Where To From Here? Read online

  “And that is all?” Eddie choked back a sob. “You know no more?”

  “No, Eddie. Both Margie and I can assure you we know no more. How Dad found you we can never know. But we will always be grateful for it.”

  “But why me?” Eddie persisted.

  “Eddie, I’m sorry. Margie and I were so happy when you settled in so well with us and we became a family, we never pushed him as to why and where he had found you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I’m sorry, Eddie. We should have pushed my father for more, but we were happy and thought we knew all we needed to know.”

  “It’s okay Dad,” whispered Eddie, as he turned and hugged his father. “Thanks for that. It has helped to lay some ghosts.”

  Now, back driving, his thoughts returned to the day he had become part of their family. He felt the warmth of belonging to a family who really wanted him. But he still believed there was more to his background that neither his mother nor his father was aware. And perhaps, one day he would uncover some knowledge of the missing parts of his very early childhood.

  Chapter Three

  As he passed through Orange and took the Parkes road, Eddie knew his destination was not far away. Would he prolong the journey by circuiting through Parkes? No, Eddie, he told himself; you made your decision; let’s go!

  At the intersection the car headed straight toward Forbes. An hour later he was knocking on the door of the Bishop’s house. The door was opened by a smiling middle-aged woman.

  “Welcome Father. I’m Deidre, the housekeeper. Great to meet you! Come in!”

  Clean, austere, perhaps heritage – Eddie’s first impressions as he entered the 19th century building.

  “The Bishop is here to welcome you, also your P.P. Just through here.”

  Eddie was ushered into the ‘community room’ – a large room, sparsely but comfortably furnished.

  A tall man with greying hair and a ready smile immediately rose and walked toward Eddie, extending his hand. “Welcome Eddie!” he said, as he warmly welcomed Eddie with a strong handshake and pat on the back.

  “Thanks Bishop,” Eddie smiled back.

  “No formalities! I’m Mark. Come and sit down. Deidre will bring us some refreshments. While I have this opportunity of talking to you I’d like to thank you very much for your decision to minister out here rather than in the city. It is a big decision and I am deeply grateful. We white Australians – bad phrasing but you know what I mean – are only just – and I emphasize just – are only just beginning to realize that the Aboriginal race has a rich culture, but, in lack of understanding, we have been destroying their culture.”

  “I wish more ‘white’ Australians would think that way!” Eddie spoke softly. “In some places children are still being taken from their parents.” Momentarily, the years slipped backwards and Eddie brushed away a tear.

  “Yes, you’re right. It has been shameful. But I think that is coming to an end,” Mark replied. “However, we still have a long way to go – a very long way to go.” He paused. “You have my sincere gratitude. I hope you will always remember that if you need me, please call. I’ll be right behind any decisions you make to help the Aboriginals in your area. You will find some great strengths, but you will also find some sad weaknesses!”

  “Thanks Mark. Thanks very much!”

  “Now on a lighter note!” Bishop Mark smiled as he continued. “The Mons. is having a little rest. Eddie, you will find, as we all have, that our Mons’ bark is a lot worse than his bite! Once you get to know him, he can be quite a card – and a good friend!”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Eddie smiled. He had barely finished his response when the said Monsignor Shamus Murphy walked in – a fairly tall man with receding grey hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “You’ve arrived, Eddie! How was the drive?” Even after decades of years in Australia, his Irish accent remained.

  “Good afternoon, Monsignor!”

  “Look, laddie, if we’re to be working together, you’d better call me ‘Shamus’.”

  “Thanks, Mon… uh… Shamus!”

  Over tea and biscuits Eddie was given a summary of the history and geography of the Brewarrina parish.

  “We’ll have dinner here tonight,” Mons Shamus eventually announced. “And stay the night. And by the way, Eddie, I was driven down, so I’ll be driving back with you tomorrow!”

  Chapter Four

  After an early breakfast, Eddie and his parish priest were on their way to Brewarrina. Eddie spoke only in answer to questions or when a comment was needed, while the Monsignor relayed in detail his perception of the Brewarrina parish and its needs for the future.

