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Born: 28 January 1845, Königssteele (Steele), Westfalen, Germany
Entered: 28 September 1862, Friedrichsburg Germany - Germaniae Inferioris Province (GER I)
Ordained: 1877
Final Vows: 02 February 1879
Died 31 October 1937, Marienhospital, Aachen, Germany - Germaniae Inferioris Province (GER I)

part of the Valkenburg, Netherlands community at the time of death

Came to HIB to teach at Tullabeg 1877-1889

◆ Irish Province News
Irish Province News 13th Year No 1 1938
Father Charles Wisthoff :
A few members of the Irish Province are still alive who remember Father Wisthoff and the excellent work he did in Ireland from 1877 to 1888. They will be glad to hear that on the 28th of last September he celebrated the 75th anniversary of his entrance into the Society.
Unfortunately the celebration had to take place in the hospital at Aachen, where he could get the care necessary for his age. Still his joy and gratitude were so great that he forgot the age. It was his greatest pleasure to go to the Altar as an act of thanksgiving. On the previous day he frequently held up his hands and sang a Gloria in Excelsis.
The Ordinary of Aachen had given leave for Mass to be celebrated in his room, so the Sisters had decorated a large room, and there our Fathers assembled in the early morning. During the Mass the Sisters sang beautifully. After the Holy Sacrifice, all, both Ours and the Nuns, gathered round the bed of the jubilarian. Rev Father Superior congratulated him in the name of the Society, and a theologian in the name of Valkenburg, to which House Father Wisthoff belonged. Very Rev. Father Assistant had written his congratulations, and Very Rev Father General had sent to the Jubilarian 75 Masses. The old man of 93 expressed his gratitude and then gave his blessing to all present.
Meantime the Nuns had prepared a table in the background, the bed was moved over to it, and Father Wisthoff and his guests celebrated the jubilee. He was very lively and cheerful, relating many anecdotes full of joke and humour.
In the course of the morning, a Father came from St, Ignatius College with special congratulations, and about midday a messenger brought a telegram from His Eminence, the Cardinal Secretary of State, announcing the special blessing of the Holy Father.

Since the above was written, the sad news has come of Father Wisthoff's death at Valkenburg. He was born on 28th January, 1845, entered the Society 28th September, 1862 , died 3Ist October 1937. RIP

◆ The Clongownian, 1920

The Laying Down of the Higher Line Cricket Ground

An Account by Father Karl Wisthoff SJ

Father H Fegan Higher Line Prefect at Clongowes after the Amalgamation, found it desirable to enlarge the cricket field. As there were no men amongst the labourers at Clongowes who could carry out this work, he summoned from Tullabeg the famous Brian Spollen,

Before the Amalgamation there were only a few plots laid out for matches, the rest of the lawn having a rough surface. That part of the lawn where the old elm stands* was higher than the rest, its elevation being indicated by the grass bank that surrounds the elm. The higher ground extended about eight or ten yards towards the middle of the lawn sloping down to it along the entire length of the field.

Work was commenced near the tree. From there towards the middle and down to the end of the present cricket ground, the sods were cut in sizes of one to two feet. They were then raised and carted to the grass-land outside the cricket ground. This done, the soil was taken out and heaped before the pile of sods. When the bed of gravel was thus laid bare it was picked loose and wheeled to the lower ground. When at last the two portions had been made level, fresh earth was spread evenly over the newly made gravel bed. The sods were next laid down; well-sifted earth was spread over them and harrowed backwards and forwards to get the earth well into the divisions between the sods, facilitating thereby their knitting into one unbroken surface.
As soon as the grounds were dry, Fr. Fegan saw to the rolling and cutting of the grass. To his ceaseless care it is due that the grounds improved every day, and were in tip-top order when the first eleven of the amalgamated Colleges came to play their first outmatch.

C Wisthoff SJ

*The elm referred to stood near the track between the Third Line Cricket pitch (as it is now) and the Third Line Rugby posts. The green box in which the gamekeepers keep their gear is practically on the site of the old tree. There was a mound about three leet high around the elm; but · this mound was removed when the tree was blown down in the great storm of 1903.

-oOo-

“The Boss”

by Jack Meldon

It is a long span since I said good-bye in the wooden gallery to Fr Wisthoff when starting for the Summer holidays from Tullabeg in 1886. The last conversation I had with him was about the new Cricket ground which he expected, and I agreed, would produce the best wicket in the British Isles.

He had helped me to organise a holiday cricket team styled “Tullabeg and Clongowes United” (note precedence of Tullabeg). I was to obtain fixtures with Co Westmeath CC at Mullingar en route, Phoeix CC, Leinster CC, and Dublin University Long Vacation CC; and we played all these Clubs in Dublin during the following week.

It was the first time the two Colleges had combined in anything, and I mention it as a curious coincidence that Fr Wisthoff and I who engineered this first amalgamation were, perhaps, the two people in the world to whom the real amalgamation, a few weeks later, came as the greatest trial and disappointment.

I am looking at the photograph of the team hanging on my study wall as I write. One or two are missing from the group, but the names of the full team were - Hugh Kennedy, Jack Maunsell, Alfred Kelly, Peter Carthy, Joe Gaffney, Bob Cruise, Dan Molony, and myself (Tullabeg); Finn Meldon, Peter Touhy, D Fitzpatrick, Julius Ferguson (Clongowes).

To say that the new cricket ground at Tullabeg was the Boss's hobby does not describe the situation - he was wrapped-up in it. He spent every moment of his leisure time at it, and one could tell at once by his mien if Brian Spollen, the one-eyed donkey man, had been “playing the ass” and mixing up the levels, as he was apt to do after a pay day carouse in the Rahan village “pub”.

But the earnestness and determination of “The Boss” was such that no failure or opposition could prevent him making a thorough success of what he had set out to do, and certainly no other sobriquet could have so aptly described the famous Tullabeg Prefect.

A German! yes, I believe he was, but a snow white one - I can answer for that, and I am confident that those who knew himn and had intimate dealings with him, and those who were, so to speak, on his staff in the Higher Line at Tullabeg, will endorse this to a man.

My reading of him came to be - that in dealing with you as a boy he took nothing for granted. He possessed himself (by hook or crook, I admit) of your inmost character; but having once satisfied himself that you were on the square and loyal to him and to the school, he trusted you blindly from that moment, and nothing and nobody thereafter could shake his faith in your honesty of purpose.

He was his own intelligence officer - he required no other; and while you were on trial, or, worse still, under suspicion, he was an awkward customer.

My first acquaintance with him was on the evening of my first day at Tullabeg. I was fourteen years old, and had just been transferred from Beaumont without being personally consulted, by an arrangement between Fr Delany and my father, after four years at Beaumont, during the last term of which I had won the presentation bat for the Lower Line batting average at cricket.

