FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th SEPTEMBER – 5th OCTOBER 2025
Next Saturday, 4th October, it will be 50 years to the day from when I first entered the Passionists. On that day I arrived at the Graan in Enniskillen to begin my postulancy year. I was accompanied by another lad from Glasgow who was entering at the same time, and we would be joined there by four other lads, two from Belfast, one from County Clare, and one from Nigeria. My own personal journey into the Passionists was circuitous. I had gone to St Mungo’s Academy where our chaplains were Passionists, and there would regularly be school retreats and missions conducted by the Passionists. But it was really after I left school, when I got involved with the Passionists at their retreat house at Coodham in Ayrshire, that the seeds of a vocation were planted. Having attended a number of retreats I was then invited to join the team for both the youth and young adult retreats. This was around 1969. At the same time, I had started work and was studying accountancy at day release and night classes. After being made redundant from the Singer Sewing Machine Company in Clydebank in 1970, I went to work for Olivetti in the Queenslie Estate. When the idea of a Passionist vocation grew stronger, I decided that I would finish my studies before making a move, and so it was, in 1975, that I finally entered, just to try it out, fully expecting I would be home again within a few months. However, despite many, many ups and downs, that didn’t happen.
A few days before I arrived at the Graan, I was collected at home in Drumchapel, then, following a tearful farewell with the family, I was driven down to Coodham along with my colleague. We should have gone straight to the Graan the following day, but the rector of Coodham, who knew us both well, decided we should stay and help out at the annual dinner dance, which was scheduled to take place that night. Eventually, the day after the dance, loading our things into the rector’s car, we headed for Ardrossan for the ferry crossing to Belfast. I remember the ferry was called The Lion. We then drove to Enniskillen. I remember passing through places called Augher, Clogher and Fivemiletown, which sounded like a nursery rhyme. We stopped for a bit of lunch in a remote country pub, and arrived at the Graan mid-afternoon. Our first sighting of the Graan sent chills down our spine. It was very different from Coodham, and had the imposing look of Colditz about it. Our first sighting of our Postulancy director was even more chilling. Fully attired in habit and mantle, Dracula-style, he wasn’t a bit pleased that we had arrived a few days late, which of course hadn’t been our choice, and we were afraid that we would be sent home before we had hardly arrived. He was a very strict man, but in time I came to admire him as a very good, holy and fair man.
Our classmates first sighting of us was even more chilling again – for them. My Glasgow colleague and I were both in our mid-twenties. We were quite stocky, to put it mildly, and we both sported big bushy beards. We were also wearing identical green quilted jackets. We looked like something straight out of Braveheart, ready to do battle to preserve our freedom. Our classmates were all in their teens, and they looked at us with terror in their eyes. What in God’s name was this that had descended upon them? Looking back, I don’t blame them. I’m a bit frightened myself when I look at photos from that time. However, we soon got used to each other and settled down together to encourage each other in a semi-monastic life. The following Saturday I was nearly sent home again. We had the afternoon off to wander into Enniskillen, about 3 miles away. Before heading back out again, I thought it would be a good idea to go into a local pub and get the football scores. By the time I arrived back out for the evening meal, the landlord had phoned the Graan to tell the director that one of his postulants had been in the pub, which I didn’t know yet was out of bounds. Thankfully, he relented again, but I got the distinct impression that it would be third strike and out, but here I still am.
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
Next Saturday, 4th October, it will be 50 years to the day from when I first entered the Passionists. On that day I arrived at the Graan in Enniskillen to begin my postulancy year. I was accompanied by another lad from Glasgow who was entering at the same time, and we would be joined there by four other lads, two from Belfast, one from County Clare, and one from Nigeria. My own personal journey into the Passionists was circuitous. I had gone to St Mungo’s Academy where our chaplains were Passionists, and there would regularly be school retreats and missions conducted by the Passionists. But it was really after I left school, when I got involved with the Passionists at their retreat house at Coodham in Ayrshire, that the seeds of a vocation were planted. Having attended a number of retreats I was then invited to join the team for both the youth and young adult retreats. This was around 1969. At the same time, I had started work and was studying accountancy at day release and night classes. After being made redundant from the Singer Sewing Machine Company in Clydebank in 1970, I went to work for Olivetti in the Queenslie Estate. When the idea of a Passionist vocation grew stronger, I decided that I would finish my studies before making a move, and so it was, in 1975, that I finally entered, just to try it out, fully expecting I would be home again within a few months. However, despite many, many ups and downs, that didn’t happen.
A few days before I arrived at the Graan, I was collected at home in Drumchapel, then, following a tearful farewell with the family, I was driven down to Coodham along with my colleague. We should have gone straight to the Graan the following day, but the rector of Coodham, who knew us both well, decided we should stay and help out at the annual dinner dance, which was scheduled to take place that night. Eventually, the day after the dance, loading our things into the rector’s car, we headed for Ardrossan for the ferry crossing to Belfast. I remember the ferry was called The Lion. We then drove to Enniskillen. I remember passing through places called Augher, Clogher and Fivemiletown, which sounded like a nursery rhyme. We stopped for a bit of lunch in a remote country pub, and arrived at the Graan mid-afternoon. Our first sighting of the Graan sent chills down our spine. It was very different from Coodham, and had the imposing look of Colditz about it. Our first sighting of our Postulancy director was even more chilling. Fully attired in habit and mantle, Dracula-style, he wasn’t a bit pleased that we had arrived a few days late, which of course hadn’t been our choice, and we were afraid that we would be sent home before we had hardly arrived. He was a very strict man, but in time I came to admire him as a very good, holy and fair man.
Our classmates first sighting of us was even more chilling again – for them. My Glasgow colleague and I were both in our mid-twenties. We were quite stocky, to put it mildly, and we both sported big bushy beards. We were also wearing identical green quilted jackets. We looked like something straight out of Braveheart, ready to do battle to preserve our freedom. Our classmates were all in their teens, and they looked at us with terror in their eyes. What in God’s name was this that had descended upon them? Looking back, I don’t blame them. I’m a bit frightened myself when I look at photos from that time. However, we soon got used to each other and settled down together to encourage each other in a semi-monastic life. The following Saturday I was nearly sent home again. We had the afternoon off to wander into Enniskillen, about 3 miles away. Before heading back out again, I thought it would be a good idea to go into a local pub and get the football scores. By the time I arrived back out for the evening meal, the landlord had phoned the Graan to tell the director that one of his postulants had been in the pub, which I didn’t know yet was out of bounds. Thankfully, he relented again, but I got the distinct impression that it would be third strike and out, but here I still am.
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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