I took the funeral of a former dockside crane driver at St German's this afternoon. He was born in Cardiff's dockland, served in the Welsh Guards during the war and returned to life and work in his home Parish after demobilisation. He spent the rest of his career loading coal on to ships, getting dirty every day he worked, and by the time he stopped work, the flow of coal out through the Port of Cardiff was slowing to a trickle as the mines closed. He was proud of the place he spent his life, and much of his leisure time in retirement.
He'd married a St German's girl, and her funeral had been there five years ago. Traditionally docklanders want to return from wherever they eventually made a home for their funeral at St Mary's Bute Street. This keeps Fr. Graham extra busy. On this occasion, a docklander wanted to be buried from the church where he married and from where his wife was buried, so other docklanders came away from home in force to pay their respects. A hundred and fifty people attended the service. Afterwards the cortege made its way to Thornhill cemetry through Cardiff Bay, driving past streets the deceased had lived in as a child.
On the journey one of the funeral attendants riding with me in the car asked if I knew Fr Bob Morgan who'd died a couple of days ago. He then fished out his iPhone and showed me the news article and photo of Bob which appeared on the Western Mail/Echo website. It came as another shock in the same week as losing Fr Jeremy Winston. Bob was 83 however, not 57 like Jeremy, but it was still unexpected.
Bob had already been Vicar of 'the Res' in Glanely for several years when, as a junior Curate in my post- ordination training programme I first met him. His was considered one of the toughest jobs in Cardiff, and he was innovative, and an enterprising radical catholic missionary in engaging with a huge working class community. He got elected as a Labour councillor for his local ward, and rose to lead the Labour group and South Glamorgan County Council, as it then was. He ran a massively popular youth disco in his church hall. Not only did it fund lots of necessary work on church buildings at that time, but it gave him a zone for informal pastoral work with generations of young people.
Decades later, many of them, now parents or grandparents themselves, remember him still, as I've found in my recent pastoral engagements in Glanely. It was the only Parish Bob ever took charge of. He understood it was important for community building that there was a consistent long term pastoral (and in his case also political) ministry at its heart. The church building is still a key gathering place in that community, part of its social cohesion, a legacy of his sojourn that still flourishes. He was in every sense friend, mentor and role model to many priests trying to undersand and do mission in the sixties and seventies. I'm proud to count myself as one of them.
We met up again a decade after Bob's retirement when I preached Holy Week in St David's Cathedral two and a half years ago. He said he'd come for just one hour of the Three Hours devotion, but he stayed throughout and kindly expressed his appreciation for my efforts. He probably didn't realise how nervous I felt having to preach before the gaze of someone I'd looked up to for years. I felt honoured by his staying power at my feet. It was one of his great gifts to the Church and the people he lived to serve. May he rest in peace, and rise in glory.
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