Judge of my chagrin when I found myseli placed in the Third Line at Tullabeg, I was somewhat crest-fallen (very good for me, doubtless), felt like shooting Fr Delany, whom I had never seen, and being very black inside, I probably looked the part as I stood at the door of the Third Line playroom. Then I became conscious of being focussed by a pair of enormous round spectacles blazing out of the dust in the gallery twenty yards I away. The owner of the specs was tall elderly, spare, and very distinguished looking. Many of my readers will remember those wonderful specs through which the Boss could transfix one victim out of a group at the end of a cricket pitch. It was useless to pretend you did not notice: of no avail to stoop and tie your shoelace, use your handkerchief, or suddenly remember you mislaid something and walk round a corner out of sight. No! When eventually you looked up again you would find yourself “set” by the same orbs at about the same distance - your inmost soul being read like a book and the message a definite as if formulated in the words, “Young man! you are thinking treason. Beware you have me to deal with”.

I was in reckless humour that evening and stuck it out for what seemed an age, when at last the inquisitor turned his back and appeared to be interested in something at the other end of the gallery. I turned for information to a boy standing near. He was very small, and yet seemed to know everyone and to be liked by all. He was not a new boy, on the contrary, he gave one the idea of having been always there - part of the establishment in fact. It is hard to be certain at this length of time, but I am nearly sure the boy was Paddy Rath. “Who is that gent?” I asked. “Hsh ! that's the Boss, he'll see you”, said he. “Well, he's no gent to stare at a new boy like that. But how can he see me anyway - his back is turned?” I inquired. “Ah! God help you”, muttered my informant through the side of his mouth, without turning his face towards me, as he retired into the playroom. At that moment the wonderful specs man spun round suddenly, and in a loud, foreign accent, for everyone in the gallery to hear, said, “When a boy comes here from another school he will be expected to observe the customs of the place, and to behave in a proper and respectful manner, and no other attitude will be accepted. Let this be understood”. I shrivelled up and the episode ended. Many a time in future years have I seen absolute proof that those marvellous specs were equally efficient as mirrors, periscopes, or X-Ray machines. I may mention that next day my bat with the silver shield engraved, “Beaumont College, Lower Line batting average”, was carelessly (?) left lying about by me, and being spotted by Paddy Rath or someone in charge of the games, I was promptly “shunted” out of the Third Line into the Lower Line.
If Fr. Wisthoff was a King among Prefects, Fr Henry Lynch was a Prince. He was Second Line Prefect, and I could write plenty, if I had the space, about happenings during that year, during which I never regretted for a moment having migrated from Beaumont.

I did not come much into contact with Fr Wisthoff until the following year, though he seemed interested in me; and more than once, if he noticed me with a trailing boot lace or a crooked tie he said, half jestingly, “Is that how they dress at Beaumont College?”

It was next year when I was in the Higher Line as a “Lower Line Up” that the real war between me and the “Boss” commenced. My greatest friend at Tullabeg (he is to this day) was a six foot dunce named Edward Magawly Banon, who lived about eight miles from Tullabeg at Broughall Castle, an ancient edifice with walls eight feet thick, built in the far back ages, with slits for windows, and ghosts and ivy and legends to match. He was dark and mysterious, not a flier at games, hopeless at lessons, but hard to beat over a country, a conjurer with a fishing rod, knowledgeable with a gun, and better versed in the language of nature than most game keepers. These things fascinated me, and we became fast friends.

He went by the name of Abb Banon, and was generally alluded to as “The Abb”, having obtained the nickname on one occasion when in communicative mood he had informed the assembled multitude that he and his forefathers, in unbroken line, had lived in Broughall Castle since the time of Noah or some such period, whereupon the wit of the party christened him “The Aboriginal”, which had been conveniently shortened to “The Abb”. The masters never seemed to expect any work from him, and not fancying himself at games, he was generally to be seen on the playground surrounded by an admiring crowd drawing “some poor" gom” or propounding some original theory and producing tears of laughter in which “The Abb” himself never joined. Owing to his love of secrecy and mystery he would stop in the middle of a sentence if the “Boss” happened to pass by, and would not continue until he was out of earshot.

Nothing was so calculated to raise suspicion and exasperate Fr Wisthoff as this, and soon he plainly showed Edward Banon that he had no use for him, and was fully persuaded that both he and I (for we were inseparable) were plotting against his authority. We, on the other hand, considered ourselves within our rights, ill-used, and unfairly blamed, and altogether we had a thin time of it, as any “Lower Line Up” boy would be likely to have who claimed any rights or tried to ignore Fr Wisthoff.

Curiously enough this dark, self-contained trait in “The Abb's” character, which got him into such trouble at school was, he has told me, one of the things which helped him to success afterwards as a mining expert and consulting engineer. He is now a millionaire with offices in New York and Chicago, and goes by the name of “Silent Mike” in the financial world. But “The Abb” would require an article to himself and I am supposed to be writing about “The Boss”. He gave neither of us any peace - stormed at us in public and private, refused to sell us sweets, etc., in the shop, and boycotted us generally.

I can't quite remember how it came about or who proposed it, but during next Summer holidays "The Abb" and I got it well into our heads that we were not playing the garne and that it was our duty to capitulate. It is was a hard thing, but being two of us made it casier. We wrote a joint letter to Fr Wisthoff and also called and left cards on him at Gardiner Street.

We did not much relish going back after the holidays. I suppose we did not quite know how our request for an armistice would be received and we funked “reparations”.

The day came. I had just deposited my small things in my partition in the dormitory and returned to the gallery when the “Boss” called me into the shop. Now for it, thought I. I stood before him while he tapped his enormous snuff-box, opened it, balanced a half inch pyramid of snuff - the colour and consistency of damp peat and as strong as gelignite - on his thumb, whence it was received into his right nostril without wasting a grain (he was the cleanest and most fascinating snuff taker I have ever seen). At last, he put out his hand, took mine in his and said,

“Jack Meldon, is it peace or war?”
“Peace, Father”.
“You will be loyal?”
“Yes, Father”.
“You are this year to be Captain of the Higher Line ....”

I suppose he saw my eyes glisten. The reaction was nearly being too much for me. “Go”, said he, “and tell Edward Banon to come to me”. I staggered out of the shop with my heart in my mouth, and a box of Callard & Bowser's Nougat in the hand which had held his.

“The Abb” had his interview, and when he came out his pimply old face was shiny with perspiration, and his mouth was so dry I had to give him a cube of nougat before he could tell me that he and I had been appointed gamekeepers. This was a topping post under the “Boss's” régime, as we had not to clear out of the playroom into the gallery at the end of play hours as the others had, nor had we to go to the library unless we liked. We had the giving out of all the games and the arranging of who was to play billiards and handball. The boxing gloves, foils and single sticks could not be used unless we were actually present and in charge. The patronage belonging to the Attorney-Generalship was nothing to what was attached to a Tullabeg “gamekeeper”.

