The Padre and Two Sisters

Details have been changed to protect anonymity.

In my youth, I was doing the Duke of Edinburgh Award and at the end of a weekend of hiking and camping, we were led by the group leader to attend a church service on Sunday evening. We arrived at the same time as a group of soldiers in uniform who greeted the reverend not by name but as “Padre”

We then discovered that the reverend had previously been a regimental chaplain. Of course, in any regiment of soldiers serving in the British Army there will be an assortment of faiths ( there are believed to be around 4000 worldwide although most are offshoots from the recognised religions ) and as such the general form of address to the chaplain was Padre which translates as “The man of God.”

Since then I have used this form of address to all clergy regardless of denomination as it is understood worldwide including Crete where I live now and as such use it here for this article. It also ensures that I don’t use the wrong form of address and cause offence, however, before going to the story of the Padre I should maybe mention my only other experience of an ecclesiastical nature namely Sister Mary and Sister Sarah.

The two Sisters were teachers at a school and I must admit that I was expecting two nuns in habits but I was totally wrong as the two ladies wore everyday clothing. Sister Mary was tall, very slim and gave the impression of being slightly austere whereas Sister Sara was only around 5 feet tall extremely well rounded and very giggly. They brought Bobby a small dog of dubious lineage. As far as I could see his parentage could have been any mix of any of the small terrier breeds and he had been acquired from a shelter. Bobby was the school’s dog and the children exercised him, groomed him and fed him. This taught the pupils about animal husbandry, taking responsibility and for those children whose families were unable to have a dog at home the chance to interact with one.

I was informed that the previous school pet had been Flopsy the lop-eared rabbit and the project has been so successful that when Flopsy had died of old age it was decided to have a dog.

My brief was to ensure that he could walk on the lead without pulling, come back when called and not jump up. Whilst neither lady had any experience in training a dog they became extremely adept. Bobby was trained in record time, he was a happy little dog and the two Sisters did an excellent job. During the very short time that they were with me, I discovered that Sister Mary wasn’t as stuffy as she first appeared. She has a wicked sense of humour and had an extensive repertoire of one-line jokes. I am not sure that Mother Superior would have approved!!

At the time I pondered at the nun’s ability to train Bobby so well, so quickly, as they had informed me that neither of them had owned a dog or had any experience of training one and left to their own devices wouldn’t have conceived of having one.

The only conclusion I came to was it was down to personal discipline. They had been given a task presumably by their “boss” and just got on with it regardless of having no experience. They obviously did their homework diligently and Bobby benefited. It occurred to me that if we all had that level of commitment and discipline ourselves how much we and society, in general, would benefit.

As a footnote to this story, I met Bobby several years later when I was one of the guest judges at a local exemption dog show in aid of charity.

The class was called. “The dog that the judge would like to take home.”

Before judging I saw him from a distance, there was Bobby surrounded by children and looking on fondly were Sister Mary and Sister Sarah. He had grown into a delightful and handsome little dog and therefore I was presented with a problem.

For obvious reasons I excused myself from this particular class and swapped with a fellow judge, explaining that one of the entrants was known to me and to ensure no bias we swapped classes.

Having finished my duties I went in search of Bobby to find him still surrounded by adoring children and proudly wearing a red rosette for winning his class!!

The Mad Vicar

The Padre was an affable man and on the surface he appeared to be quite normal. A chat over a cup of tea in his garden revealed that Christopher, his much-loved Corgi was sick in the car. This occurred almost immediately that the engine was started and the Padre naturally found this rather distressing. It all sounded so simple except that normally dogs that have some sort of motion sickness wait until the car has been moving for a while before reacting.

“Ok, let’s go out in the car and see what is happening”

As regular readers will know I am not very well educated in the models of motor vehicles. My only interest is that it has a wheel in each corner and will transport me safely from A to B. The only car that I have fond memories of was a metallic blue Zephyr 6, with a column gear change and a bench seat. Long before seatbelts were mandatory, this type of car afforded a good chance of when having a lady passenger in the vehicle there would be no gearstick in the way and she would be sitting close, very close! Happy days!!

The Padre’s car was rather low to the ground white sports type and was obviously his pride and joy. He told me as we walked toward the vehicle that it was a TR something or other and it did 0 to 100 in an impossibly short period of time and that he found driving it very relaxing.

Christopher reluctantly got in the car, was put on the back seat which was covered in a towel and we “belted up.” The Padre put the key in the ignition, started the car. He then slammed his foot down on the accelerator, we went forward like a rocket and I was pushed back into my seat. The wheels spun shooting gravel backwards decapitating the roses. I felt we were travelling at a terrifying speed as the padre effortlessly went through the gears. In the rear of the car, Christopher could be heard vomiting. I felt like joining him!!

I wondered if there was some sort of divine protection for those who had a closer relationship with the Almighty. Did this mean that “ecclesiastical persons” could drive at any speed secure in the knowledge that they were immune to the consequences of their actions? It was terrifyingly, like being a passenger with Louis Hamilton at Formula 1 speeds but on the public highway. This man was a frustrated rally driver.

“Padre, can you slow down, I have seen enough.”

He glanced at me and looked so disappointed, he was obviously looking forward to a “relaxing drive”

We returned back to his garden at a more civilised rate.

“Padre was that your normal driving speed?”

He looked at me totally puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath. How to explain to this rather unworldly man that he was driving too fast!

“Padre, I know that you love your car and extract great pleasure from driving but the speed is upsetting Christopher and is making him sick.”

“But he is sick before I am out of second gear.”

“Yes, padre he knows what’s coming. He is terrified!

I was terrified! Just as a matter of interest how often do you have other people in your car?”

“Well very rarely. Were you really terrified?”

“Padre, you couldn’t pay me enough to get me back in your car.”

The poor man was obviously distressed, to be the cause of somebody’s discomfort and to have been responsible for Christopher’s problem was too much.

“Oh dear, I really will have to change my ways, I so do like to drive.”

I finally gave the Padre instructions on how to cure Christopher of his travel sickness. Using my tried and tested system only this time I suggested doubling the time period for each stage.

For that advice see “Travelling in the car .”

I asked if he would ring me in a few weeks to let me know how he was getting on. The Padre dutifully rang two months later to inform me that Christopher was cured and that he had changed his car to a Ford Escort.

Many years later I am recounting this story to a friend who suddenly asked if I knew anything about banger racing. I replied that I had been to several events. For those who have no knowledge of this activity, banger racing is an organised event whereby old cars, usually test failures, destined for the scrapheap are used for racing around an oval track.

He informed me that a friend of his in the North of England had told a rather strange tale of a driver who was known as The Mad Vicar. Supposedly a demon driver with an ecclesiastical background. There was no further information forthcoming and the story went no further.

Was the story of The Mad Vicar true? Did he really exist or was he only an urban legend? Had the Padre been transferred north? More to the point could The Mad Vicar be my Padre?

Oh, I do hope so!

Of course, the only one who really knows is the Padre himself who at this moment could be reading this and be having a quiet chuckle.