Scottish Catholic Observer

Last week a real-life rainbow was glimpsed over St Joseph’s, as though the Lord himself had finally given his blessing to these back-page scribblings—or perhaps he was sending me a ‘chin up’ message from on high.

Well, that was quite a week! As predicted, the 4.30am departure for Rome was a bit of a challenge and, to my shame, I was the last to arrive at the meeting point at Gourock. “Afternoon, Father!” quipped one of the parents, shortly before their excommunication.

“I couldn’t find my straighteners,” was my bleary-eyed reply.

Perhaps predictably, the kids themselves were pretty high with the excitement of bidding their parents farewell for a week. Marshalling 50 teenagers was never going to be easy, but I must say that Jet2 (other airlines are available), the agency rep and the group leader, Mr Neeson, made it look fairly straightforward. In no time we were through security and on the plane.

Youngsters nowadays (boy, do I feel old typing that) seem to have a finite capacity for exercise combined with listening. Every time you stopped for a moment of explanation, they would plonk themselves on the pavement, oblivious to passers-by.

The most frequent query in response to an ‘any questions?’ from me was, ‘Can we sit down?’ You’d think they were being made to run a marathon rather than saunter around the centro storico of Rome at a leisurely pace. And don’t get me started on the toilet stops!

There were, of course, plenty of memorable moments in the course of a packed week. Being close to the Popemobile as the Holy Father made his way around the square was a highlight. No one looks directly at the Pope any more, of course: everything comes through the screen of a mobile phone.

A more recent phenomenon is the ‘papal selfie,’ whereby you actually turn your back on the Pope so as to get yourself into a photo with the pontiff in the background. It’s not very respectful, but you could tell Papa Francesco was used to it, as he smiled obligingly at all the right moments.

Despite being warned not to buy stuff from the ubiquitous street hawkers—the quality of the merchandise is always suspect—you can always be sure that an unwary pupil will pay way above the odds for a very average Rosary or end up with some utter garbage masquerading as a toy.

One individual—who shall remain nameless—blithely ignored our instructions and bought one of those squeezable stress toys. Its malleability proved short-lived. Either the buyer was exceptionally stressed, or the rubber was too thin to cope with repeated handling, for it gave up the ghost within a couple of hours.

Picture the scene: we are making our way around the cool vastness of St Peter’s Basilica, the beating heart of the Catholic Church through 20 centuries. Then one of the group approaches me, forlornly cradling something in her cupped hands. She proffers the contents of her hands, a punctured stress gonk which is seeping flour through her fingers on to the marble floor ‘kissed by pilgrim’s lips.’ Then comes the question which I will always associate with this group, gazing up at the apostle’s crowning dome: “Is there a bin in here?”

I won’t tell you what my response was—thankfully there were no Latin speakers within earshot—but I ushered her outside and took the sorry-looking toy off her floury hands. As there are no bins within the sacred precincts of the Basilica, I put it inside one of the pouches of my new(ish) Roma rucksack, also briefly known as ‘the Lucksack.’

This proved to be bad move. For a start, the thing shed the last of its flour into the bag (and it was still quite a lot). Later that evening, my attempts to clean the bag met with limited success. Not all the flour could be shaken out and my brilliant idea to try to clean it with some dampened loo roll soon looked pretty foolish: all I achieved was spreading more flour across the formerly pristine surface of the bag and creating little deposits of dough in its now moist recesses. There was no way this bag was getting through a security scanner at the airport on the way home.

I was impressed at the kids’ reaction to the catacombs: our intended destination of St Calixtus’ catacombs happened to be closed that day (I’d forgotten it was shut on a Wednesday); undeterred, we headed a half-mile along the road to the catacombs of St Sebastian. Once we had lowered their expectations about seeing ‘dead bodies’—there seems to be a ghoulish fascination with this every time we come—they all seemed to pay attention to the guides and take in what was being said.

An example of this was when we emerged into the Church of San Sebastiano at the conclusion of our subterranean tour. When they were shown the bust of Christ ‘Salvator Mundi’ (Saviour of the World), Bernini’s final masterpiece, I was most gratified when some of them recalled seeing his humble last resting place in St Mary Major on the first day of our trip. They had been paying attention. Or some of them at least.

The kids also thoroughly enjoyed their visit to the north of the city, to see the Scots College and have lunch and Mass on Ascension Thursday. The rector, Fr Fitzpatrick, very kindly laid on a spread of pasta and chips. Needless to say, there were only empty plates sent back to the kitchen. Our courteous student hosts then led the groups on a tour of the college.

Having enjoyed the hospitality of the new Collegio Scozzese, that afternoon I was able to point out the old college on the Via Quattro Fontane as we yomped back from the Spanish steps to our hotel near the main station. Even though they don’t yet have a full grasp of the local geography (on several occasions during the week I was asked if were ‘still in the Vatican’), they could tell that the prime location around the corner from another Bernini creation—the Triton fountain in the Piazza Barberini—was a lot closer to the Roman action than the college’s current home on the Via Cassia. Rest assured, it was a cause of distress to my collegemates 30-odd years ago, just as I’m sure it pains the student body of today.

All in all, I’d say we had a very successful trip. Once again, however, the weather was very mixed. It rained—heavily— most evenings. That said, it didn’t dampen our spirits and when the sun shone, it shone brightly.

I’m glad to report that the sun also put in an appearance for our First Holy Communion on Sunday. Indeed, the whole day was blessed with sunshine. The children were angelic both in comportment and appearance, their albs and tabards setting the whole thing off beautifully. Better still, the parents were a credit to their children in every sense. It was a really lovely and prayerful occasion.

I brought the children a little ‘First Communion cross’ from Rome, and I was able to tell them they had been blessed by Pope Francis and that he was asking for them. They seem to like the crosses, and many of the photographs after the Mass show the First Communicants holding them in a variety of poses, from ‘devout saint’ to ‘fending off a vampire.’

This week is a busy one: I have lots of catch up on here in the parish and in the schools. On Thursday, it will be a year since Deacon Paul’s death: it’s amazing how quickly this year has passed. He is still very much missed by us.

In the midst of parish duties, this week I also have to report to Paisley for an ‘unpleasant procedure.’ Usually such a procedure would involve a visit to the diocesan office, but this time it entails a trip to the Royal Alexandra Hospital. I have been ‘under the doctor’ this past wee while, and this is the latest in the round of investigations.

While it’s always interesting to be in the hospital from ‘the other side’ as it were, it’s not an experience I relish. Being under the weather is always stressful, and there’s not much I can do about that. I’m not allowed a brandy before the procedure and what’s left of that squeezy stress toy is now languishing in a Roman landfill.