Introduction

I was asked to write a poem to mark the 70th anniversary of the Catholic Church in my old home town of Woodford. I decided that I would approach it in a different manner than using purely historical facts. After all, the truth can get in the way of a darn good story.

After thinking back over some of the many incidents which have occurred over the years in this friendly little country parish, I ad-libbed a bit, chucked in a small dose of poetic license, and produced "The Sunday Mass-acre," which was published in the celebratory book of the church's anniversary.

So far, I haven't been excommunicated. So far...

The Sunday Mass-Acre

Copyright; Mark Feldman
From his book 'Visions of the Quill'

'Twas the faithful Father Reilly, of Saint Mary's Catholic Church,
For souls that needed saving, forth this reverend went to search.
A Mass to say on Sunday eve, he travelled to perform,
The day was humid, still and hot, the night-time just as warm.

The congregation all arrived, the regulars and the rest -
A horde of hardened heathens who could mix it with the best.
The dairy farming Feldmans, and the Bishops from "The Bend",
The "sulky wagon" Simpsons, And the truck of Billy Friend.

Old Agnes Winterbotham brought her five pet dogs, of course,
And Harry Brown rode into town, on his old chestnut horse.
Tom and Maggie Cleary and their gang of screaming kids,
Passed Bert and Charlie Logon, and the men both dipped their lids.

The people, as they entered church, out of the heat and glare,
Blessed themselves with Holy Water, from the font just near the stair.
"Boy, it's gonna be a hot one," said skinny Mick McBryde,
As he flicked the switch to start the fans and cool the church inside.

The organist, a widow, by the name of Barbara Bannow,
Went in and took her place behind the grand old church piano.
Father Reilly kicked proceedings on, he did not "muck about",
His blessings all were powerful, his sermons full of clout.

The service travelled smoothly 'till the pre-Comm union prayer,
Then hell sent forth its vengeance, and chaos filled the air.
For Hairy Brown's old stallion gave a violent, grassy sneeze,
And from the hollow hitching post, up came a cloud of bees.

They swarmed the Winterbotham dogs, who leapt upon the horse,
Which reared and bucked and kicked at them, with angry equine force.
Dogs and horse all broke their tethers, and gave a sideways lurch,
Then this pack of panicked animals stampeded into church.

The dogs, they started fighting, the horse galloped down the aisle,
Passed pews and poor parishioners, in wide-eyed, fearful style.
But Father Reilly was unphased, his courage stood alone,
As amidst the blood and flying fur, McBryde ran for a phone.

The melee was a vicious, brawling din of dogs gone wild,
And the only sound that drowned it was the youngest Cleary child.
Father Reilly kept on praying as the horse kicked out a wall,
And there, outside the church, some stormy rain began to fall.

Though McBryde had called the dog pound, and Brown had caught his horse,
This was just the appetiser for the next gut-wrenching course.
With one dog dead, the fight went on, parishioners' heads were reeling.
Then from the dark a fruit bat came and buzzed around the ceiling.

Like avoiding a vampire, or a demon spawn of hell,
The congregation ducked and weaved with shriek and curse and yell.
But the end came with a bang for that swooping, floppy fella...
...The exorcism was completed by the Holy Air Propeller.

The proverbial hit the fan about the same time as the bat,
For the carcass struck the lectern, with an awesome, sickly splat.
It ricocheted with fervour and its purpose did not falter -
It massacred the candle, and laid bare the Holy Altar.

As the priest spoke forth the blessing. Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
The only thing surviving was the Consecrated Host.
But he held aloft the chalice, that contained the Sacred Wine,
And encouraged the parishioners to come and stand in line.

The priest stood like a rock amidst the cyclone all around,
As the dogs were all evicted by the catcher from the pound. Surely,
it was time when prayers for peace all had an answer.
Then came the thud of Simpson's cart horse, falling dead from cancer.

And the other Cleary kids had snuck outside to try their luck -
An impromptu driving lesson... in Billy Friend's old cattle truck.
Now, Bill was not dogmatic, his beliefs were hardly biased,
But when his truck came through the wall, he screamed for, "Jesus Christ!"

Father Reilly never missed a beat, he handed out Communion,
Though his church looked like the very first Hiroshima reunion.
The Holy, pious priest was like an edifice of stone,
While all around the room, rang out the sounds of scream and moan.

Yet, the padre called for silence. Communion now was finished,
And now there should be order, for the chaos had diminished.
In this quiet, prayer-filled moment, all their burdens should be lightened.
Father Reilly prayed a silent plea that all their lives be brightened.

The peaceful bliss and stillness captured every, single heart.
Then someone broke wind loudly, and the place all fell apart.
Like a trumpeting Archangel, or Apocalyptic horse,
It thundered with the violent voice of some primeval force.

The devout mood. it was broken, and the faces turned to smiles.
Like a shout from evil Lucifer, that fart echoed for miles.
But the pastor valiantly ignored this voice from the hereafter,
And struggled bravely onward, through the peals of ghoulish laughter.

He made them sing the parting hymn, though no music was employed,
'Cause the organ, in the battle, had been totally destroyed.
The parishioners left in droves with a blessing from the priest,
All glad that, from this hell-hole, they had finally been released.

The storm and pouring rain, it eased off as they departed,
But that was when the second half of Armageddon started.
A final peal of thunder and a blinding fork of light,
Struck the highest steeple there, and set the church alight.

Father Reilly stood erect and tall, and uttered not a sound.
It took all night to burn Saint Mary's church right to the ground.
The townsfolk stood aghast at all the things that had gone wrong,
As Father Reilly said a blessing 'midst that putrid, burning pong.

The gallant, honest reverend was a man so full of grace,
Though he did abscond with ashes, to remind him of the place.
Now many years have passed since that fateful Mass was said,
Father Reilly's now a bishop, all adorned in black and red.

He's met a thousand challenges that many others shun,
He's faced three exorcisms, and a madman with a gun.
But when you ask the biggest challenge of all his days in church,
He says that, through his memory, there isn't far to search.

He'd been awarded pious medals and promoted to a dean.
For the way he'd kept his reverence in that catastrophic scene.
For others. Father Reilly says, that night may be a blur,
But he won't forget one moment of that Sunday Mass-acre !

Copyright; Mark Feldman