Gerald Kelly and Tom Considine were appointed “shopkeepers”, while Denis Kane, Tom Considine and I were “net makers”, another much sought after post reflecting the economic genius of the “Boss”. The “net makers” were privileged to sit in the shop breathing the mixed aroma of Callard and Bowser, Cadbury, Jacob, oranges, apples, tar-twine and machine oil, and spent their play hours on wet days making cricket nets for the school. It may seem rather a mixed blessing, but we loved it. And when Brian Spollen had been behaving himself, and the sods on the new ground were knitting satisfactorily, we often had a little feast to help us along. We were a happy family and the time passed merrily. “The Boss” shed his reserve to a great extent behind the closed doors of the shop, and nothing was too good for us once we had passed into his confidence.

"The Abb” was changed to the partition next mine in the dormitory, and we were allowed to keep our pipes and tobacco in our boxes there. Smoking was only allowed to the XI, including umpires, markers, etc., on evenings of “out match” days, but I had many a cigar given me by the “Boss” and smoked it in his room while we discussed important affairs of state.

Clongownians of that date will be surprised to note that “The Boss”, who never took any chances, always appointed the Captain of the House himself, instead of the appointment by ballot as at Clongowes.

Considering he was a foreigner to our games Fr Wisthoff was wonderful at mastering them and at knowing how they should be played. He started us playing Association Football or “Grass” as it was called in contradistinction to “Gravel”, the ordinary school game. How he got it into his head, I dont know, but he thought it would improve the dribbling game if played with a thin leather ball of nearly two feet diameter and as light as a feather, instead of the standard ball. He did not often do a really foolish thing, but when he produced this balloon which cost fabulous moneys we felt inclined to explode. We knew better, however, and really it was a good game, though of course it was not quite “Soccer”.

Some of the “gravel” devotees whose metier was bombarding high goalposts with shots from a distance saw no merit in “grass”. Harry O'Brien and “Coddie” Lyne (what extraordinary names boys do get) were two of these, and when the ball came to Harry and he was tackled for possession by the charging “Codfish”, Harry would take a flying kick in the hopes of “outing” him with the impact, and the delicate leather would go off sailing on the wind and bouncing over the sharp gravel, every bounce adding to the “Boss's” agony as he called out, “Ach, Hahrie! Hahrie! You should dreeble, dreeble - do not kick! You break the ball ! It is not made for kicking!”

Of course, being Captain, I saw a great deal of Fr Wisthoff, as he consulted me about many things. He sometimes gave his Captain rather difficult positions to cope with, but as he always backed him up loyally and held the tiller himself in stormy weather, everything | seemed plain sailing, and we were a very happy Higher Line during that last year at dear old Tullabeg.

The more we saw of the “Boss” the greater our admiration for him grew, and it seems to me, looking back now, that the tone which he moulded and fostered was the right tone, and if there were any of the Higher Line of 1885-1886, who did not “make good” in after life it was not the fault of “The Boss”.

-oOo-

Father Wisthoff is at present stationed at St. Ignatius College, Valkenburg, Holland, where he is Procurator of the House. He is as active and as keen as ever, is always ready to talk of Tullabeg and Clongowes, has not forgotten the slang he picked up in Ireland, and asserts frequently that the happiest days of his life were spent at Tullabeg and Clongowes. To the Irish Jesuits studying in Valkenburg, he invariably extends a hearty welcome; and they all have kindly recollections of the many services he has done them. He remembers, individually, the boys over whom he ruled, and even their nicknames are fresh in his memory.

In the sporting papers of 1886, the matches played by the united Tullabeg and Clongowes team, alluded to at the opening of Mr Meldon's article, are described with relish. “Blindly but aptly”,' writes the sporting journalist (why “blindly”?), the rival houses were “united” in their first match-that against Phoenix, and what was the result? The boys thought they had a holiday, but it was the “Premiers” who enjoyed it. ..... Phoenix put on two slow bowlers, the very ablest move that could be made against a school team who probably never saw a slow bowler before; and the best of the joke was that they had a man at deep long-on, where all the hits should have been made, who could not hold a catch if it was thrown from a yard's distance. He, however, was there, and served his purpose by in timidating the batsman from lashing out..... Touhy and J A Meldon made a long stand, and no wonder ! Balls were pitched up full to leg, and hit away, the most amusing feature being that Meldon was missed twice by his father, uncle or brother of that ilk, who played for Phoenix. This match was lost by an innings and 53 runs.

When describing the match against Trinity, the sporting journalist becomes epic in his indignation. “When a man comes up to you and enquires in a menacing manner whether your opinion of his ability to give you a black eye coincides with his or not, you naturally assume that the wish to do so, on his part, was father to the thought, and then the paternity of the wish exercises your ingenuity. It is almost impossible nowadays to omit a man's name from the list of scorers when he has made “duck”, or fail to praise his bowling when he has been hit all over the field, without being subject to bodily ill usage. Every Pressman in Dublin complains of the same thing, and surely, while it would please us extremely that every batsman should make a hundred runs, and every bowler take ten wickets at a minimum cost, we feel just as free to mention their failures when they are un fortunate.

After this vigorous prelude, the writer goes on: It is unnecessary to say much of the University match, as the Trinitarians had a wretched team, and altogether the affair was a regular farce. Play ceased before six o'clock on each day, because the natives wanted to attend “commons”' an apology which we certainly never heard of before. That the United team would have won the match but for this inexcusable procedure, we have not the slightest doubt; still, they have only themselves to blame for acquiescing in such an arrangement. The match against Leinster
was drawn.

◆ The Clongownian, 1938

Obituary

Father Karl Wisthoff SJ

On the evening of the feast of Christ the King, Father Wisthoff died in the Marien Hospital in Aachen, at the age of nearly 93 years. Some souvenirs of his life will surely interest the many friends he won in Ireland during his years as Prefect at Tuliabeg and Clongowes. He was born near Essen on the 28th of January, 1845 - before the Famine. His father was the founder of the famous Sheeler glass-foundry, He liked to tell of how his father brought him, when thirteen, to Feldkirch College, in Austria; it was still the days of posting. Turn-pikes barred the entrances into the then umerous small German States, and for the journey to Feldkirch one needed a ministerial passport in large Folio!

Father Wisthoff entered the Society of Jesus in 1862, and spent the usual years of study in Mūnster, Maria Laach, Feldkirch, Ditton Hall, and Portico. The first thirty years of his work as priest was mostly devoted to education, and always “abroad”. They began with ten years as Prefect in Tullabeg, one in Clongowes, then came three years in North America and then fifteen in South America.

The last thirty years of his life were spent at Valkenburg, in Holland, where he was busied with the financial administration of the great philosophical and theological Seminary of the German Jesuits, until his 80th year. The last decade he was in charge of the Library and Archives. It is a remarkable proof of the strength and activity of mind and body in this old priest of between 80 and 90, that in the last ten years of his life, he wrote out up to 80,000 index-cards for the catalogue in a clear, legible hand an enormous service to all users of the Archives.

