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sort it so I told them I’d chat with you, What do you think?”

  Father Macken heard the light thud as he tilted his own head against the wood. Those calm thoughts of his control in the confessional were dashed for good.

  He sighed, “I’ll talk to the coach, please Mr Ryan, there are people waiting for confession.”

  “Excellent, I’ll head down to Collins’s and tell the lads, and sure I’ll say a few Hail Mary’s on the way!”

  Before he opened the door he made one final loud and lengthy musical contribution.

  Father Macken quickly closed the hatch and heard the door closing and a muffled comment, “That’s great, sorted now, what a relief,” as Timmy marched past the grumbling whispers of the waiting parishioners.

  He didn’t get a chance to take his breath, not that he was too inclined to, when the door at the other compartment opened and closed with a sharp bang.

  He slowly slid the panel open.

  “Bless me Father,” started the middle aged lady from the other side. Suddenly she stopped.

  “Oh my God Father, oh my,” her voice became muffled as she covered her nose and mouth.

  “Oh that’s disgusting, really Father, I have to leave, disgusting.”

  She quickly opened the door again and jumped out.

  “Mrs O’Reilly,” he started to call through the hatch, “it’s not me, sorry, it’s…”

  He gently parted the curtains to his compartment slightly so he could see what was happening outside.

  Mrs O’Reilly had a look of disgust and horror as she leaned over the other shocked parishioners explaining to them about what had happened. Some of them glanced back at the confessional and gradually they started to stand and followed her out of the church.

  Father Macken sat back and closed his eyes. Well, he thought, won’t be interrupted for a while now.

  The Other Church

  Father Macken stood at the edge of the path opposite the building. He felt like he had been standing there for an hour but in reality no doubt it was minutes.

  He slowly stepped onto the street glancing each way, all was clear, although the fact was that tractors moved reasonably slowly and the noise they made would give more than sufficient warning of an impending impact. It was gradual progress that finally delivered him to the other side and he could now hear voices coming from inside. But he wasn’t listening to what was being said.

  The words going through his mind were those of his old mentor. They had haunted him since he had been ordained and he had always ignored them.

  “If you want to get to know the congregation that come to your Church on a Sunday Morning, you’ll need to go to theirs on a Sunday afternoon.”

  He reached forward and pushed the old wooden door. The volume increased immediately, a mixture of laughing and arguing competing, glasses clinked and a warm glow struck out from the flames cracking on the far wall. His first impression was comfort although the sharp silence jerked him back to reality within seconds.

  “Well Father,” came the call from Jim Collins behind the bar, “come on in, you’re very welcome, up here!” he gestured the Father to approach the counter.

  He gave a smiling nod and walked up to the bar counter. The chatting started again and he was offered a stool.

  “What’ll ye have?” asked Jim.

  “Glass of Guinness please Mr Collins.”

  “Pint of Guinness, great!”

  “No just a glass thanks.”

  “Coming up.”

  He didn’t recognize all the faces in the pub so clearly there were those who weren’t in his congregation. There was a young fidgety thin man sitting beside him smiling with eyes open wide as though the excitement for the day had started.

  “He doesn’t serve glasses of Guinness here Father, only Pints,” he said.

  Father Macken looked around and saw a table with two glasses of Guinness. He looked up and recognized Mrs O’Reilly and one of her neighbours.

  “But?”

  “Ah, well ye see you’re up here at the bar now. Doesn’t look good to have a glass at the bar.” As he said this Jim Collins carefully placed the perfectly settled pint of Guinness in front of Father Macken.

  “Your Guinness, Father, first one’s on the house,” he said waving his hand and smiling.

  Suddenly the door opened and in marched Fitz, making sure all were aware of his arrival and striding up to the bar the longest way possible.

  “Oh be the holy, sure look who it is,” he said when he saw Father Macken, “and there he is on the black stuff, fair play to ye! Put one on for me there Jim while I head inside for a minute.”

  As Fitz disappeared down the narrow corridor that led to the toilets, the young man beside Father Macken started to grumble.

  “That feckin eejit marching in making a big show of himself all dressed up and acting like he was the main man and fussing around the women thinking he could dance and stinking like he knocked over the whole smelly area at the big pharmacy in the town.” He paused. “I’m Colm Coot, by the way Father.”

  “Please to meet you.”

  “That idiot Fitz at it again and the same last night and Friday, sure he’s always at it Father, you know?”

  Father Macken looked at him not quite knowing what to say. He didn’t have to worry for long as they could hear Fitz coming back loud as ever.

  “Well Father, you’ve met Cutie I see, how’s it going Cutie?”

  “Aw sure great Fitz, great altogether, and yourself? Sure you were in flying form last night again with the ladies, you’re a gas man, how do ye do it at all?” answered Colm with his big smile and excited eyes working over time.

  “Sure don’t worry Cutie, your day will come, just you keep watching and learning.”

  “I will Fitz, you’re the man!”

  “Ye picked a great night to be in, Macks! Third Sunday of the month is Trad Night, we’ll have some craic !” said Fitz as he prepared to appreciate his Guinness with more than just his eyes.

  “Ah well I won’t really be staying long now I just wanted to drop in and say hello,” replied Father Macken.

  “I like it, I like it, getting the lingo already Father! DROP IN !! It’s as good as JUST THE ONE!” replied Fitz.

  “No really, actually I must,” he suddenly stopped when he looked down at is pint which showed signs of three gentle sips to notice another full one beside it.

  “That’d be from Mr O’Reilly, he says you gave him great medical advice recently, avoided him going to the Doctor he says,” Jim Collins grinned.

  “Really, there was no need, I won’t be staying too long and, well I’m not used to, em, big drinks like this,” replied Father Macken.

  “Ah! I know what you mean Father, I’ll remember that. Anyway, take the head off the new one and get the old one into you before it goes stale.”

  “Take the head off?”

  “Take a sip out of it, then it’ll keep better, come on Father, you’ll learn!”

  He looked at the full and nearly full pints, then lifted the full one. He took a sip and placed it down.

  “He said take the head off it, don’t tickle it on the forehead!” laughed Fitz, “go on, take a decent gulp and it’ll keep!”

  He raised it again and took a big gulp. If the first one had been smooth, this one was even better.

  “Well, I’m off to welcome the billies bus!” said Fitz suddenly. He spun around and was out the door in a second.

  “The billies bus?” asked Father Macken.

  “The locals from the hills, hill-billies, will be in for the Trad Night. That fecker has to go up now and be all smarmy as the ladies get off the bus. What an eejit, always at it,” replied Cutie.

  Father Macken looked back at his pints and saw a small glass with a shiny amber ripple winking at him. He looked up at Jim Collins.

  “No more Big Drinks Father! I got the message!”