The Monologue of the Sacristan

The last time we left Mr(s). Henderson, s/he had arrived at Howth Castle and Environs through the magical tunnel that s/he found after running away from Rufus at the Yellow lounge. S/he decided to visit old Gaybo while s/he was in the area. But, upon knocking on his door and with its new Polish occupants telling her to go and fuck, s/he remembered that he had moved to the little Ballsbridge, the bastard. Hello there, well done.

Back home (Ireland) again, s/he got the DART from Howth into Connolly Station, for the laugh. S/he wanted to visit the Pro-Cathedral to offer up a few prayers for the Pope's intentions like that the good people at the Look Ten Years Younger show on TV3 would accept his request to be on the telly and to remove the black rings under his eyes which age him terrible.

-----Papal Intermission----

Just as a matter of interest, in Poland when Pope John Paul II died, the government couldn't face the consequences, considering the results of the opinion Pole from The Polish Times saying that 90% of Polish people would convert to Judaism if the there was no longer a Polish Pope. The other 10% would become Muslims for some odd reason. This would result in increased usury, circumcision and would decimate the flourishing Polish pork industry. To prevent such a national catastrophe, the government put a ban on any foreign media and pretended that John Paul II hadn't died and acted as if he hadn't. In the interest of public morality and safety, the national broadcaster ran stock footage of the late Pontiff everyday.

------Return to Main Feature---------

After praying for the Pope's intentions, s/he decided to have a look around the Pro-Cathedral in all its splendour. S/he stood by the pews wondering if McQuaid had ever been there. He/she spotted a "Have You Ever Considered The Priesthood" poster on the notice board and thought mmm, well maybe when I had a mickey. Throwing his/her eyes back into the church, he/she found a very interesting baptismal font that had once been broken in two pieces but was now sellotaped and Pritt-Stuck back together courtesy of Reads of Nassau Street. He/she sensed he/she was not alone. Within seconds of drama, a very old man stood near him/her with a warm smile.

-There are no Confessions being heard today.
-O, I'm not here for Confession. I'm just in for a little bit of an auld pray.
-What? In all my 105 years here, I've not yet once come across one genuine soul praying. Catholics don't pray anyway. They just recite shite. Not that I believe any of it. I'm only in it for the money. But, I've seen through it all. I'm a bit of an agnostic myself. That McQuaid, he was a bastard. He used to be slappin' the kids that came in for Confirmation...in the face!

---Dilly-dally sideline----

McQuaid standing up on his high altar. All the little young ones in their dresses kneeling down.

-What is the third Commandment!? boomed McQuaid.
-Eh, eh, thou shall not commit adultery?
-Wrong. SLAP! And how dare you say such a filthy word in MY Pro-Cathedral! I bet you're off committing adultery every night with anyone that'll have you! I'll tell you what'll happen to you. You'll end up like those hoors around in the Monto!
-I'm nine!...(cries).

----End of dilly-dally-------

-They only come in looking for Confession and/or sanctuary. Just like after the Battle of Monto. I remember all those hoors coming down here 'fessin' up after their sins and looking for sanctuary too. The Legion were looking to kill them. The Legion stole that baptismal font to break in the door of Mrs. Kelly's Olde Knockin' Shoppe, stupid pack of holy gobshites. Mrs. Kelly was a grand woman. I had to pretend to hate her for the simple reason that she was a Protestant or I would have lost me job. Sure I remember de Valera praying in here for the soul of Douglas Hyde that he wouldn't go to hell for being a Protestant while his funeral was going on up in St. Pat's until McQuaid came in and slapped him with his bishop's mitre...in the face!...and told him that it was blaphemous to pray for the damned. Fuckin' eejit. And sure all the time he was off fiddlin' young fellas' mickeys.

By now, Mr(s). Henderson was dead. Well, no, but her brain was melting out of her ear. Suddenly, with no warning at all, the auld fella just died. Mr(s). Henderson had witnessed the death of the oldest living servant of the Church on earth and also the oldest man in Ireland. He was 115 after all, fair play to him. Didn't stop him going to hell for being a blasphemer though. Mr(s). Henderson considered lighting a candle for him, but from nowhere a ghostly bishop’s mitre flew towards her and slapped her...in the face! She then remembered the words of wisdom of McQuaid and just left. She noticed the sacristan’s face was going purple and beginning to melt and fall apart. This was his punishment for thinking he was atheist. Stupid auld fella.

To be continued…!