A tiny personal memory perhaps : One autumn evening I found him gazing at the wild vine on the side of the house, richly coloured in the gold of the sunset. “There's God with His paint brush”, said Father Wisthoff to me suddenly, his eyes lighting up with mischief. That was the real Father Wisthoff, the charm that won him so many friends,

To the happiest days of his later life belonged the celebration of the both anniversary of his ordination as priest, in 1936, and, a month before his death, the 75th anniversary of his entrance into the Society of Jesus. Among the many congratulations were letters from former pupils in Ireland and America; one of these, from Chile, only arrived after his death. For it was shortly after his last feast-day that he was called to his High Priest, Jesus Christ, Who for sixty years had come to him at the altar.

A last word from a memorial card : “Remarked for his kindness and delicacy in dealings with others, for breadth of mind in plan and execution, to which were joined strength of will and a tireless eagerness for work, with the best of good sense and good humour, Father Wisthoff was constantly winning new friends all his long life long”.

Paul Bolkovac SJ

-oOo-

Father Wisthoff : “The Boss”

by J Meldon

I was grieved to hear from Father Bolkovac SJ, Valkenburg, that Father Wisthoff's long life on earth had come to an end.

Edward Magawly Banon had written from Florida, and I from England, timing our letters to arrive in Valkenburg on the day he was to celebrate his Jubilee last year and informing him that we intended travelling to Valkenburg this summer specially to visit him. We had both corresponded with him at intervals since the closing of Tullabeg, as a school, 52 years ago (1886). He reigned there as Higher Line Prefect, and we had served him as Higher Line “Games Keepers” - an envied post under the Boss's régime. I mention this as I think it is a tribute to his gifts that two of his boys held himn in such affectionate veneration though so far apart for over half a century.

I never actually knew the origin of Father Wisthoff's soubriquet, “The Boss”. It certainly was apt. He was a Dictator in his own area - sometimes, I believe, a little out side it!

My reading of him came to be that in dealing with you as a boy, he took nothing for granted. He was his own Intelligence Officer, requiring no other, and when you were on trial or, worse still, under suspicion, he was an awkward customer: He possessed himself of your utmost character, but having once satisfied himself that you were on the square and loyal to him and to the School, he trusted you blindly from that moment, and nothing and nobody thereafter could shake his faith in your honesty of purpose.

Besides the post of Games Keeper, I held the much sought after appointment of “Net Maker”, an industry reflecting the economic genius of Father Wisthoff. The other favoured ones were Gerald Hart-Kelly, Denis Kane and Tom Considine. On wet days the Net Makers were '”privileged” to sit in the shop, breathing the mixed aroma of Nougat chocolate, oranges, apples, tar twine, and machine oil. We manufactured all the Cricket and Tennis nets for the School under the technical instruction of “The Boss”.

This may appear a somewhat mixed blessing!, but we loved it - a proof of the magnetism of the famous Prefect - and often we had a little feast to help us along. “The Boss” shed his reserve almost completely behind the closed doors of the Shop, and nothing being too good for us, once we had passed into his confidence, we were a happy family, and time passed merrily.

The more we saw of Father Wisthoff the greater our veneration for him grew, and I love to think back on those happy days, though of course there is always a tinge of loneliness when one hears of another dear friend passing on. RIP

Born: 01 February 1880, Bray, County Wicklow
Entered: 06 March 1899, Roehampton London - Angliae province (ANG)
Ordained: 1914
Final Vows: 02 February 1917
Died: 06 January 1949, Heythrop, Oxfordshire, England - Angliae province (ANG)

by 1912 came to Milltown (HIB) studying 1911-1915
by 1916 came to Tullabeg (HIB) making Tertianship

Born: 03 October 1924, Armagh, County Armagh
Entered: 07 September 1942, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 31 July 1956, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 05 November 1977, Milltown Park, Dublin
Died: 28 May 2014, Cherryfield Lodge, Dublin

Part of the Milltown Park, Dublin community at the time of death.

by 1973 at New York NY, USA (NEB) studying

◆ Interfuse No 157 : Autumn 2014 & ◆ The Clongownian, 2015

Obituary

Fr Brendan Woods (1924-2014)

3 October 1924: Born in Keady, Co. Armagh.
Early education in CBS, Armagh and St. Patrick's College, Armagh
7 September 1942: Entered the Society at Emo
8 September 1944: First Vows at Emo
1944 - 1947: Rathfarnham - Studied Arts at UCD
1947 - 1950: Tullabeg - Studied Philosophy
1950 - 1952: Clongowes – Teacher
1952 - 1953: Mungret College - Teacher
1953 - 1957: Milltown Park - Studied Theology
31st July 1956: Ordained at Milltown Park, Dublin
1957 - 1958: Tertianship at Rathfarnham
1958 - 1972: Clongowes – Teacher
1972 - 1973: New York - Pastoral Studies
1973 - 1989: Milltown Park; Promoting “Marriage Encounter”; Teaching at Gonzaga; Teaching at Belvedere
5 November 1977: Final Vows
1985 - 1989: Director SpExx; Assistant Librarian
1989 - 1995: Campion House - Director SpExx; Assistant Librarian Milltown Park and Manresa
1995 - 1996: Leeson Street - Librarian, Assistant Librarian at Milltown Park; Director SpExx
1996 - 2002: Milltown Park - Assistant Librarian Milltown Park & Manresa
2002 - 2010: Manresa House - Assistant Librarian Milltown Park and Assistant Comm.
2011 - 2014: Milltown Park - Assistant Comm. Librarian; Director SpExx
2011: Resident in Cherryfield Lodge. Praying for the Church and the Society

Brendan settled well into Cherryfield and appeared happy and content. His condition has been deteriorating for some time. He died peacefully on 28th May 2014. May he rest in the Peace of Christ.

Brendan Woods was an Ulsterman, who spent his Jesuit life in the South; he was a man attracted to solitude, but he entered an apostolic religious order, and thereby guaranteed himself the constant presence of others for nearly seventy-two years. Brendan's Northern accent was not strong, but his upbringing in Northern Ireland, under triumphant and intolerant Unionism, left a deep impression. Very occasionally, Brendan spoke about “What we had to put up with” and he had no sympathy with some Jesuits when, towards the end of the Troubles, they empathised with the fears of Unionists, of whom Brendan said: “They had it all their own way for a long time; they won't anymore; they'll have to get used to it”.

Brendan did not talk about his family, and it was almost by accident that some of us discovered that his sister is a Carmelite nun. He had three brothers, one of whom died the day before Brendan's own death. His friendships were many, including one with a laicised priest working in Dublin as the caretaker of a block of flats. Brendan offered friendship and moral support to a number of 'lost souls', but he never spoke about them; he really did 'do good by stealth.

Community life was never easy for Brendan, and he could seem remote, but in reality, he was warm, witty and quietly supportive. Being so intensely private, he was comfortable expressing his feelings through humour, rather than directly. He could be very perceptive. When Brendan said, of a particular Jesuit, that “He goes around giving retreats to well bred nuns”, he spoke in the light of a major shift in his own life, one that took place after he left teaching at Clongowes in 1972; he had lost interest in any apostolate to the privileged and preferred to work with those who had less money and less security.

