Jack the Butcher

Jack the Butcher

Jack the butcher was a popular figure in the village of Ballybracken – not with Father Ned though. They rarely saw eye to eye, though they at one time shared a school bench, were in the same boy-scout troop and even dated the same girl once. Jack married the girl, Ned went for the priesthood and that was the end of that. Well, not quite…

Though a successful businessman and with a shrewd eye for turning a penny Jack was also a prominent member of the Labour Party. It was said that once he had notions of joining the Communist Party, but reckoned it might be bad for business. Father Ned supported the right of centre Government party (but not publicly, being a man of the cloth) and the two never lost an opportunity to have a gentle dig at each other on such occasions as the Bridge Club Socials which were held once a month in the back room of Mike Power´s pub.

During the recent local government elections the party as usual ran Jack as a candidate for a seat on the county council. The local talk on the day after the count was that Father Ned´s sermon in Saint Mary of the Isles the previous Sunday on the evils of Communism, dressed up as Socialism, did the damage as Jack was strongly fancied to head the poll and came in well down the field. Father Ned took his housekeeper out for a steak dinner that night in Bertie Allen´s pub and according to Bertie the reverend father looked like a cat after a particularly large bowl of cream.

On the Sunday following the election the crowds filtered out of Saint Mary of the Isles and lined up for the annual Corpus Christi procession. Whit Sunday was the only day of the year when the Blessed Sacrament was taken in procession through the village streets. Father Ned was particularly anxious that this year everything should go without a hitch as the Bishop of the Diocese had travelled over from Chapeltown to participate in the events of the day. This was a first time for the Bishop and a big honour for the village. Bishop McNamara was a stickler for detail and had already taken Father Ned to task some days earlier on the reported falling attendances at Sunday Mass.

All local groups took part; the men and women´s confraternities, the Boy Scouts, Girl Guides and of course the “chain gang”, the members of the council – this year with the noticeable absence of Jack the butcher. It was a fine summer´s day and the members of the Army Reserve unit sweated profusely in their heavy green woolen combat jackets as they took their customary position towards the tail end of the procession.
They set off at a slow march just ahead of the ornate cream and gold canopy – providing cover for the Bishop bearing aloft the Sacramental Host. Whit Sunday was traditionally the only day of the year when the Sacrament was carried through the streets of the village. Yellow and white papal flags and multi-coloured bunting fluttered gaily from windows and shop fronts. They testified to the devotion of the residents of the town most of whom were regular church-goers. The bishop couldn´t but be impressed.

It was customary for business promises to adorn their shop fronts in honour of the occasion. Father Ned had visited most of the houses on the street during the past week and had used a bit of gentle persuasion to ensure that this year an extra effort be made. Many of the houses and shops had set out little tables adorned with bunches of flowers, holy pictures, statues of the Sacred Heart and even the occasional Christmas crib. The lady members of the Legion of May cast an approving eye as the Parade passed by. Father Ned following anxiously some way behind the Bishop breathed a sigh of relief.

The brass band, who had travelled over from Chapeltown, was belting out the air of the popular hymn “Sacred Heart of Jesus, we thee adore” as the parade rounded the butcher shop corner. Despite the noise of the band Father Ned couldn´t help overhearing the loud voice from the serried ranks of the Army Reserve, and so too did the bishop.

“Jasus lads, would you look at Jack. The divil never misses a trick”. There indeed was Jack standing by the doorway of his shop wearing a blue and white striped apron and grinning from ear to ear. Hanging from a rail inside the window for all the world to see were a dozen or so carcasses of prime Spring Lamb, festooned with golden daffodils and bunches of parsley, and overhead in vivid white painted lettering the window bore the proud legend - “Behold the Lamb of God, only 2/6d a lb”.

The Bishop looked livid. Father Ned knew a difficult evening lay ahead. It was game, set and match to Jack…this time anyway.

THE END