Tag Archives: junior seminarians

Mirfield

Posted on by A Mirfield Boy

Fr. Fulvi visited us at home, and a weekend visit to Mirfield was arranged. My mum seemed especially keen for me to go, but my dad was not so enthusiastic. Some Catholic families thought that it was a great honour to have a priest in the family. The words “God chose you, you did not choose God,” I remember being said several times both before and during my time at Mirfield.

I do not remember much about my weekend visit. I recall being dropped off by my mum and dad and seeing the big building for the first time. It was very daunting going in the dormitory – with maybe 40 beds in it. I played football, went to the services – I don’t remember mixing with the other boys very much. However, I also don’t remember missing home – probably because I knew mum and dad were coming for me on Sunday night. I don’t think it occurred to my consciousness that this was, more than likely, going to be my home for the foreseeable future.

So in September 1969 I found myself being dropped off at Mirfield, the Verona Fathers Junior Seminary, to begin my training to be a missionary. I have this memory of everyone waving to me as they went back home.

The moment my family left me I knew I had made a terrible mistake. What was to follow was a period of extreme pain, fear, loneliness and isolation.

Verona Fathers

Posted on by A Mirfield Boy

The first time I heard the name the Verona fathers, or Mirfield for that matter, was when Fr. Luciano Fulvi came to my school.  He was what was known amongst the Verona Fathers as their Vocations Director.  And it was his job to go around all the schools in the UK “seeking out” potential vocations for the priesthood and the religious life.  He must have done this job very well.  In the 1960’s junior seminaries were full.

It seems bizarre to me now, that as a child of 12 years old I could make such momentous decisions about leaving home and attempting to train to become a missionary.  No one in my family believed, or would have thought for one minute it would be me – my brother yes – but not me.

Anyway there I was, sitting in my class listening to Fr. Luciano Fulvi talk about the African Missions.  Or more importantly, as far as I was concerned, the African wildlife.   Even then I was passionate about wildlife and nature.  His stories of lions and elephants and of hunting and fishing were what hooked me.  The missions or missionary work did not play much part, and why should it?  I was a child and a dreamer and I already had that Nile Perch at the end of my rod and on the hook.

When Fr. Fulvi asked the inevitable question at the end of his talk, “is anyone interested?” my hand shot up and I ticked the box to say I wanted more information.

Betrayal

Posted on by Tony Edwards

I am not interested in retribution, apologies or compensation for myself. My concern is with the question of betrayal by others and the harm that betrayal has done to us.

Firstly, Romano was, at best, eccentric.  He behaved in very different ways to his two contemporaries, Father Eugene Murtagh and Father Frank McCullagh.  There was hardly any comparison with the behaviour of more senior Clerics, such as Cerea, Stenico or Wade  – his extreme religious views, his intimacy with young boys, his erratic behaviour.

For example, he would often punch boys in the middle of the chest with the heel of his clenched fist.  I, and others, believe that his bizarre actions must have been observed and well known by others in positions of authority in the House of Verona, yet he was charged with the pastoral care of vulnerable young men.

Secondly, I find it hard to believe that Romano was a one off.   I was at Mirfield for a very short time yet I quickly found myself exposed to a lack of due care. Therefore, turning a blind eye to uncomfortable situations was perhaps endemic.

Thirdly, I feel a deep sense of betrayal to my father, whose chest swelled with pride when Romano brought me home for a brief visit. For many years after my Father would relate this story with pride, that the Italian Priest thought so much of his son that he brought him home for an unscheduled, unannounced visit.

And finally the deep sense of betrayal to those young seminarians, my friends and brothers who may also have suffered a lack of care and support that was rightly due to them.

Peabod’s God Squad

Posted on by Tony Edwards

Other young boys, like myself, were taken under his wing and looked to him for pastoral guidance.  This culminated in a small extracurricular group meeting regularly in the Chapel to pray and read psalms together. Romano would sit in the middle of the pew and on either side of him sat two or three boys.  In turns we were given psalms to read.  I struggled to read the complicated ancient text, but Romano was happy to ask others to pick up for me.  It was in this group that I first heard the term “flagellation”.

The humorous cynicism which pervades the culture of a Junior Seminary quickly led to Romano gaining the nickname Peabod after the cartoon character Mr Peabody and Romano’s followers being nominated as “Peabod’s God Squad”.  Only now am I able to smile when I hear this term.

A Shared Sense of Loss

Posted on by Tony Edwards

My youngest child is fast approaching the age at which I left home and joined the Verona Fathers.  His beauty and innocence, his willingness to learn and hang on to almost every word of knowledgeable adults drags my memory back with painful speed to my own hopeful childhood.

In the late 1960’s the drive from Liverpool was across the picturesque A62, the lights of which could be clearly seen from the end window of our top corridor at Mirfield.  I would often stand there on a winter evening, my eyes following the meandering orange glow over the moors leading home, praying that my parents would feel the sickness I had in my stomach and, by some God-delivered message, they would make their way back to Mirfield and bring me home.

Only the comradeship and energetic playfulness of other Junior Seminarians prevented my depression from turning to despair.  For many years I have believed that the support, love and sheer rollicking enthusiasm for life that Mirfield boys had was the foundation of my lifelong belief in the need for a Socialist society.  In truth, the friendships I have sustained and the happy memories of the unity of the boys is more to do with a shared sense of loss than any higher noble spiritual or social meaning.  That was something I was to come across again much later in life.