At the age of 14 or 15, our class had to take part in a ‘Retreat’. For those of you who have never taken part in one, I can’t be very helpful in describing what one was. I think it was a time for prayer and reflection, although for the life of me I can’t remember how long it lasted or what we actually did. I am not even sure if it replaced lessons altogether or whether it was interspersed during the normal days’ activities. If anyone out there can remember more specific details please let me know.
So why am I referring to it all? Because it indicates my level of thinking at that early age. I remember attending a lecture of sorts by the local parish priest who was also the college chaplain. He sat us down and told us we were going to make our first ‘real’ confession. In his own words (I swear this is true, they are etched into my brain) :
“Boys. I don’t want you to tell me you have masturbated. I want you to tell me how many TIMES you have masturbated!”
This provoked in me a crisis in faith that was never subsequently overcome. An over-sensitive boy such as I was in those days was much too shy to get involved in a conversation with a priest about matters such as these. Therefore, any future partaking of the holy sacrament of the Eucharist would be sacrilegious as the sin had not been confessed. What to do? I stopped attending nine o’clock mass at St Clare’s and took up rowing a skiff on Heaton Park boating lake is what I did. One sentence uttered by a priest condemned my soul to eternal damnation!
We had a retreat around 1963 with a Fire and Brimstone Monk, I think it was a Dominican. After two days of almost religious brainwashing it began to get to me. The Monk took confession which I had given up years before. He told us that we need not worry about the confession as he would ask questions and we had to answer yes or no. It was held in the room at the bottom of the chapel on the left hand side. I was the last one in. The Monk asked a series of questions concerning sins and I think I answered yes to every one. At the end he said to me ‘now my son you must tell me that you will not carry out these sins in the future.’ As this was not part of the bargain and I am generally truthful I replied ‘ I cannot say that Father.’ Realising that I was in trouble and the Monk was not at all happy. I scarpered out of the confessional and ran to my seat in the Chapel swiftly followed by the Monk. Fortunately I was sitting down when he ran into the Chapel from the confessional. ‘Who was that last boy’ he said. In good old Xaverian tradition no one grassed. The Monk then left the Chapel and a few minutes later came back with the Headmaster, Brother Cyril. They both went to the front of the chapel and Brother Cyril asked ‘who was the last boy into confession?’ No one stood up or answered. Brother Cyril then said ‘no one is leaving this chapel until that boy stands up.’ No one stood up. The Monk and Headmaster then left the chapel and came back about ten minutes later. The question was asked again and again no one stood up. Whereupon we were dismissed and sent home and I breathed a sigh of relief. I have not been to confession or Mass since!
The retreats normally lasted between two and three days depending on how much hell fire and damnation the powers that be wanted to batter us with. Silence was supposed to be observed in the break periods and lessons were suspended. No homework but we were encouraged to both read prepared texts which were handed out and spend our evenings in contemplation during the period of the retreat.