Brendan gave many guided retreats at Manresa House, but his greatest satisfaction came from the weeks of guided prayer, usually given as part of a team in many outlying parishes in Dublin. Brendan never learned to drive, so those guided prayer weeks meant long bus journeys, and waits for buses, in all weathers. The effort meant little to him in the light of the reaction of so many ordinary people, as they had their first experience of praying with Scripture and asked “Why did nobody tell us about this before now?” This invigorated and encouraged him, but Brendan, not always a patient man, had no patience at all with one aspect of post-Conciliar religious life: the emphasis on self-improvement. He was impatient with techniques, had no time for the Myers-Briggs Table and regarded the Enneagram as pernicious, being convinced that it was Sufism diluted for Western consumption.

Brendan set very high standards for himself, and never felt that he had met them. He was an excellent teacher at Clongowes and a hardworking assistant librarian at Milltown Park. In neither job did he accept praise, nor feel that he had done well. In even the coldest weather, with only a small radiator for comfort, Brendan worked on the top floor of the Milltown Jesuit Library, cataloguing the collection of books about Ireland, discovering rare pamphlets and taking a special interest in Irish Catholic printers. Being over-cautious, he kept duplicate and even triplicate copies of books, which packed the shelves.

Having had some experiences of book theft, Brendan was a bit paranoid about library security. His love of books, however, meant that even the most tedious library work never seemed to be a chore. When a Jesuit house closed and its library was being cleared, Brendan had a remarkable ability to notice precisely what was lacking in Milltown.

With his a deep appreciation of what it meant to be both Irish and Catholic, Brendan concentrated on the essentials. He had no interest in the disputes about clothes that were so common in Irish Jesuit life in the 1960s and 1970s. Brendan was quick to abandon clerical clothing, and it is doubtful if, latterly, he even owned a Roman collar, but, somehow, there was an indefinable quality about him, so he always looked priestly. Being blessed with a fine head of white hair, Brendan cut a striking figure.

Brendan was quick to appreciate other countries and cultures. He read a vast number of travel books and had a balanced, even sardonic, appreciation of the United States. American crime fiction (to which Americans themselves give the more euphemistic title 'Mystery') was his secret passion and he read many authors long before their fame spread west across the Atlantic.

Marriage Encounter gave him, for thirteen years, a strong link with the United States and had him working closely with Bill White SJ, who was as committed to the work, but was utterly unlike him. Brendan was the organizer, Bill was the inspirer; as in many unexpected pairings, they were a very successful team. Some years before the onset of his own prolonged final illness. Brendan gave up attending Jesuit funerals, because the homily had been replaced by a eulogy, so he had difficulty reconciling what was being said with the reality of the man he had known. His feelings, whether positive or negative, about everything and everybody were strong, but his shyness often made him seem remote or indifferent and was a barrier for many who might have become closer to him. Those who persevered, or who worked with him regularly, discovered his warmth and his compassion.

Brendan's stories were many. Some were based on experience in retreat direction: “If a person on a retreat says that they'd like to meet you after the retreat, for further spiritual direction, you can be assured that you'll never hear from them again!”, in parish supply work, such as the Italian-American parish in New York, where terrified black teenagers returned the chalices stolen on the previous day, because their fence told them that the silverware bore the names of local Mafia families. But was there really an English Jesuit who, in his own retreat talks, used to refer, in his examples for edification, to “a humble Irish lay sister”?

Brendan rose early and prayed often. One year, his entire annual retreat was centered on the Jesus Prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”). Any hints about his own prayer were revealed inadvertently.

As Brendan's memory began to weaken, his brow settled into a permanent frown, which was very distressing for his friends. Everything seemed to worry him, but he was able to sustain a conversation by focusing on the person speaking to him, never on himself. He was not aware that he had celebrated yet another Jubilee in the Society, which was just as well, because he would have striven, with all his might, to avoid it!

Brendan has earned his rest.

Born: 09 August 1865, Rosenallis, Co Laois
Entered: 03 November 1883, Milltown Park, Dublin/Loyola House, Dromore, County Down
Ordained: 30 July 1899, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 15 August 1902
Died: 05 September 1934, St Vincent’s Hospital

Part of the St Francis Xavier's, Upper Gardiner Street, Dublin community at the time of death

Early education at St Stanislaus College SJ, Tullabeg

Chaplain in the First World War.

by 1894 at Leuven Belgium (BELG) studying
by 1901 at Sartirana, Merate, Como, Italy (VEN) making Tertianship
by 1917 Military Chaplain : 8th Royal Munster Fusiliers, France
by 1918 Military Chaplain : 7th Leinster Regiment, BEF France
by 1919 Military Chaplain : Chaplain to the Forces, Schveningen, Netherlands

◆ HIB Menologies SJ :
Note from Nicholas Walsh Entry :
He died in the end room of Bannon’s corridor, and the Provincial William Delaney and Minister Joseph Wrafter were with him at the end.”

◆ Jesuits in Ireland : https://www.jesuit.ie/blog/damien-burke/a-sparrow-to-fall/

A sparrow to fall
Damien Burke
A BBC Northern Ireland documentary, Voices 16 – Somme (BBC 1 NI on Wednesday 29th June,
9pm) explores the events of 1916 through the testimony of the people who witnessed it and their families. Documentary makers and relatives of Jesuit chaplain Willie Doyle were shown his letters, postcards and personal possessions kept here at the Irish Jesuit Archives. In the 1920s, Alfred O’Rahilly used some of these letters in his biography of Fr Willie Doyle SJ. Afterwards they were given to Willie’s brother, Charles, and were stored for safekeeping in the basement of St Francis Xavier’s church, Lower Gardiner Street, Dublin in 1949. In 2011, they were accessioned into the archives.
Fr Willie Doyle SJ was one of ten Irish Jesuits who served as chaplains at the battle of the Somme (1 July- 18 November 1916): seven with the British forces; three with the Australian. Their letters, diaries and photographs witness their presence to the horror of war.

Fr Joseph Wrafter SJ, 8th Royal Munster Fusiliers (06 July 1916):
It is a very terrible thing where a show is on & no one I know wants any more of it than he has seen if he has been in it at all. But of course all have to see it through & the men are really splendid...Between killed & wounded we lost in that period quite a fourth of our Battalions & the Leinsters nearly as many. But they did good work & the enemy got a good deal more than they gave. It is dreadful to see the way the poor fellows are broken & mangled sometimes out of all recognition.

https://www.jesuit.ie/blog/damien-burke/jesuits-and-the-influenza-1918-19/

Jesuits and the influenza, 1918-19
Damien Burke
The influenza pandemic that raged worldwide in 1918-19 (misnamed the Spanish flu, as during the First World War, neutral Spain reported on the influenza) killed approximately 100 million people.