  Eddie found the Brewarrina presbytery more comfortable and modern than he had anticipated. The former parish priest had been appalled at the primitive lodgings, Eddie was advised. Hence the near-modern upgrading. The Church, too, had been extended.

  Another pleasant housekeeper, Maisie, had dinner on the table shortly after their arrival.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Monsignor advised, “thinking of the best way for us this weekend. I’ll do the Reconciliations this afternoon and the evening Mass; also the country Mass tomorrow – it’s Lightning Ridge. That will give you the two Masses here in the morning – ease in! We can work out rosters later.”

  “Thanks, Mons… er, Shamus.”

  Chapter Five

  Eddie slept well and rose early. He was aware of a few surprised glances as he began the Introductory prayers of his first Mass. But he was more aware, as he faced the congregation, of the lack of brown faces in the congregation. He had expected that his congregation would be predominantly Aboriginal. But, instead, Aboriginal faces in this congregation were a small minority. The same situation arose at the second Mass. Instead of a homily, he spoke on his Aboriginal heritage, intertwined with his white Australian upbringing. He was delighted that most of the congregation welcomed him as they left the Church. He was also aware, not only of the feeling of awe that always came over him as he lifted the host and the cup – ‘do this in memory of Me’ – but also today of the strong call to the needs of his heritage.

  “We’ll have lunch at the pub,” Shamus had advised him earlier that day. “Maisie was going to come in, but she always has Sunday off. So I told her we’ll have lunch at the pub.”

  Again, Eddie was surprised – this time at the modern upgrading of the main hotel.

  “Good afternoon, Bert,” Shamus greeted the young man behind the lounge bar.

  “Good afternoon,” the young man frowned as he answered. “Mons, I’m sorry but this, er, young gentleman cannot enter here!”

  “Eh! What’s up with you! I always go through this way to the dining room!”

  “Yes… but,” Bert stammered. “Abos… Sorry, Aboriginals – aren’t allowed in here.”

  “What!” Monsignor’s anger was on the boil. “What do you mean! Eddie is my curate – an ordained minister. You can’t be serious!”

  Although Bert had witnessed outbursts of Monsignor Murphy’s anger and the outcomes, and could easily be intimidated, he knew to break this rule for anyone could lead to his dismissal.

  “Sorry, Mons, but they are the rules. And I would lose my job if I break them.”

  “Rules!” the very flushed Monsignor Murphy bellowed. “We’ll see about your rules!”

  Bert’s courage began to fade as he became aware of the interest of the increasing number of bystanders.

  “It’s okay Shamus. Really it is. I half expected something like this.” Eddie spoke softly as he gently touched Monsignor Murphy’s arm. “You go in and have your lunch. I’ll meet you at home.”

  “Indeed you won’t!” the Monsignor shouted. “And indeed I won’t ever have another bite in this… this…”

  Eddie took his arm and steered him out of the hotel and toward the car park.

  Once in the car park Eddie quickly searched his pastor’s face for signs of trouble.

  “You know, Shamus, t
his is not a slight at me, or at my priesthood. It’s the historical imbalance of acceptance of the Aboriginal culture. We are seen as inferior. The situation is changing – but very slowly. I know you accept me as a person and will judge me as you see a Christian should be – and I am very grateful for that. But, in the present Australian society I am an Aboriginal – and, as such, am inferior to any white Australian. I don’t accept it and I will endeavour to change it in any way I can. But, not in violence! And… I don’t want you going without your dinner on my account. So, how about you return and I’ll pick you up in an hour or so.”

  Shamus had listened quietly. But now, as his complexion once more glowed, he shouted, “I will not! I will not enter that place again!”

  The thought crossed Eddie’s mind, had Shamus – or any other ‘white’ Australian priest for that matter – ever considered this situation before he came to the hotel for his dinner?

  No, he decided, I will not go down that path!

