Connectedness

I might have mentioned this before, writing this blog has been such an incredible experience.  

Long forgotten memories of wonderful events, people and places come into sharp focus.

This is one such memory……

St Saviour’s Catholic Diocese, Oudtshoorn, is situated directly opposite the Methodist Church and Manse.  The Diocese was made up of the Cathedral, the Priest’s Residence, a junior school, a hostel/residence for Nuns as well as a residence for visiting parish priests. 

In fact most of St Saviour’s Street was home to the Bishop’s residence and  

two training centres (one teaching young women sewing skills and the other teaching young men carpentry skills)

Right there, across the road we had access to some wonderful people.

My sisters attended St Joseph’s primary school, a nurturing and happy environment for children, the principal, Sister Agatha was a wonderful, feisty, and strict but kindly Irish Nun who was loved and adored by all her pupils. 

A few of my father’s parishioners had something to say about my parent’s choice, and were of the opinion that Van Reede Primary was a far better option.  

No sooner had that little storm calmed down, when a new one gently erupted. The parish priest Father Gurgen made an urgent appointment to see my father; my little sisters were attending the weekly school Mass and communion service.  The priest was worried that my father would take offence.  My father assured the wonderful Father Gurgen that he wasn’t at all offended. He said: “Let’s not make a fuss,  leave them be, they are curious and that is ok.”

That interaction was the beginning of a wonderful relationship between the Manse and the Catholic Church.  

 So much so we were invited to join the Catholic youth group led by Father Gurgen and Sister Dominique.  We spent many happy hours on the mission stations in the townships – where we made wonderful friends.  

We were happy and carefree in that space. 

Sister Dominique arranged for our little youth group to spend a week at the Vincent Pallotti Hospital in Cape Town.  Oh yes, and before I forget, my father was the designated driver!!  I think I could a whole post about my father’s driving skills or lack thereof.

However, apart from going on one or two wonderful and interesting excursions, we spent time with the younger patients, reading stories, colouring in, playing games and generally having fun by sharing laughter and playing.   

In the meantime my little sister Fiona befriended and used to spend time with a very elderly nun who acted as a “tour guide” for tourists visiting the Cathedral.  This sweet person often fell into a deep sleep; Fiona would then  act as the “unofficial tour guide”.   One day a party of “tourists” were given a guided tour by this very eager 11 year old.   One of the “tourists” asked her name and stated that he was very impressed with her knowledge of the Catholic Church and that she was wonderful representative of the faith.  

Much to the surprise of the group, Fiona responded:  “Oh no, my Daddy is the Methodist Minister and we live across the road”.  

Later that day my father received a phone call – the conversation went something like this:

“Good day Rev Brennan, this is Patrick Murphy, Bishop of the Diocese of Port Elizabeth.  Your daughter Fiona is delightful; she gave us a tour of the Cathedral and her knowledge of Catholicism is incredible!”

Oh how those Irish chaps chuckled – one Catholic and the other Protestant  – a little child showed them how to overcome divisions.

One very hot Sunday morning my sisters and I were lounging about in the sitting room – we had just returned from Church, hot, bothered and bickering with each other, when we heard a stranger calling:  “Hello……Hello!”  Curious and perplexed we rushed out of the sitting room and into the arms of a very friendly and loving Priest.  

Father Edward Tratsaert was new in town; he was curious  and very keen to meet the Brennan girls who according to him were so loved and cherished by the Bishop, Parish Priest and Nuns.

Father Tratsaert became one of our best friends; he knew our troubles, our frustrations, joys and secrets. He never judged us, was always kind and gently told us off when we misbehaved.  

Shortly after his arrival in Oudtshoorn he was transferred to Mossel Bay, oh my goodness a huge storm erupted!

Father Tratsaert invited me to spend a long weekend as his guest on the Mission Station.  One of the Nuns phoned the Bishop in Oudtshoorn in a panic:  “Father Tratsaert has a woman staying with him, this is in outrage and utterly scandalous!”  The Bishop phoned and demanded to know who this woman was?   To which my beloved friend responded:  “one of the Brennan girls – 

Gail is visiting for the weekend.  The Bishop calmed down, however the Nuns were still furious and completely ignored me, that was until I put out a fire in the sanctuary of the Church – an arrangement made up of dried and plastic flowers caught alight, I ran up to the alter grabbed a jug of water and pouring it over the arrangement prevented the fire from spreading.  Then and only then was I welcomed into their midst.

Some memories are amazing reminders of our interconnectedness – I am grateful.