St. Kentigern’s of old - a few memories

St. Kentigern’s has always been my parish and it always will be, no matter how far I may roam. I was born there on 18th July,1924, at number 17 Ascot Road, only about 200 yards from the church itself. At that time the present church had not been built, and the old one was on Newton Drive opposite Dutton Road, not opposite Ascot Road, as the present one is. In our early years we couldn't walk to church down Ascot Road because the road was then obstructed by Mr Cardwell's chicken farm.

I was baptised in the old church very shortly after birth. In those days no chances were taken, as the theologians still firmly taught that un-baptised souls could not be admitted to Heaven. The Catholic nurses at Victoria Hospital were always on the ready for a quick surreptitious baptism for those babies who might not survive.

My mother was born in 1895, so she was nine years of age when St. Kentigern’s parish was established. She lived with her parents in the small shop, which is still there, adjoining the old church. Her father was a born Catholic, and her mother a convert. My mother, therefore, had not far to go to St. Kentigern’s school. She often spoke of Canon Blundell, who was, it seems, definitely a priest of his time. He would visit the school regularly and personally deal with any miscreants amongst the boys. He kept his eyes on the parish streets too. My mother, often out and about with her school friend Agnes Kirkham, would be sternly admonished if they met the Canon, and told to get off home at once. I believe they also had a schoolmate at that time, a young lad who later became Monsignor Eaton, parish priest of the church of St. John the Evangelist in Kirkham and Vicar General of the Diocese.

The family later moved from that small shop next to the church, but only a few doors further down Newton Drive, to number 17, another corner shop with flat above. That became our home too when both my grandparents had died. I am not sure of its history, though I know my grandfather did have some building work done. If you should be passing that way, look at the lintel above the front door. There you will see the name of the house still engraved in the stone - "Blundella".

The first St Kentigern’s parishioner I can remember meeting was an elderly, stout gentleman wearing the usual apparel of the time: blue serge suit, waistcoat, watch and chain, and bowler hat. I never knew his name, but he would often walk down Ascot Road on his way home from church. I was a young urchin, about five or six years of age, playing out with my pals, and I sometimes met him. In those days, young children had not yet been taught to avoid strangers, and, in accordance with the custom of our day, I would go up to him and ask "Any cigarette cards, mister?” The old gentleman would smile, fish in his waistcoat pocket and give me a penny. Naturally I asked for cigarette cards whenever we met, and I always got a penny. I have called this parishioner "the penny man", and have put him on the list of my benefactors, and thus remembered him for over seventy years.

In the Ascot Road neighbourhood of those days we seem to be surrounded by Catholics - the Atkinsons, the Shakeshafts, the Butchers, the Powells. And behind us in South Square, with the back gardens adjoining those in Ascot Road, were the Broomes, the Riches, the Williams and possibly more, now lost in the mists of my memory. As Catholics we never felt isolated in our neighbourhood, as unfortunately we often do nowadays, which is strange in what is supposed to be the ecumenical era.

The Broome boys from South Square could take a short cut home by dashing through our back garden and jumping the hedge into their own back garden. No one seemed to bother. It was quite acceptable behaviour. We knew them all. Some of the mothers were stalwarts of the Catholic Women’s League. Some of the fathers were members of the Men's Sodality of the Sacred Heart. That Sodality went as a body to the 8 o'clock mass every fourth Sunday of the month. In their heyday, they would fill the benches in front of the Sacred Heart altar, resplendent in their long, bright red sashes. These sashes were handed out at the back of church by Mr. Jack Williams from South Square, who was secretary of the Sodality for many years. My father knew Jack well. They were both loyal members of the Knights of St Columba in the town. They would sometimes stand together on the terraces of Blackpool football ground in Bloomfield Road, and I would stand with them. I became a great friend of their son, the young Jack. Like me, he served in the Royal Navy during the Second World War of 1939-45, and afterwards Jack wrote a full history of the part played by the Minesweeping Flotillas throughout that conflict, a valuable historical record now preserved in the reference department of Strathclyde University. At the time of writing, Jack and his wife Anne still live in Blackpool, though now in St. Cuthbert's parish.

I mention the Williams family because they are a fine and typical example of many other loyal parish families of that era. There are so many that could be mentioned who played their part in making St. Kentigern’s a bulwark of the Lancaster Diocese. Perhaps I should mention the choir of our church during the thirties and forties, if only because my own father was a loyal member for many years. The choir sang every Sunday at the 11 o'clock mass and at the evening benediction, under the expert guidance of Joe Harding, the organist, who was also the pianist in the Grand Theatre orchestra during the week.

