He Only Came for the Uniform

By Julie Barrett

          Father Frank MacAnally placed his empty glass on the bar at Fitzgerald's and glanced at his watch. The new curate was due at any moment. This made five - no, six - in as many years. It seemed as though Ballykissangel had become a stopping over place of sorts for priests: Young men fresh out of seminary, older men looking to slow down, hot shots on the way up. They all seemed to spend a year or so in this town and then move on. Father Mac didn't mind guiding young priests at all. In fact, he enjoyed the work. He was told that this new priest was not only young, but also naive in the ways of the world.

          "Ready to meet the new man, are you, Father MacAnally?" Brendan Kearney occupied his spot at the end of the bar, consuming a sandwich.

          "Ballykissangel seems to have become a regular clerical revolving door," he answered, as he eased himself down from the stool on which he had been perched. "I hope this one stays for a while." Assumpta Fitzgerald swept in from the kitchen and cleared away the parish priest's empty glass. "You're not going to chase this one away, are you," he admonished the publican.

          "I don't chase priests. I run the other way."

          "Unless they want a drink." Padraig O'Kelly raised his empty glass. "Speaking of which..."

          "Coming right up."

          "Don't be too hard on him," Brendan called to Father Mac as he left. "I hear he's quite young," he said to no one in particular."

          "A young one, then?" Assumpta Fitzgerald smiled as she pulled a pint of beer. "He eats them."

Kathleen Hendley stood on the stoop of her shop, waiting for Father MacAnally to leave the pub. "Father," she said with a tinge of excitement in her voice, "he's here." She pointed up at the church. "He got off the bus and went straight up the hill." She seemed pleased that he didn't stop at Fitzgerald's first. Even though Father MacAnally tended to pay a visit when he was in town, she did not believe that a public house was a fit place for a priest.

          "Well, then, why don't you come up with me?"

          "Are you sure about that, Father?"

          "He has to meet you sometime. I might as well make the formal introduction."

          "Let me lock up." She went inside for what seemed the briefest of moments, and returned with her purse. She locked the door and placed her keys in the handbag, sealing it with a loud snap. "He looks so young, Father," she remarked as they walked together. "Do you think he's ready for such a responsibility?"

          "We've had young priests before, Kathleen."

          "I know. But he just seemed a little...confused," she confided.

          The priest shook his head. "Now, mightn't you be if it was your first time in town?"

          They found the front door of the church ajar, and Fr. MacAnally pushed it open and motioned for Kathleen to enter first. The sanctuary was dark and quiet. They scanned the sanctuary for evidence of the new arrival. "No bags, Father," Kathleen said in a low voice.

          "Perhaps he took them..." A loud bang from the sacristy cut short his speculation. The priest and the shopkeeper looked at each other, then to the sacristy door. "Father?" No answer. Father MacAnally spoke a little louder. "Father? Is that you?" His answer came in the form of another loud noise - the clatter of plate falling to the floor. "Wait here," he whispered. "If it looks like trouble, I'll signal you to get Gard Egan."

          Kathleeen held her purse next to her chest. "Be careful."

          Father MacAnally crept down the center aisle, stopping briefly out of habit to cross himself. Kathleen admired him for keeping his calm. All the while, they both heard more sounds from the sacristy, as if someone was rummaging through all of the cabinets. Father Mac looked back at Kathleen and took a deep breath. Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob, the door burst open to reveal a tall, sandy-haired man dressed in a clerical suit. A red jumper covered his shirt.

          "Lord Almighty, Father! You gave us a fright!" Father Mac exclaimed. The new priest gave his supervisor a perplexed look, and then appeared to be absolutely flummoxed at the sight of Kathleen Hendley.

          "Are you a priest, then?" He asked. "And her..." he pointed at Kathleen. "She's not a nun, is she?" Kathleen put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. "Only I'm not too good with nuns."

          "I am Father MacAnally, your parish priest. And that is Kathleen Hendley. She plays the organ and organizes the ladies' group."

          "Oh, brilliant!" Exclaimed the young priest. "Look," he said, turning to Father Mac, "they told me that when I got here I'd have a nice uniform to wear to Mass, with lots of shiny stuff on it. I can't seem to find it."

          "Shiny stuff?" Father Mac repeated under his breath. "It's being cleaned," he responded in a frustrated tone of voice. "And your name is...?"

          "Me?" The new priest looked around, as if he thought someone else was being addressed. "Ah, me." He removed his jacket and read from a white tag sewn in the collar. A look of total surprise crossed his face. "Ah, yes. That's me. I'm Father Dougal McGuire. Now," he said, heading back into the sacristy, "Where's my uniform?"

          "You're wearing it."

          Father McGuire stuck his head out the door. "No, not this one. I want the one with the shiny things." He disappeared inside the sacristy, and then bounded back out. "I know: How about a matador uniform? God, wouldn't I look great up there in that?" He pointed at the pulpit.

          The parish priest mentally counted to ten - quickly. "Your vestments are being cleaned. They will be here shortly, and I trust they will be more satisfactory then - a matador costume." He practically spat out the last three words.

          The young curate looked around the sanctuary, and then stared at his parish priest with the look of a small woodland creature caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. After a moment his face brightened. "Well then. What's on the telly?"

          Father MacAnally turned swiftly on his heel and stalked up the aisle. "I am going to call the bishop," he declared as he flew past Kathleen Hendley. "After I've had a drink."

          The shopkeeper looked at the retreating form of her parish priest, then back at the younger man. "I've got some sherry, Father..." she cried, running after him.

          Dougal McGuire walked back to the sacristy. "Funny," he said to an unseen person inside, "they didn't ask about you."

          Another rumble of falling plate and books emanated from the room, followed by a figure in black which rushed from the room, then knocked the young priest to the floor before hastening out into the sunlight. The figure paused for a moment, then ran into the street and stood spread-eagle, its cry reverberating through the town:

          "DRINK!!!!!"

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