The influenza was widely referenced by Irish Jesuit chaplains in the First World War. And Fr Joseph Wrafter SJ writing in December 1918: “the influenza is raging here and all over Holland as everywhere”.

◆ Irish Province News
Irish Province News 9th Year No 4 1934
Obituary :
Father Joseph Wrafter

Father Wrafter died at St. Vincent's Hospital on Wednesday 5th September, 1934. For a considerable time he had been in very poor health, even before he left Clongowes in 1932, he had suffered a good deal. He was an invalid for nearly the two years he spent in Gardiner St., yet, with his usual courage, he did very fully all the work he was allowed to do. At last he was compelled to go to St. Vincent’s, where for some three weeks before his death he was very often quite unconscious.
In next number, we shall give a short sketch of his life in the Society.

Irish Province News 10th Year No 1 1935
Father Joseph Wrafter Continued
Father Wrafter was born near Rosenallis in Leix on the 9th August, 1865. He went with his two elder brothers, William and Thomas, to Tullabeg in 1877, where he remained until

1885. On November 3rd of that year he entered the Novitiate which was then at Milltown Park, but was transferred the following year to Dromore, Co. Down. He next spent a year
      as a Junior in Milltown, and had just begun his Philosophy there, when in November, 1886, the year of the amalgamation (Tullabeg and Clongowes) he was sent to Clongowes. He was Third Line and Gallery Prefect there for three years, and from 1889 to 1891 had charge of the Large Study. In the former of these years he utilised his great histrionic powers in getting up “The Tempest” which was an unqualified success. In 1891 he was appointed Higher Line Prefect although he had not yet done his Philosophy, and was the youngest man on the prefectorial staff. But his strength of character and sense of justice made up for these drawbacks. In 1893, after seven years' work as a scholastic in Clongowes, he went to Louvain for Philosophy, and in 1896 to Milltown Park for Theology, joining the Long Course.
      In the early summer of 1899 he went down to Clongowes to stay for about a month, in order to take the place of Father Fegan who had left to undergo a serious operation. However Father Wrafter remained in Clongowes the following year as Prefect of the Small Study, and next year saw him a Tertian in the Province of Venice.
      From 1900 to 1903 he was stationed in University College St, Stephen's Green, as Minister. After a year on the Mission Staff, with headquarters at the Crescent, Limerick, he renewed
      his connection With Clongowes, this time as Minister, remaining there until 1908, when he went to Gardiner St. and, in addition to the ordinary work, got charge of the Police Sodality. The next year he was appointed Minister and held that position until 1942, with the exception of a break of three years (1916-1919), when he was Military Chaplain in France and Holland. While at the front he distinguished himself by his great coolness and bravery. He was awarded the MC, but an officer who himself won the V.C., said that “every day, Father Wrafter did things that deserved the VC”.
      In 1924 he became Minister in Leeson St., and had charge of University Hall. Next year he again took up work in Clongowes as Minister and held the position for ten years. It was during these years that the new building was erected in Clongowes, in which Father Wrafter took a very great interest. 1934 saw him once more in Gardiner St, but incapable of much active work. However, as long as he possibly could, he said Mass and attended to his Confessional to which he had always been most devoted.
      He celebrated his Golden jubilee in the Society in November 1933, but did not long survive the event. The malady to which he had long been subject - phlebitis - had poisoned his system and after some weeks in hospital he died on 5th September 1934.
      The most remarkable thing about Father Wrafter's life in the Society was his long term of office as Minister in all twenty six years, thirteen in Clongowes, ten in Gardiner Stand ten in the University. He possessed in a high degree the qualities required for that office. He was a fine organiser quickly saw what was wanted, and then had the power to descend to details. He was extremely just and patient and was moreover the very soul of generosity, loving to see and to make others happy. To the poor also he was very kind. Many of the beggars and tramps who came to Clongowes made it a point to ask for Father Wrafter, they almost seemed to be personal friends of his so familiarly did he chat with them.
      What struck one most in Father Wrafter was his strong will and his great sense of duty Whatever he took in hand he saw through, and whatever was his duty would be done thoroughly. During his last few years as Minister in Clongowes he suffered from phlebitis which caused his legs to become very much swollen and painful, but unless absolutely forbidden by the doctor, he was sure to go down to the refectory to preside at the boys' meals. He was indefatigable in his care of and kindness to the sick, frequently visiting them in the infirmary during the night. This did not prevent him from being the first to rise in the morning. He always said the 6 o'clock Mass. Indeed it was wonderful how he contrived to do with so little sleep. In his last illness this strength of character was most noticeable, for though he suffered very much he never complained, but always made as little as possible of his sufferings. The nurses who attended him marvelled, and were much edified at his patience and resignation.
      How much his kindness and help to so many were appreciated was shown by the number of people, many of them in humble circumstances who called at the hospital to enquire for him during his last illness. R.I.P

◆ The Clongownian, 1935

Obituary
Father Joseph Wrafter SJ

There is something of the lacrimae rerum in the ending of the notice in last year's “Clongownian” of Father Wrafter's Golden Jubilee as a Jesuit, The words were, ad multos annos. That was in June, and the 5th of September brought the sad news that he was dead, So the words must now change to ad annos aeternos.

Fifty years, of which twenty were in and for Clongowes. How true it is to say for : Clongowes. Though he never forgot his old school Tullabeg, yet it had for his practical mind been merged in the sister College.

Loyalty seems, to one who knew him well, to have been the note of his character. Of the three loyalties, Loyalty to the Jesuit Order, Loyalty to Clongowes, Loyalty to his friends, the first two naturally became one, fused into one, the second becoming the practical expression of the former.

There is hardly a corner in the House where one who knows will fail to find traces of his watchful care. Under him the Infirmary became the highly efficient department it is. The great Well was a matter of real need, not merely of convenience. The College Grounds and the Garden were a concern of his, run with an eye to efficiency as well as to beauty, as if they had been his only care. As to the New Building : it had been a thought of his for thirty years in plan, and one need not say that the interest never flagged. Perhaps a practically minded Old Clongownian would say that the 'Boys' Refectory is the spot most associated with his genial presence and ceaseless care. One such, not of the immediate Past, said to me the other day: “The two men who resumed Clongowes life for us fellows were Father Wrafter and Father John Sullivan”. It sounds strange at first hearing, but on reflection one is more and more convinced of its truth. They were very unlike in what was obvious, but very like in what most caught the House : they both loved the boys.

His friends were legion and they were very true, for they knew by experience how unfalteringly they could rely on his interest and honest advice, One felt, said one of them, that you could tell him anything and be sure of his sympathy. This was strikingly true during the last year of his life, when he was a constant sufferer. He would drag himself to the parlour to see a friend, they never suspecting at what cost.

The elements were so mixed in him that he remained human and strong. It is easy to find a man in which one or the other predominates. The result is poor. In Father Wrafter they worked to a unity that won love in the best sense of the word.

