austra L asia 1155
The storyteller's story must be told
The death of Fr William Ainsworth sdb
BOLTON: 5th June 2005 -- Limited through brief contact and the 'news' genre, what follows is a personal memory, but on hearing of the passing, today, of Fr William Ainsworth, there are two little stories that can be told amongst the many that will be told. He had only recently celebrated his 97th birthday. At that point his health was already failing fast, and in the past few weeks he had been moved to a nursing home.
The two little stories belong to 1968, the place Australia, more precisely Hobart, Tasmania. But some brief background first. Fr Ainsworth had been the editor of the Salesian Bulletin in two stints totalling about 14 years, beginning in 1940 a year before he was ordained. He knew a thing or two about stories, telling them and writing them. He was also the consummate gentleman.
He came to Australia in 1966 and left again in 1969. It was a brief interstice between two periods as Provincial Delegate for South Africa, as was the role and the place at that time. He went to South Africa in 1957, and after his three-and-a-bit years in Australia returned there in 1969 again as Provincial Delegate until 1974. From 1974 until his death he was in the Bolton (UK) community.
Four of us young fellows were in practical training in Tasmania at the time, and William Ainsworth came in mid-winter for a few days - probably sent to look after us, now on reflection, while other community members went to 'the mainland' on retreat! What a wonderful time it was, though. We took him up Mount Wellington, first, which dominates the Hobart skyline in much the same way as Table Mountain dominates Cape Town. He wanted to know the story behind the winding trail (vehicle) up there. We couldn't tell him, not even the Tasmanian amongst us. Not satisfied with that answer, he invented the history of that trail. I recall there was a Gingerbread man as part of the account!
We then spent a week at Swansea, a small seaside fishing village on the East coast of the Island - a week spent investigating the municipal library for its hidden treasures, then retiring to a roaring hearth in a building that had witnessed convicts and which told the story of one who gained his freedom by swimming into the bay to rescue a family shipwrecked towards the end of their journey from 'the old dart'. The outline of that true tale is still barely legible on the headstone of those who did not make it in the graveyard next to Schouten House, as our residence was called. But what an invitation for a man who also taught us the unthinkable (in Aus) habit of mulled beer around that fireplace!
William Ainsworth's impact on a few young men in but a brief formative moment was substantial. He was also Rector of the Theologate in England from 1952-56, but over all his Salesian years, as person, poet, priest, chronicler and captivating gentleman who could produce a Foster's for any Aussie visitor to Bolton, he has influenced thousands similarly, no doubt. Does heaven have mulled beer, I wonder?
VOCABULARY
interstice: any space between two things
hearth: fireplace
the old dart: England, the Old Country. A term known to older Australians but not used in England. Does not refer to Dartmouth prison but is most likely a corruption of 'the old dirt' something like the Irish 'Old Sod'!
mulled beer: whatever the proper way of doing it might be, Fr Ainsworth did it by thrusting a red hot poker into the beer can.
Foster's: an Australian beer that used dominate international markets as 'the' Australian beer. No longer.
____________________
The storyteller's story must be told
The death of Fr William Ainsworth sdb
BOLTON: 5th June 2005 -- Limited through brief contact and the 'news' genre, what follows is a personal memory, but on hearing of the passing, today, of Fr William Ainsworth, there are two little stories that can be told amongst the many that will be told. He had only recently celebrated his 97th birthday. At that point his health was already failing fast, and in the past few weeks he had been moved to a nursing home.
The two little stories belong to 1968, the place Australia, more precisely Hobart, Tasmania. But some brief background first. Fr Ainsworth had been the editor of the Salesian Bulletin in two stints totalling about 14 years, beginning in 1940 a year before he was ordained. He knew a thing or two about stories, telling them and writing them. He was also the consummate gentleman.
He came to Australia in 1966 and left again in 1969. It was a brief interstice between two periods as Provincial Delegate for South Africa, as was the role and the place at that time. He went to South Africa in 1957, and after his three-and-a-bit years in Australia returned there in 1969 again as Provincial Delegate until 1974. From 1974 until his death he was in the Bolton (UK) community.
Four of us young fellows were in practical training in Tasmania at the time, and William Ainsworth came in mid-winter for a few days - probably sent to look after us, now on reflection, while other community members went to 'the mainland' on retreat! What a wonderful time it was, though. We took him up Mount Wellington, first, which dominates the Hobart skyline in much the same way as Table Mountain dominates Cape Town. He wanted to know the story behind the winding trail (vehicle) up there. We couldn't tell him, not even the Tasmanian amongst us. Not satisfied with that answer, he invented the history of that trail. I recall there was a Gingerbread man as part of the account!
We then spent a week at Swansea, a small seaside fishing village on the East coast of the Island - a week spent investigating the municipal library for its hidden treasures, then retiring to a roaring hearth in a building that had witnessed convicts and which told the story of one who gained his freedom by swimming into the bay to rescue a family shipwrecked towards the end of their journey from 'the old dart'. The outline of that true tale is still barely legible on the headstone of those who did not make it in the graveyard next to Schouten House, as our residence was called. But what an invitation for a man who also taught us the unthinkable (in Aus) habit of mulled beer around that fireplace!
William Ainsworth's impact on a few young men in but a brief formative moment was substantial. He was also Rector of the Theologate in England from 1952-56, but over all his Salesian years, as person, poet, priest, chronicler and captivating gentleman who could produce a Foster's for any Aussie visitor to Bolton, he has influenced thousands similarly, no doubt. Does heaven have mulled beer, I wonder?
VOCABULARY
interstice: any space between two things
hearth: fireplace
the old dart: England, the Old Country. A term known to older Australians but not used in England. Does not refer to Dartmouth prison but is most likely a corruption of 'the old dirt' something like the Irish 'Old Sod'!
mulled beer: whatever the proper way of doing it might be, Fr Ainsworth did it by thrusting a red hot poker into the beer can.
Foster's: an Australian beer that used dominate international markets as 'the' Australian beer. No longer.
____________________
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