All Saints

Chapter 3

Chapter 3Speke Hill Orphanage, Woolton

Charles Hopkirk, Senior Child-Care Officer in charge of the latter-day orphanage rose from his leather chair and stepped out from behind his desk to greet the newcomer to his office. Five feet nine, already turned grey, and with a slight stoop as he stood, Hopkirk looked every bit as worn down as his slightly crumpled dark blue suit with its shiny elbows, and his black shoes with attendant scuff marks, betrayed the lack of a Mrs. Hopkirk. No one would believe a good wife would allow her husband to leave home each day looking quite so dishevelled. Doing his best to look the opposite of his actual appearance and putting on an air of assumed authority, he held his hand out as he spoke and shook hands with his visitor.

“Father Byrne, welcome to Speke Hill. We're delighted to have you here as our new chaplain to the pupils.”

“It's a pleasure, Mr. Hopkirk, I assure you, and you must call me Gerald, please, unless we're in formal circumstances, of course.”

“Well in that case, you must call me Charles. I insist. And, it seems rather appropriate to have you here as part of our community, don't you agree?”

“It does?”

“Oh come now, you must know we'd soon find out you were once one of our boys here at Speke Hill, and to have you return as the Parish Priest at St. Luke's and our chaplain here is wonderful, a great example to hold up before the children.”

“I wouldn't go so far as to say that, Charles. It's a tradition that the priest at St. Luke's takes the role of chaplain here at Speke Hill, and yes, I may have been an orphan myself, raised here, as you say, but I wouldn't want to be held up as an example of something I'm not. Not everyone at Speke Hill aspires to grow up to be a Roman Catholic Priest.”

“You're too modest, Father, er, sorry, Gerald, I'm sure, but let's not dwell on it. I imagine you'd like a quick tour? Many things have changed since the days when the Catholic Church ran the place. Now that Liverpool Council, together with the Local Education Authority have control over Speke Hill, there've been many improvements and changes to the place, as you'll see.”

“And some things never change, eh, Charles?”

“I'm sorry?”

“The entrance gates and the driveway, with those rowan trees and elms lining the gravel drive. It still gives the false impression of arriving at some old Victoria country mansion. It was just the same when I was a boy here”

“Oh, I see,” said Hopkirk, who'd wondered for a moment just where Father Byrne was heading with his previous remark.

“Yes, I suppose like the original incumbents of Speke Hill, those in authority long ago decided to maintain the sweeping curve of the driveway and the grandly ornate gates at the entrance. It does after all give the place a touch of the grandiose, don't you think? Nice for those who live here, Father, I think. Not just some grey concrete monstrosity in the middle of an inner city sink estate. At least the boys and girls who live here and are schooled here can feel proud of the place, which does of course, have an excellent academic record and a long list of former pupils at the school who have gone on to achieve good things in life. Rather like yourself, Father Byrne.”

“Yes, well thank you, Charles, and please, my name, again is Gerald. I did well, as have quite a few former orphans and pupils from here. It's a pleasure to be able to come back and perhaps contribute a little to the spiritual welfare of the boys and girls.”

“I looked you up, Gerald,” said Hopkirk, looking pleased with himself.

“Did you now?” asked the priest. “And just what did you discover, I wonder?”

“Only that you arrived here, together with your ten year old sister, Angela, as a seven year old after your mother died, in nineteen sixty-one, with no other relatives left to look after you. Your father had died a few years earlier, finally succumbing to illness following years of ill treatment during the war in a Japanese Prisoner-of-War Camp and the two of you then lived in the orphanage and attended the church school here until you were both old enough to leave and make your way in the world. One particular note on your records really stood out, Gerald.”

“And what, I wonder, would that be?”

“Well, it was two things really. It said you were an outstanding sportsman, having represented the school, and Stanley House, at football, rugby and cricket, and that you also, even then, possessed a strong sense of spirituality, and had professed your intention of entering the priesthood as soon as you were old enough. It's nice to know you were successful in your ambition, Gerald.”

“Thank you, Charles. My life has indeed been one of enrichment and service to God, and I'm happy to be home again after so many years away.”

“And your sister, Angela? How has she fared in the big wide world since leaving us?”

A cloud momentarily seemed to pass before the priest's eyes and his shoulders appeared to droop as his demeanour changed for a few seconds, until he pulled himself together before replying.

“I'm afraid Angela died at a young age, Charles. I'd prefer it if we don't discuss the details. It was a painful time for me and remains so to this day.”

A look of genuine concern appeared on Charles Hopkirk's face. He'd looked up the original records of their new priest as soon as he'd heard that he was an 'old boy' of Speke Hill. Those records showed his sister Angela to have been a resident of the orphanage at the same time as Gerald Byrne, but obviously, those records ended when each of the children reached the age of maturity and passed out of the local council's care. He now felt he may have committed something of a 'faux pas' in mentioning what was obviously a painful subject for the priest.

“I'm so sorry, Father Byrne,” he said, returning to a veneer of formality. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

“It's okay, Charles, really. It's just that it all happened a long time ago and isn't something I care to talk about any more. My sister dwells with the Lord now, and I'd like to leave it at that, and, my name is Gerald, remember?”

Byrne smiled now, and Charles Hopkirk felt an instant forgiveness in that smile. Here indeed, he thought, is a good man.

“Right, well, I suppose you'd like to take a brief look around the old place eh?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

“I hope you won't mind, Gerald, but, knowing you were coming today, I asked one of our teachers to give you a guided tour of the modern version of Speke Hill. A lot of things have changed since you were here, as I've said, but many things are still the same. It just so happens that we have another 'old boy' on our staff at the senior school, another lad from your own age group during your time here. You might remember Mark Proctor?”

Byrne's face almost betrayed an emotion he wouldn't have wanted the senior care officer to witness at the mention of Proctor's name. Mark Proctor, who the other children back then used to call 'Garibaldi' due to his lack of hair, even at such a tender age, had never been a particular friend to Gerald Byrne, who recalled him as something of a bully, always picking on those younger or smaller than himself and unable to defend themselves against his aggressive tendencies. He'd always felt that Mr. Pugh, the senior housemaster for Stanley House knew just what Proctor was like, but could never actually catch him in the act of bullying, so had tried to channel some of his aggression into boxing training, a sport at which Proctor excelled and in due course won a number of trophies for the school in local competitions. Byrne doubted very much that boxing would feature on the modern day sports curriculum, far too violent for today's passive and non-confrontational educational system. Keeping his dislike of the man, well, in fact the boy he'd known decades earlier, hidden for now, he replied politely to Hopkirk's minor bombshell of information.

“Mark Proctor? Yes, I do kind of remember the boy, Charles. What subject is he teaching?”

“Physical Education.”

“That makes sense. Proctor the boy was always involved in all things physical.”

Byrne tried hard not to let the sarcasm of his words transmit themselves to Hopkirk, who barely seemed to register the priest's reply as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the former bully, now respected teacher of P.E at Speke Hill, and Byrne's thoughts turned to buried memories.