  Instead, he touched his pastor lightly on the arm. “Okay. I’ll just get us a couple of bottles of something – a good whisky anyway!” He smiled. “Won’t be long!”

  Unlike the morning experience, as he entered the public bar, the very few white faces that looked up at him were certainly in the minority. The bar was full.

  As Eddie stood waiting his turn, the tall man standing next to him turned, “You’re the new minister, aren’t you? Welcome to Bre.”

  “Thanks,” Eddie replied as he offered his hand. “Eddie.”

  “Jim,” over a strong hand-shake. “We heard about your coming. Hope you’ll be very happy here.”

  “Thanks, Jim. Good to meet you. Do you live here?”

  “I’m the head stockman out at ‘Yugali’ – a big station west of Bre. We – wife and three young kids – live in a cottage out there. Wife’s Anglican; we were married in the local Anglican Church; I just go along. Any time you’d be very welcome for a meal out with us. You probably met the boss family at Church this morning – they’re Catholics from way back.”

  “Possibly, Jim. But I must admit I picked up a name only here and there!”

  Eventually both were served, and both returned to their respective cars. By then the Monsignor’s anger had abated – but only slightly. As the day progressed and Eddie produced a tasty lunch from left-overs in the fridge, he almost returned to normal. Months later Eddie would add with a grin, “Normal for Mons.!”

  “Not a bad lunch, Eddie!”

  “Thanks, Shamus. I don’t mind cooking now and then.”

  “Now – for the week. Still school holidays. Gives you more time to get used to the place. All weekday Masses are in town at 7.30am. Mondays – day off – usually go to Forbes for lunch – earlier if you want to play golf with the boys. I don’t feel like going over this week, but you can if you like.”

  “Thanks Shamus. But this week I’ll get used to here and what goes on.”

  As he celebrated Mass the next morning, Eddie was again aware of the very few Aboriginal faces in the congregation. And, of the handful present, all were middle-aged or over. Where are the young? was a question that stayed with him all morning.

  After lunch, ably prepared and served by Maisie, Shamus announced he needed a rest.

  “I thought I’d go for a walk – to check out the town,” Eddie smiled.

  “Go to it,” his pastor agreed.

  As he walked Eddie was besieged by questions – where are the young Aboriginals? How do I find them? what can I do for them if I do find them? These questions persisted as he became acquainted with the geography of the town. By the time he had reached home another question popped up – where do I start? Immediately he knew the answer to that question.

  After tea while Shamus was listening to the news, Eddie phoned Jim. After a fruitful conversation, Eddie could see the beginning to one of his hopes taking shape.

  Chapter Six

  At breakfast the next morning Shamus wasted little time in presenting his plans for the Aboriginal population.

  “Well, Eddie, I’ve decided you will be able to show the people here the Aboriginal side of the Catholic church. What we’ll do is start with some type of prayer session in the Church on one night a week for the young people. You have the Aboriginal face but you also have the ability to relate to the young white kids.”

  Rather taken aback, Eddie realized it was now or never to present his ideas.

  “That sounds a great idea, Shamus. But not yet, too early. From what I can see we have very few young people attending weekend liturgies – and next to none Aboriginal. That day, hopefully, will come. But, I’d guess, not for a fair while. As I walked yesterday I found an old hall. I had hoped the Church would own one – but that day may come. Well… I’ve made some enquiries and I may be able to rent this hall and start a sporting activity or two. I’ll find out more about the hall later.”

  As he spoke he noticed colour creeping into Monsignor’s face and the pursing of his lips.

  “So! You were ordained to be a sports coach, not a priest!” Shamus almost shouted.

  “No, Shamus! First and foremost I’m a priest. But I’m also an Aboriginal. And I don’t have to remind you of how my race has been treated!”

  “Stop this foolishness!” Shamus began.

  “No, Shamus,” Eddie broke in. “I would be as happy as you – perhaps even happier – if even a small percentage of my people trusted us enough to come to liturgies or Church activities. But we both know the face of God has not been shown too often to the Aboriginal people up until now. I’d like to think things are changing – and there does seem to be a breath of change in the air.

