FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th – 25th MAY 2025
In these days we are enjoying some beautiful weather, however long it may last. Having said that, I know I have to avoid being out in the sun as much as is possible and, if I am out in the sun, I have to ensure that I have just about every part of my body covered, and the factor 50+ sun protection cream on, the one for babies. Over the years, I have been very slow and foolish to learn how prone I am to burning, but now I know that the slightest glimpse of the sun will likely have me reddening like a tomato, and my skin flaking and peeling like hoar frost. It’s not that I am, or ever have been, a sun worshiper. I have never been attracted to a holiday lying on a beach trying to get a tan, my troubles have come mainly from just walking in the sun, or sitting reading a book, while not adequately covering the necessary body parts.
My first bad burning was as a teenager on my first trip abroad. In 1969, our curate in St Laurence’s in Drumchapel took a group of 7 lads in a minibus to France, eventually ending up in Lourdes for a 3-day pilgrimage. We then drove over the Pyrenees into Spain, intending to enjoy a week’s holiday in Lloret-De-Mar. On the first day, after pitching our rather scruffy looking tents, compared to some of the luxury tents of others in the campsite, we headed down to the beach. I remember that it wasn’t even a particularly sunny day, but rather cool and cloudy. However, behind the clouds, the sun was lurking with evil intent. That night, I couldn’t settle to sleeping in the tent, because my shoulders were irritating me. I ended up sitting upright in the minibus all night. When morning came, I had, on each shoulder, blisters the size of tennis balls. For three days I was unable to put a shirt on my back and couldn’t go out, except in the cool of the evening, and even then, only very short distances. Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sang John Denver, but not me. My saviours came in the form of a group of Irish nurses who arrived and took great pity on me. One of them burst the blisters, and slathered vinegar on my back. I nearly screamed with pain but, lo-and-behold, the next morning I was cured, and was able to enjoy myself for the last couple of days.
You would think I would have learned a lesson, but no. In 1973, I was holidaying on the Isle of Barra with a group of friends whom I had got to know through the Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire, now closed for many years. The weather was scorching. When my friends took some time to lie on one of the many beautiful, and mostly deserted beaches on the island, I went walking. There is a road, 14 miles long, that encircles the island, and I walked it all. However, I hadn’t covered my head, and I ended up with quite severe sunstroke. The husband of the lady who ran the guesthouse in Castlebay, where we were staying, was the lobster dealer for the island, and we often had lobster for lunch cooked in a variety of different ways, but my friends joked that no lobster was ever nearly as red as me.
I joined the Passionists in 1975, and in the summer of 1976, at the Graan Monastery in Enniskillen, my class of postulants was asked to help bring in the hay, not something a city boy like myself was used to. Again, it was a scorching summer, and again, I got sunstroke. Fast forward to 1989, I was on holiday with some classmates on Achill Island in County Mayo, and again it was scorching. We went to Keem Bay, home at that time to basking sharks and seals. After a dip in the sea, I sat in a shady cove reading a book. Every part of me was covered, except my feet, and this, I think, produced the most painful burning of all. My feet blew up like balloons. At the end of the week’s holiday, I was travelling home to Glasgow, and I had to wear flip-flops on the plane. I spent two weeks in Drumchapel in lock-down with my feet up, and my nursing cousin coming to tend to me daily. After that, I really did learn my lesson. I now have a selection of hats that I wear for protection, whenever the sun appears, and I ensure the rest of me is covered, from head to toe, as well. Never again!
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
In these days we are enjoying some beautiful weather, however long it may last. Having said that, I know I have to avoid being out in the sun as much as is possible and, if I am out in the sun, I have to ensure that I have just about every part of my body covered, and the factor 50+ sun protection cream on, the one for babies. Over the years, I have been very slow and foolish to learn how prone I am to burning, but now I know that the slightest glimpse of the sun will likely have me reddening like a tomato, and my skin flaking and peeling like hoar frost. It’s not that I am, or ever have been, a sun worshiper. I have never been attracted to a holiday lying on a beach trying to get a tan, my troubles have come mainly from just walking in the sun, or sitting reading a book, while not adequately covering the necessary body parts.
My first bad burning was as a teenager on my first trip abroad. In 1969, our curate in St Laurence’s in Drumchapel took a group of 7 lads in a minibus to France, eventually ending up in Lourdes for a 3-day pilgrimage. We then drove over the Pyrenees into Spain, intending to enjoy a week’s holiday in Lloret-De-Mar. On the first day, after pitching our rather scruffy looking tents, compared to some of the luxury tents of others in the campsite, we headed down to the beach. I remember that it wasn’t even a particularly sunny day, but rather cool and cloudy. However, behind the clouds, the sun was lurking with evil intent. That night, I couldn’t settle to sleeping in the tent, because my shoulders were irritating me. I ended up sitting upright in the minibus all night. When morning came, I had, on each shoulder, blisters the size of tennis balls. For three days I was unable to put a shirt on my back and couldn’t go out, except in the cool of the evening, and even then, only very short distances. Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sang John Denver, but not me. My saviours came in the form of a group of Irish nurses who arrived and took great pity on me. One of them burst the blisters, and slathered vinegar on my back. I nearly screamed with pain but, lo-and-behold, the next morning I was cured, and was able to enjoy myself for the last couple of days.
You would think I would have learned a lesson, but no. In 1973, I was holidaying on the Isle of Barra with a group of friends whom I had got to know through the Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire, now closed for many years. The weather was scorching. When my friends took some time to lie on one of the many beautiful, and mostly deserted beaches on the island, I went walking. There is a road, 14 miles long, that encircles the island, and I walked it all. However, I hadn’t covered my head, and I ended up with quite severe sunstroke. The husband of the lady who ran the guesthouse in Castlebay, where we were staying, was the lobster dealer for the island, and we often had lobster for lunch cooked in a variety of different ways, but my friends joked that no lobster was ever nearly as red as me.
I joined the Passionists in 1975, and in the summer of 1976, at the Graan Monastery in Enniskillen, my class of postulants was asked to help bring in the hay, not something a city boy like myself was used to. Again, it was a scorching summer, and again, I got sunstroke. Fast forward to 1989, I was on holiday with some classmates on Achill Island in County Mayo, and again it was scorching. We went to Keem Bay, home at that time to basking sharks and seals. After a dip in the sea, I sat in a shady cove reading a book. Every part of me was covered, except my feet, and this, I think, produced the most painful burning of all. My feet blew up like balloons. At the end of the week’s holiday, I was travelling home to Glasgow, and I had to wear flip-flops on the plane. I spent two weeks in Drumchapel in lock-down with my feet up, and my nursing cousin coming to tend to me daily. After that, I really did learn my lesson. I now have a selection of hats that I wear for protection, whenever the sun appears, and I ensure the rest of me is covered, from head to toe, as well. Never again!
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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