To his sister, Mrs. Murray, we offer our sincerest sympathy. We use the words in the strictest sense, knowing how united the brother and sister were. On her yearly visit to him one saw renewed the finale of George Eliot's great novel Now many of us will join with her in murmuring :

But for the touch of a vanish'd hand
And the sound of a voice that is stilled.

-oOo-

Father “Joey” Wrafter : A Memory

It must be well over half a century ago that I, a small boy, first met “Joey” Wrafter, when I found myself a Third Liner at Clongowes. After such a long time it is not perhaps, surprising that the order in which events occurred has become rather mixed, and I must confess that I don't remember what exact position he held when first found myself an inmate of the school. I rather think that Father (then Mr) Gleeson was Third Line Prefect. My memories of Mr Wrafter are very clear, indeed, as they should be, for no small boy had ever a better kinder friend than I found in him. He indeed kind to all boys. It was part and parcel of his make-up, and as a result was liked and trusted by them.

Looking back over the fifty odd years, I recognise that this was the salient point of his character; kindness, understanding and sympathy with all boys, and in particular, with small boys. I never knew him to be hard or ungenerous to one of them, not was he prone to punish where punishment could be avoided,

Naturally, some of us knew him better than others, and were looked on by him as special friends. I am very proud to think that I could count myself as one of this group. Amongst others of this group I remember Geoff Esmond, Jim Clarke and Dominic Kelly, to mention only a few. Those who remember Father Wrafter in after years will, I am sure, wish to get some idea what he was like as a young man. Well, he was very slim and upright, handsome of face in an aquiline way, with the cheeriest of smiles. He was always very trim and neat, had small and well-made hands and feet, and was very graceful in all his movements. He was a delightfully light and fast runner, and kept himself extremely fit. He, at that time, could not have weighed more than about 10 stone.

Can you think of a fencer standing slim, butt muscular, head up, with a keen, clear cut face ready for a bout with the foils? Well, that is exactly the picture I get when I look back and remember Joey Wrafter in the late 80's and early 90's of last century.

Though not posing as a great book man, he was keen-witted, a good talker, and in some things exceptionally clever.

Though he played football and cricket, he did not seem to be very interested in games, but during my time at Clongowes he proved himself a master of the art of producing plays. This was his hobby, and he took the keenest delight in staging all sort of shows from farces and pantomime to Shakespeare.

I took part in most of the plays produced by him during my time, and remember amongst many others a farce called “Bombastes Furioso”, also a pantomime, “Alladin”, in which I starred as the Widow Twanky, and Shakespeare's “Tempest”, in which I took the part of Trinculo.

Well the years move on and we with there. Father Wrafter has left us, but I for one can say with truth that the memory of him and his great goodness and kindness to one small boy lives on and will not be forgotten till I also go the way we all must go, and not even then I hope.

When I was a boy at Clongowes “Joey” Wrafter was one of the very best. RIP

JGG

-oOo-

Father Wrafter as Army Chaplain

In November of 1915, the 8th Battalion, Royal Munster Fusiliers, with the other units of the 6th (Irish) Division, after a year's training at Kilworth, were awaiting orders at Blackburn for the move to France. A few days before the unit entrained, an orderly informed me that the Colonel, known amongst his friends as “Mike”, wanted to see me urgently in the mess.

“Read this wire”, said he, as I entered. Mike was one of the hard-living, hard swearing type of old soldiers. “They are sending us a priest. What the blazes shall I do with him? Should I offer him a drink when he comes?”

When I came again to the mess, a few hours later, I found the Colonel and priest swopping yarns over the fire and a whiskey and soda. And so began a strange friendship which lasted without end between “Mike”, a Protestant, if he had any religion at all, with no control over his language even before a priest-and Father Wrafter, a devout Jesuit with much knowledge of the world and great understanding. Years after, when Mike knew his end was coming and the Protestant clergyman was announced, - his only words were : “Tell him to go to the devil, the only person I want near me is Father Wrafter”.

Practically all the men in the regiment were Catholics, and when the unit arrived at the front, Father Wrafter's worth was soon recognised. His influence amongst them was on a par with the Colonel's, and more than once Mike asked the Padre to give the men a good talk at Mass about something that they should have done or something they should not have done and did. The effect was excellent.

For the four battalions in the Brigade there were two Catholic chaplains, and Father Wrafter looked after the welfare of the 7th Leinsters as well as the 8th Munsters. Of the two battalions, one was usually in the front line and one in reserve trenches, or in billets behind. In this way it often fell to the Padre to do three or four tours : in succession with the regiments in the front line, where his splendid help was most needed. On one occasion he spent a month on end in the front trenches. Yet, during these days of static warfare, I never knew him to miss saying daily Mass, sometimes in an open trench with a box as his altar, sometimes in a little dugout, where there was room only for himself and his servant, one Thunder, known in the regiment as “Lightning”, on account of his extreme slowness of movement.

For two years Father Wrafter served with the 8th Munsters in France. He was a well-known figure in the Irish Division ; there were few officers from the General downwards who did not know him personally. In the line he worked day and night attending the sick and wounded and burying the dead. Woe betide the Colonel if the Padre was not informed immediately any casualties occurred; and it was wonderful what confidence he gave the men, who knew he could be there as soon as anything happened. When it came to going over the top, Father Wrafter was always somewhere near the front line, even when the Colonel cursed him for leaving battalion headquarters. He was then a man fifty and portly, leading what was for him a strange life, yet he took the knocks and the kicks with a smile which was good see and did no end of good in the regiment.

On one occasion, in 1916, when the Brigade was in reserve at Les Mines, the Germans sent over gas at night and the masks of the men in the front. trenches proved ineffective against it. The casualties were heavy the Germans had followed up the gas by a night attack-and next night the Munsters were sent up to the front line on relief, The trenches were a veritable shambles. Corpses, with their bodies and faces distorted in their death agony, were piled in the trenches and littered the ground near them. For four nights, from dusk to dawn (the MS has from dawn to dusk) the Padre worked with his men, burying the dead as best he could. More often than not, shell holes formed the ready-made graves. A mournful sight it was this burial gang working under fire by the pale light of the moon.

Yet, nothing daunted the chaplain's spirits, and he was ready to crack a joke with all and sundry. Just before this gas attack, the General came to inspect the 8th Munsters, He stepped out of his car opposite the quarter-guard and questioned the sentry about his duties. The sentry, well coached, repeated them all, ending with the usual, “in the event of any unusual occurrence report to the guard commander”. “And what would you call an unusual occurrence, my man?” asked the General. “Well, sur, if I saw the sintry box markin' time”. A cloud collected on the General's brow; then he looked at the Padre and moved on quickly.

In 1917, Father Wrafter won the Military Cross, a reward he richly deserved, though he himself was the last to acknowledge this, His rectitude was such that the things he did seemed to him to be nothing but his ordinary duty. His real reward was the way that the men of his regiment maintained and practised their religion--the number of men who approached the altar rails, when the battalion had an opportunity of attending Mass behind the lines, surprised the local inhabitants.