  “But before you or even I, who is a part of their ancestry, can open doors to a loving God, we have to show them understanding and trust. And I think – and ardently hope – that this beginning may also be the beginning of doors opening. At least it’s a try. And if anyone comes along they should enjoy it!”

  “I’ll hear no more!” Monsignor shouted as he marched to the door. With a loud bang, he was gone.

  I didn’t manage that well, Eddie thought dejectedly.

  The Monsignor was nowhere to be seen as Eddie drove off. Pulling in at the rear of the Yugali homestead, he was met, but hardly welcomed, by a handful of blue heelers. To his relief Jim appeared and the frenetic barking eased.

  “Welcome Eddie!”

  “Thanks Jim. And thanks for saving me,” Eddie laughed.

  As he closed the car door he was aware that Jim was not alone.

  “Eddie,” Jim broke in. “Here is my boss, Dave Clarke, and his daughter Debbie.”

  Eddie knew from the strong handshakes that he had allies.

  “Come in.” Debbie was first to speak. “We’re leading you into the kitchen. We seem to entertain friends there.”

  “Great,” Eddie smiled back. “I’m a friend already.”

  Over tea and home-made scones the future of the little old hall in town was discussed, with Debbie opening the subject.

  “Jim tells us you have ideas for our old hall.”

  Eddie looked up, surprised.

  “Yes,” Dave joined in. “We own the hall. Once it was used for dances every Saturday night.”

  “But now,” he added with a smile, “it’s used only at election time. Of course you can use it, free of charge. What had you planned to do?”

  “Thank you so much! Free of charge! That will be a great help. I thought I’d start with games, and, if we get enough interested, basketball, indoor soccer, teams – that sort of thing. It’s all a bit vague. But I’m hoping once I can say we have a place, we’ll try to advertise. I think I’ll start with kids from high school. And just one evening a week – perhaps 5 to 9 o’clock or thereabouts. I’ve got to get the Mons. on side. And that might be the hardest!”

  Dave laughed. “I can imagine. But I think he’ll come around. He’s a good old bloke, with a bark worse than his bite!”

  I’ve heard that before, thought Eddie.

&
nbsp; “And another thing,” Dave added. “I am impressed with your aims. I have told Jim that he’s free to help you get the place set up. And my contribution will be nets and balls for indoor basketball and soccer.”

  Eddie gulped. He was touched beyond words.

  “Dave, I don’t know how to thank you!”

  “Eddie. You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my bit. With all of us doing our ‘bits’ something will happen.”

  Eddie drove home, elated. A plan was emerging. Jim was to meet him at the Hall the next day. They would then sum up what had to be done and, perhaps, do something about it.

  As he parked his car and ran into the presbytery, reality dawned. How would the Monsignor greet him? Or would he ignore him? How would he relate the plans of what he had set in motion?

  “Just in time!” Maisie beamed as he sprinted through the kitchen. “Monsignor has just returned so I’ll be serving up dinner very shortly. Go and wash your hands.”

  Monsignor was already seated at the table as Eddie entered the dining room.

  “Hi, Shamus. How’s your day been?” Better to throw caution to the wind, Eddie thought.

  “Fine.”

  “Anything interesting this morning?”

  “No!”

  At least he is talking, Eddie thought.

  Maisie entered with their dinners, that were eaten in silence.

  As Shamus rose to leave the room he looked back at Eddie.

  “What you’re doing is ridiculous. I don’t want to hear about it. I won’t stop you, but don’t expect my help!”

  “Thanks Shamus. Have you any questions?”

  “No!” And he had left the room.

  At least, thought Eddie, he’s not stopping me. That is a bonus!

  As the days wore on and days turned to weeks, the Monsignor’s attitude slowly began to change. No longer did they communicate in silence. But the return to verbal communication did not include any mention of Eddie’s project.