My father vied with Mark Swarbrick for the position of First Tenor. There was no official rating but both men thought themselves worthy of it, and each had their champions amongst the choir. Herbert Battersby, who had a shoemakers shop on Church Street, was the baritone. Mrs. Entwistle and her daughter Jean were among the sopranos. Mrs. Entwistle was the chief librarian in Boots Booklovers Library, and her daughter a teacher who served for a time in the school of St. John Vianney. Mrs. Entwistle could be a candidate for the title of parishioner who lived the longest. She died in a home in Thistleton a few years ago being well past her personal centenary.

Perhaps I should also mention a young soprano who was not a member of the choir for long but is remembered because she was the sister of George Carmen. The Carmen family lived on North Park Drive and when George was a very little boy he attended the Kindergarten then held at Layton Hill Convent. George eventually became a barrister, the principal advocate (and the most successful) in a collection of world famous cases. He is perhaps, of all St. Kentigern parishioners, the one who has so far achieved the greatest of worldly fame.

I was a young pupil in St. Kentigern’s All-Age school in the early 1930's, when the present church was being built. My father was employed at the time by Richard Eaves & Co., the firm of builders engaged on the work, and father served on the church as Clerk of Works. I remember him spending many hours in our front room in Ascot Road making a large wooden model of the church, as it would look when completed. For some time the model was displayed in the porch of the old church, with a collecting box for donations. What happened to it I do not know - a great shame.

I have another memory of standing in line in the school yard with no idea what was going on. Miss Brooks then came in front of us and announced in a hushed voice, "He's broken his skull!". I later learned that there had been an accident on the building site. A young workmen had fallen from the top of one of the pillars being erected. I have the impression that he died later in hospital, but my memory may be at fault.

Richard (Dick) Eaves who owned the company which built the present church was also a parishioner. He had a large family and they lived near Victoria Hospital, in the big house which still stands on the corner of Newton Drive and St. Walburga’s Road. It became the convent home of the order of nuns who came to serve the Thanksgiving Shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes which was built next to it. This shrine was erected in thanksgiving to the patron of the Diocese for the preservation of our churches from destruction by bombing during the Second World War. The Eaves family were loyal parishioners, very prominent, both with expertise and finance, in the creation of St. Kentigern’s church as it stands today.

In the picture for February in the Centenary Calendar, there is a very good photograph of the young Father Tom Keily. He is on the right of the picture, holding the Bishop's cope. Father Keily was one of the curates at the time, and a great favourite with the boys of the school. At that period, all the teachers were ladies, so Father Tom took charge of football, accompanying the boys to Stanley Park on Friday afternoons and refereeing the games. I was only a junior but on one golden occasion, as a reward for something I had done (perhaps I had got my sums right!), I was permitted to join the footballers. It increased my status no end, playing football with the big boys, and on the way back we met some of my admiring classmates going home. As I stood in the centre of an admiring group, Father Keily said, "He missed an open goal!"

I excuse him now by knowing that he was such a humble man himself that he probably thought it to be his duty to deflate a young ego. Anyway, I don't hold it against him. After all, it was true, I had missed an open goal!

The first parish priest of whom I have any personal memory is Canon McManus, to be distinguished from Father McManus, who was a curate with Father Keily. The curate, Father McManus, later became a Canon himself and parish priest of Holy Family church. The St. Kentigern’s canon was rather a shadowy figure to us, as his health was bad, and for a long period he was a semi-invalid, rarely leaving his room in the presbytery. He had a dry sense of humour on the few occasions I met him. I had to see him in 1947, regarding a reference on my admission to St. Mary's Teacher Training College. He said I might go on for a degree, though he didn't know, his hadn't done him any good, he still had to shave every morning!

One Sunday morning, as the congregation were leaving the 11 o'clock mass, Father Bickerstaffe, another curate who had arrived, came back on the altar and clapped his hands for attention. Canon McManus had that moment passed away. We all knelt to say the De Profundis and I thought how symbolic it was . For so many years, Canon McManus had kept the church open and built a fine new one to perpetuate the mass for the people. Only a few moments after the last mass had been completed on a Sunday morning, Canon McManus had been taken to his reward. It was my privilege, a few days later, to be one of the bearers who carried him to his grave outside the entrance of his native church of St. John the Evangelist in Kirkham.

In thinking of the centenary of St. Kentigern’s parish, the words with which St. John ends his gospel come readily to mind: "There was much else that Jesus did; if it were written down in detail, I do not suppose the world itself would hold all the books that would be written." We could say something very similar in relation to all the works performed, in the service of Jesus, by the countless number of parishioners, men and women, boys and girls, during the many thousands of days of the past 100 years. It will have to be sufficient for us simply to celebrate those works, and take comfort in the contribution, however small, which we have been able to make in our own days.