In February 1907, on the Feast of St Bride, our first church (chapel) since the Reformation, opened for Mass. Before that significant event, the catholic population in the Village was served from St Joseph’s, Clarkston. To get to this Mass on Sundays, our grandparents had to walk there and back; and many did just that! Taking our parents, as youngsters by the hand.

By the late Nineteen-thirties, we had a priest from St Joseph’s, every Sunday, to say Mass. So personally, I never had to cover that distance on foot. While I can’t remember all the priests, who served in those days, I do remember Father Kennedy, Father Branigan and, especially, Father Brendan Murphy, later to become Monseignor Murphy. All our social functions at that time, were held in the Wilson Hall in Busby: Pantomimes, Church Fairs, Dances; and all under the watchful eye of the Monseignor. He seemed to be the catalyst for everything that was going on. During the War Years, there was a Prisoner of War Camp in Kirktonholme Road. Italian prisoners were held there. Some of them worked on local farms, so the regime must have been fairly liberal. These prisoners wore chocolate-brown uniforms, with a disc the size of a football on the back of their tunics. I don’t remember any particular animosity directed at these men. Not in the Village and certainly not from our parents. After all, Pope Pius XII was Italian. How those men must have longed to get back to the sunshine of their native land.

The Loroccas had an ice cream shop in the village. Johhny, their son, was a soldier in the British Army, fighting in Italy, but his father was interned on the Isle of Man, as an alien. The older I get, the more incomprehensible life becomes!

Back to our prisoners. On Sundays, our little church was half full of men in brown uniforms. Imagine! High Mass in Latin, with a large choir of Italians. I was only a youngster, around ten years old, but I realised something special was taking place.

The war ended in 1947. The same year as St Bride’s became a parish in its own right. Father Battel became our first Parish Priest. He had a great artistic talent. The paneling in the sanctuary was fairly drab, but the good Father, with the help of Johhny Lorocca, decorated those walls to look like marble. The effect was absolutely stunning! Before St Bride’s became a Parish, Paddy McShane ran our Sunday School, with a catechism, or a prayer book in his hand; and the Holy Spirit sitting on his shoulder.

In those days, the church congregation was as poor as church mice, in general. But by _ saving every penny, some still managed to make it to Lourdes. My Grannie and Mrs Young made that journey before the war. Two days on the train to get there. Total cost £8. Jimmy McCorry and I made our first trip to Lourdes in 1953. Two trains left Buchanan Street Station with 1500 pilgrims. Total cost for each pilgrim was £32 Jimmy McCabe’s father and his Uncle Rab were the essential music ministry in those days. In time, they were followed by Mrs Daly and Jimmy McCourt. We had a grand choir then. Hugh McCorry had a fine singing voice. Maybe not as powerful as Gerry’s.  But there you are!

There is a little comer in Lourdes, that will remain part of St Bride’s forever. One of our parishioners, whose soul is safely in Heaven, while her earthly remains lie interred in that holy place. Something of a comfort for those who remember.

It is strange, when I look over the years to those early days. Every member of the congregation knew every other member. There were no strangers. To parents, grandparents and neighbour and priests, in retrospect - God bless them all! In February 2007, St Bride’s reached its centenary. No blast of trumpets then. But one parishioner, who shall remain nameless, did walk from St Bride’s to St Joseph’s to attend Mass, as his grandparents had done, so many years before. And that was about it, I believe!

The shifting sands of Time have taken their toll. Congregations then were smaller compared to present day attendance. Of course, we now read in the Press that congregations, in general, are dwindling, but we must have our feet planted on solid ground. The Lord’s eternal assurance gives us that rock-like foundation. Taken from St Matthew’s Gospel:

“Tu es" Petrus, et super hanc petram aedificabo ecclesiam meam_”

Jim Caullay