CHAPTER LXX
ST. MICHAEL’S CLUB
St. Michael’s Club, 38 Grosvenor Gardens, London, was an ideal hostel for priests, as it was open only to men in Holy Orders. Before the war it had been the city residence of Lady Lovat. But shortly after the commencement of hostilities it had been rented from her by the Duchess of Norfolk and very kindly given over as a club for priests.
Though there were many chaplains in the building when I arrived, I was lucky enough to secure an airy room. I actually felt like a boy as I took off my haversack and flung it on the bed, after the hall porter had left the room. It seemed so good to think that for fourteen days the danger of being shot or blown up by shell was very remote. Then there were many friends and brother priests in the house, and outside the door was London, and in London there were lots of bookshops, and to a booklover this meant bliss. The cathedral was but ten minutes’ walk from the club, but we had our own little chapel in the building, and the chaplains had the privilege of saying Mass there.
In the smoking-room, which was on the ground floor, there were many large and deep-cushioned armchairs that were very comfortable. There was a big open fire-place and whenever the weather was damp or gloomy outside in the London streets a bright fire burned in it; one could count on there being a fire very often. Sometimes in the evenings it would be very quiet in the great wide room, as the priests sat around reading the evening papers, the only sounds being the occasional crackle of a newspaper, as it was turned, and the purring of the fire. From outside could be heard faintly the dull roar of the city, made up of a medley of sounds: the rumbling of great elephantine busses that bumped along the streets; the whir of hundreds of taxis spinning along over the pavement, the rattle of wagons and squeaking of innumerable horns. Now and then the house would shake very slightly, though perceptibly, as far below the basement the cars of the underground railway whizzed through the tubes.
I stayed at the club for four or five days and enjoyed very much the time spent there. Bishop Fallon, a Canadian prelate, whose diocese was London, Ontario, was staying at the club. He had but recently returned from a visit to the Canadian soldiers at the front and was soon to go to Rome. I met there, also, the chaplain-general to the New York state forces, Monsignor James N. Connolly. He was a most lovable man and I enjoyed talking to him in the evening. He was vicar-general to the Catholic chaplain-bishop. He gave me his address, Hotel Castiglione, Paris, and told me to call on him if I ever visited that city.
Staying at the club were Irish, English, Scotch, American, Australian, New Zealand and Canadian priests. And of all the chaplains I found the Americans the finest. They were lovable, friendly, broad-minded men; one needed only to be in the room a few seconds till he was on speaking terms with the American priest. There was a certain friendliness about him that was irresistible. “I’m Father Whalen, from Dubuque, Father,” or, “I’m Father Joyce from naval headquarters in London, Father,” or, “I’m Father Waring from New York City, Father,” would greet you on meeting for the first time one of these priests. Whereas an English priest would look at you coldly, and perhaps say in a chilly voice: “Good-evening, Father.”
Father Knox came up from Bramshott and invited me down. He said he had a surprise for me. I wondered what it was. Shortly after seeing Father Knox I received an invitation to spend a few days at Anthony Place, Hindhead, Surrey, the country home of Agnes and Egerton Castle, co-authors of many books. Hindhead was only about three miles from Bramshott. I had visited Anthony Place while there. I promised Father Knox to visit Bramshott from Hindhead.