High Camp

Dear me - Easter Tuesday - but I had better keep going, as Mrs McElhone may confiscate the laptop again at any time when she finds out that I forgot to close the airing cupboard door earlier tonight when removing a bath towel, and that, as a consequence, the spaniels  made short work of her Thorntons' Truffles and have subsequently been taken queer over all her Irish linen tablecloths on the third shelf.

I know it was weeks ago that I began this little tale, but you may remember that Fr Lonergan's church in Trollington was built by Italian prisoners of war. As we pressed on towards the sounds which were more unearthly than any I have heard before or since (with the exception of the noise made by two overfed lapdogs being sick in an airing cupboard - which  runs pretty close) the mist lifted, and we saw a collection of little huts in varying stages of disrepair.

Hut - a picture taken later, not showing the guards

One, a little distant from the rest, was in pretty good nick, and I was surprised to see that a number of Trollingtonians were standing guard around it, armed with various bits of ancient weaponry including the odd pitchfork. I was rather reminded of an ancient engraving of the '98 Rebellion which hung over my grandmother's mantelpiece.

As I approached nearer -Fr Lonergan himself emerged with a large key in hand, and locked the door behind him.

Monsignor Porter was a sorry sight as he trudged over to my side. He looked as though he would rather have been tucked up between his nylon sheets, after a Radox bath in his avocado acrylic tub (a cruel touch by the lone beadsmen).

Fr Lonergan got straight to the point - as one tends to do, at the age of 94, when one's mind is on the last four things.

He claimed to represent the political wing of the Trollbridge Catholic Conservation Association which had no connection with the Lone Beadsmen, who were a splinter group who had separated from the Provisional Wing of the TCCA back in the 70s. However - he was happy to act as honest broker, and would use his best endeavours to ensure that things would return to normal chez Porter.

He produced a handwritten contract for the Monsignor, and explained that if he saw fit to sign it, his house would be returned to its erstwhile elegant self. The Monsignor gritted what remained of his teeth and signed on the dotted line, and the Monsignor disappeared around the corner to get a mobile phone signal, having handed his keys to the Monsignor.

We entered the Nissan hut with some trepidation, to find the ACP, who were, in the main, a pathetic spectacle of the Irish clerical estate - rather as their bishops had appeared after the Apostolic Visitation recently. The Monsignor explained that there had been a temporary setback in the Great Leap Forward, but that orders had come from Rome that they were to return to their parishes, and prepare for the 50th Glorious Anniversary of Vatican 2, and the Eucharistic Congress.

Fr Lonergan followed us in and encouraged them in rather earthier tones to feck off back where they came from, and that they were a sorry set of boggers, corner boys, seaneens and gombeen men that would not have got a job clearing the pigsties in Maynooth in his day. The coach driver (who turned out to be Fr Lonergan's third cousin twice removed) chimed in that he would put them off the coach at Dun Laoghaire to make their own way home if they gave any trouble - and that their next trip would be to Lourdes, in the Jumbulance - if they were lucky. The locals escorted the sorry crew back onto their coach, pausing only to relieve Fr Alfredo and Fr Oscar of a couple of German uniforms which they had found in a box at the back of the hut, and which they were loathe to part with.

Fr Lonergan hooked up the Monsignor's car to his Skoda, and heaved it out of the ditch, and we returned  to civilisation via the Little Chef on the Trocklesfield Bypass, to find that the Vetus Ordo had been restored. I could have sworn that I saw Florence Cutley's ancient Landrover  reversing into a nearby cul-de-sac as we turned in at the gate - but it was late, and I was tired - which reminds me that I had better get some sleep before slipping out to get more chocolates tomorrow. TTFN