It is the Soul

Dear Mam,

I am so glad now to write to you as I know it might be some time before we can communicate again.  First, to calm your heart, you will be pleased to know we have arrived on the Faroe Islands and all is going well.  It is an intriguing part of the world.  A plenitude of seabird greeted us as we sailed in.  The plumage on them was so exotic and fantastic one could only be reminded of the Creator’s ingenuity.  But it is rather cold here and misty too so it is difficult to ascertain what the Lord’s initial intentions were.  Father Geissel has been an enlightening person to meet and yes all that has been said of him is true: he is most engaging and excitable.  The other priest travelling with us, Father Masterson, is less charming, but he does have his moments, I will admit.  You can learn things from an intellectual nuisance, it transpires.  For better or worse, I cannot say anything better or worse than what I am saying now about the man.  

But I shan’t harry our correspondence with all of that, Mam. 

Things are a good deal more cheering about our Captain Littlewood.  He is a good man and I feel very safe with him.  You need a good man like him when you’re out in that sea, Mam.  It is not as horizontal as it looks from Annagassan.  It is far bumpier.  The boat is frequently ascending mountains of rugged wave.  I’ve been higher than ever before in my life during this trip.  And I am not afraid.  In fact, I hope to get higher.    

Yesterday we met some fine people from Denmark.  They have requested our aid in the burial of their loved one.   I am hoping Captain Littlewood agrees to help them.  Although it might add some hours to our expedition, I believe it is God’s will we join them in giving their deceased a funeral befitting one of our own faith.  They are not Catholic, these Danes, or even Christian, as far as I have deduced, but I would still like to be the one to oversee the service if they consent to our common requiem. Oh, I long to.  I am sure Father Geissel will get in there before me however.  He is of course my superior, for sure more experienced, and perhaps as a result capable of producing a more exquisite ceremony than I ever could.  But I shall nominate myself regardless.  I have still that competitive spirit in me, Mam.  And if I win the opportunity, I promise I shall deliver a solemnity in my words you would be most proud of. 

I must say that since reading your last letter I have been pondering the predicament you and Dad find yourselves in ever so very heavily.  What an upsetting thing this must be for the village.  It heartens me that Father Corcoran is aware of the quandary and that you are all doing your best to battle the evil that has fallen upon you.  I live in hope that obscene ‘circuses’ such as this are brought to an end soon and these poor beings, tormented through no fault of their own, are welcomed into society without judgement.  The soul transcends the imperfections of the body, yet our world seems presently concerned with the corporeal display.  There is a popular appetite among people to seek patronage in crude matter.  It is the soul that matters really.  To the end and beyond its fleshy limits.  

Gwen and Lionel.  They are lucky to have found you, my loving parents.  And that they reside with you both now gives me great joy.   

I am glad to know that Gwen is enjoying Middlemarch.  You could also direct her towards The Mill On The Floss, a copy of which should be on my shelf too, albeit not filed alphabetically, so you might have to do some digging (I have been alphabetising my libraries for many years now, Mam, but that first one back home bears the marks of a young and impulsive man).

We will set off again soon.  I will write to you when Greenland occurs.

                                                                                                                                     Your loving son,

                                                                                                                                                Aidan