalt ignore our own god’s bizarre concept of all people being equal in his eyes. Ha!
Thou shalt prolong the agony of dying loved ones for as long as is inhumanly possible.
Thou shalt not believe anything as inconvenient to us as that Jesus fellows so called ‘Sermon on the Mount’. As if he’d have anything useful to inspire the likes of us!
Thou shalt fund our lovely, privileged lives whether you are one of our unthinking slaves or an eternally damned self-thinker.
Thou shalt accept as unquestionable truth whatever inhuman, illogical, barbaric, divisive, discriminatory or plainly ludicrous pronouncements we happen to utter.
Trying to send you another yawnful but it ain’t havi’ it; won’t send.
Will try another time.
(Part1 of “Windbagge’s Sagas”)
No, it is not that they thought of me then as ‘just that boy.’
It is that they thought I was so saintly and that it would one day be up for canonisation.
Today it would be seen as “Oh! There’s another one!”
Then, it was “Oh.. look at the little saint…!”
Little did they know that they had “AN ABOMINATION BEFORE THE LORD..!” on their hands, in the shape of a full-blown pansy …only 8/9/10 but a right little nancy in the making…!
No, Eddy, I did not hear DESERT ISLAND DICKS… but I shall listen later, on the “LISTEN AGAIN” facility.
(Part 2 “Windbagge’s Saga.)
So, you are a fabric queen, eh, Eddy..?
I have a friend like that; a gypsy boy.
He appliques (sorry I have no French accents on my keyboard)… he ‘appliq-ays’ everything.. with little gold and silver butterflies and God-knows-whatever-else; he “zhooshes” things up… I do not know any women who could equal him…but that said, I do not know any women.
He doesn’t wrap a parcel; he makes a hundred little bows with tails … and plasters the whole parcel with them.
And his bedspreads are to die for, so I am told..
His place is full of gold-and-glitzy Royal Crown Derby china.
(Part 4 … “Windbagge’s Sagas)
[..It will not take Part 3; will try later with that part...]
I came from moneyed people so I have never had any axe to grind; never had any reason to miss what I thought I never had; always very content with nowt in later life because I know what it is to have; the original silver-spoon-gobbed kid, I was, which makes why I was sent to Catholicism all the more strange; we had money; why was I sent to ‘Jam-Tomorrow-Land’..?
Now that I have nothing I want for nothing and want nothing; I have had, so I do not miss.
I had Rollses and servants as a kid.
Now I have a bus pass and sandals.
I could set to now and make a million within 7 years but I lack the impetus; not interested; not at 70 anyway.
If I had a partner and was madly “in lurve” and he wanted – then I could and I would.
But I have always eschewed closeness and relationships so the drive is not there; never was; solitary; loner; tramp….suits me fine.
Not without £ but it means nothing to me; it really does not; you can only wear one thing at a time; one pair of shooz; one pie at a time (well, 6 then); bay-sick like I sedd.
But as for “dazzly fabrics” – as you call them ? …
Well that all evaporated when the hormones kicked in and the door of the Catholic Church, in my case, was breached and I left all that, Church, vestments and nonsensical ideas…all dumped in the toy box with my Muffin the Mule marionette and my Spacer Rev-o-Jet.
I grew up in 5 minutes.
I grew up the moment the priest told me I was sick (homosexuality) and needed ‘electric’ treatment.
I was dumbfounded that I was being spoken to so disparagingly, so dismissively, compounded by the fact that I had done nothing wrong..
My arse was like a cartoon character’s doing a runner; yeah, that’s it..!; the Road Runner…the sound of a bullet, a big, grey,
WHOOOOOOSH-cloud at my arse and GONE as in “I’m outta here..!
Outta da Kafflik Choitch..!
This is why I get so het up about all that flummery that the pope wears; such multi-coloured vestments; adorned with huge St. James shells, one chasuble was; obscene.
Totally the opposite of the meekness and humility of the Master.
And there’s me; looks like a tramp and not a religious thought in me ‘ead.
I actually would listen to him if he were to dress like Mahatma Ghandi; but for the life of me, I cannot get past counting the sequins and gold threads or the shells or the number of twiddly-bits in the latest creation.
And I……am gay…?
They say so..!
I am quite butch in comparison…
It is not taking Part 3 of my Saga…probably blown a fuse with it all..
I am as it says on the tin a WINDBAGGE after all..!
Ask me if I am bovered..
I have one of them there ‘o2′ dongle thinggies Wi-Fi.
Not the bestestest of connectittyvit..vitty-titty….
(reminds me of that ‘quantitative easing’…very difficult to say, is that..??!!)
All that means of course (‘quantitative easing’) is that the more loob you use, the easier it is..
Morning, Keith, I hope you’re having a sweet Sunday. At last the sun is shining down here. It’s been too long.
By the way, what if one day soon we suddenly notice this thread has popped into the “Most Read Today” because of all our posts!!!! Maybe soon we’re going to have to find another quite thread to transfer to!
Loved all your posts above. Read them yesterday morning but was to busy to reply properly. I don’t think the title Windbagge’s Saga is appropriate. You ain’t no old Windbagge, Keith baby!
Let me tell you that I had ‘em fooled like you did, at one point. I evesdropped on the Abbott telling my ma and pa that he was puzzled by me, that I was behaving in a way that bore a startling resemblance to that of the young St. Theresa, (your “Little Flower”), either her or the Avila one, I can’t remember which he meant. I stood outside thinking, “Fuc*! I’ve really got ‘em all fooled, haven’t I!”
Yep, I have to admit I love rich fabrics and cloths, Keith. Went on a special trip to India once expressly to buy as many gorgeous things as I could to decorate the new flat back in Blighty! Friends who subsequently visited thought the place looked like a Turkish Harem! I was hurt. “Fuc*ing British racists!” I thought. Anything foreign and sparkly, they can’t deal with!
So, your story is sort of “Rags to Riches” in reverse? Absolutely fascinating! And what has always come through your posts, Keith, to me is that you are content. I love your inventive humour.
Now you are JUST the person to come up with the VERY BEST ideas of pantomime with which to embarrass his holey-ness and catch the attention of the cameras while he’s here. And your French friend who loves the sparkles! What he could do with his treadle sewing-machine, eh?????
When’s the old bugger due, anyway? In all the melee I haven’t noticed! Just so worked up that he is and that all the foolish Catholics up and down this land will be on their faces before him.
Trying to reply but it (frequently) will not take it.
ksimpson1943 (at) yahoo dot com
All one word; well you know the format.