An Irish story for St. Patrick’s Day
One Friday afternoon Father Moran coasted into our driveway on his bike., his fishing rod rattling where he’d secured it, and stopped beside me. I propped it up against the laurel hedge near him. “Afternoon Father” I sang, already anticipating the two shillings (about on dime) I would get for minding his bike for the afternoon. “Ah Sean” he beamed, “should be a good day for it eh?”
As a 10-year-old I personally thought any day was good for taking two shillings off a man wearing a white collar, but even then I was smart enough not to voice my thoughts. “It is, Father, it is. Sure they’re biting like mad over there in the big hole. You’ll have no problem pulling in a bag full this afternoon” I replied. Lying was supposed to be wrong I know, especially to a priest, but I didn’t want Father Moran by-passing me, then heading up the road to Jim Duffy’s and giving him the two shillings. Jim Duffy had enough money anyway, his father being a cattle dealer. I had to scheme and dodge for every crumb thrown my way.
My real problem was that Father Moran couldn’t fish…..period! Oh he thought he could, but tended to blame his lack of success on all sorts of things like the weather, time of day, stupid fish and wrong bait. After several futile trips, I was beginning to think that the only way he could catch anything was if he fell in and a fish got stuck in his trouser pocket. My father said that Father Moran’s real problem was that as he fished, he practiced his homily for the following Sunday, and if it had the same effect as it did on the parishioners, the fish would all be asleep on the bottom of the river!
Still, Father was really a good-hearted man, paying two shillings to watch his bike when everyone knew that not a bike had been stolen in our area in the past 30 years, and if there were bike stealers operating, with respect to the good Father, they would most certainly by-pass his rusty and wobbly old wreck.
After I helped Father Moran down over the hedge into the field by the big hole in the river, I meandered off, finishing some small chores my mother had set me, but I couldn’t seem to get him out of my thoughts. I had a feeling that if he didn’t catch a fish today my sole steady income for the summer would dry up - perhaps even as soon as today! I stopped short at that dreadful thought. How long had he been down there fishing? Not having a watch, I had no idea. It might even be as short as 20 minutes. I’ll creep over there and have a peek, I thought. After all, I had a lot at stake.
A few minutes later I crept up within a short distance behind Father Moran, trying to see what was happening. Still too far back to see the river, I thought I’d put out a feeler. “Your bike’s not stolen yet Father” I shouted. “What the devil……” Father Moran exclaimed, jerking sideways. Almost at once there was a massive splash from the river and a large spotted trout leaped up out of the water, thrashing madly. “Damn it to hell” Father Moran exploded, as he grasped his rod firmly and nursed the large fish into his net.
That day I secured my income for the summer, and I also learned that priests can swear just as good as the rest of us.
E.J. ‘Russ’ McDevitt was born in Ireland, is a Penticton resident and is the author of five action novels which can be accessed on: russmcdevitt.com