In late 1917, the 6th Irish Division was reorganised and the 8th Munsters, or what was left of them after two years' fighting, were drafted to another battalion of the regiment. Father Wrafter was then offered an appointment as Senior Chaplain at one of the bases in France - a “soft job”, - with two assistants. This offer he stoutly refused to accept and continued to serve as regimental Chaplain to the Munsters until the end of the War. Later he went to Holland, as Chaplain to a prisoners of war camp. In November of 1917 I sailed for India and temporarily lost touch with him.

Next time I met him was in 1924 as his guest at Clongowes, where he was then Minister. The Jesuit robe had taken the place of the military uniform, which was the only garb the men of the 8th Munsters had seen him in, but the man was unchanged. He was the same strong, genial Padre, whose courage and cheerfulness had been an inspiration to all who had met him during the terrible years of the War.

JO'B.

-oOo-
1929-32 - “The Minister”

It was not till Father Wrafter had left us for Gardiner Street that we fully realised what a place he had won for himself in the life of the boys here. It is not an easy thing to win that place and it is harder still to keep it, but of him both were true. When you were well, you felt how much you depended on him for the creature comforts of the Refectory. When you were ill, his genial visits in the Infirmary were things to look forward to.

He was in truth a hard man to replace, so that his visit of a few days on the occasion of his Golden Jubilee had a quality unlike that of the coming of anyone else, The boys loved to gather round him and one could notice how newcomers to whom he was a stranger looked with envy at such gay gatherings.

One could notice too, how the older trades men about the College seemed as glad to meet him as we did.

The writer of these notes well remembers his first official contact with Father Wrafter. It was my first night at Clongowes and having got from my Line Prefect to “follow the crowd”, I found myself in the Refectory for tea, an extremely subdued unit in an extremely boisterous throng. Suddenly a bell went and in the midst of a profound silence a massive figure rose with infinite dignity to say Grace. This said, he sank down again slowly and gazed with the broadest of smiles all round the Refectory. After a few moments he came down from the box and began a triumphal procession through the Refectory, pausing at each table to shake hands with the “old boys” and to discover among the “new” the son or nephew or young brother of old friends,

Afterwards when the days had grown to weeks and weeks to months, an extremely insignificant member of Rudiments decided to go for his first sleep (having, I am afraid, very little the matter with him). I well recall the mingled hope and fear with which I awaited my turn. At last it came and the climb up the three steps seemed endless, to be confronted with the huge figure of the Minister. One quick glance to assure himself that it was nothing very serious and then he learnt back good-humouredly to listen to my plea of a headache. A few seconds of doubt and uncertainty and then my name went down in the notebook and I go off with the world a much brighter place. One of the most characteristic things about him was the tolerance with which he would listen to the malingerers at the foot of the steps as they arranged their complaints and yet would hear them afterwards in the best humoured manner possible. Suddenly he would come down from the box and make his way to the Infirmary with the Third Liners whom he had refused clinging to the wings of his gown and clustering round him - looking for all the world like some great liner surrounded by her tugs. But there was one thing about him that lays bare his character better than twenty pages of “The Clongownian” : if ever he had occasion to send anyone “up” for any misdeed in the Refectory or outside it, the offender had only to ask for a sleep that night and he was sure to get it.

Kindliness was, to my mind, the outstanding trait that made him universally beloved here among us.

P Meenan

◆ The Crescent : Limerick Jesuit Centenary Record 1859-1959

Bonum Certamen ... A Biographical Index of Former Members of the Limerick Jesuit Community

Father Joseph Wrafter (1865-1934)

Born at Rosenalis, Leix, and educated at Tullabeg College, entered the Society in 1883. He pursued his higher studies at Louvain and Milltown Park where he was ordained in 1899. His association with the Crescent was short, 1903-04 when he was a member of the mission staff. With the exception of the period of the first world war. Father Wrafter's life was spent between Dublin and Clongowes. He was a member of the church staff, Gardiner St at the time of his death.

Born: 10 May 1925, Leeds, Yorkshire, England
Entered: 07 September 1942, Roehampton London - Angliae Province (ANG)
Ordained: 31 July 1956
Final Vows: 02 February 1960
Died: 08 January 1989, London, England - Angliae Province (ANG)

by 1948 came to Tulllabeg (HIB) studying 1947-1950
by 1973 came to work at Veritas Communications Centre in Booterstown (HIB)

Born: 21 December 1798, Bridge Street, Dublin
Entered: 02 September 1832, Hodder, Stonyhurst, England (ANG)
Ordained: by 1844
Final Vows: 15 August 1852
Died: 16 January 1896, St Stanislaus College, Tullabeg, County Offaly

by 1839 in Namur studying Physics
by 1852 in Rome studying
by 1854 at Malta College teaching (ANG)

◆ HIB Menologies SJ :
He had two brothers Priests of the Dublin Diocese, William and Henry - Henry was buried in the vaults of the Pro-Cathedral.
He had been a merchant who purchased Belvedere House for the Jesuits before Ent.
He had travelled much during his life, especially in Spain.

He studied in Rome and spent some time in Malta.
He was in the Dublin Residence for a short time.
He was Spiritual Father for long periods in Clongowes and Tullabeg.

Note from John MacDonald Entry :
He was attended there in his last hours by the saintly Charles Young.

Note from Patrick Rickaby Entry :
He also had a wonderful gift of taking care of the sick. This he did at Tullabeg, where he watched over the venerable Charles Young who died in his 98th year.

◆ Royal Irish Academy : Dictionary of Irish Biography, Cambridge University Press online :
from :
Young, Charles (1798–1896), found in Young, Charles (1746–1825)
by C. J. Woods

The youngest brother (son), Charles Young (1798–1896), born 21 December 1798, was educated at Oscott and lived for some years in Spain, becoming proficient in the Spanish language and literature. He assisted in the family business before joining the Society of Jesus (1832); he spent some years as a military chaplain in Malta but returned to Ireland (1840), divided his time between the Jesuit colleges at Tullabeg and Clongowes, and died 16 January 1896 at Tullabeg.

◆ The Clongownian, 1896

Obituary

Father Charles Young SJ

Midway through the first month of this year, one of the longest lives recorded in the domestic annals of the Society of Jesus in Ireland came to a happy end. Father Young was born on the 21st of December, 1798, and died on the 16th of January, 1896. He had thus completed his ninety-seventh year - the nearest to the full century that we know of except the holy lay brother, John Ginivan, who was only eight days short of a hundred years when he died at St Francis Xavier's, Dublin, on the 30th of January, 1893. But Father Young's ninety-seven years leave far behind all the Jesuit Fathers who were his contemporaries : Father Lentaigne and Father Grene passed away, at 80 years of age, Father Callan and Father Haly at 87, Father Molony at 90, and Father Curtis at 91. These patriarchs lacked at any rate one proof of the Divine partiality which is put forward in a famous Greek saying and in a famous passage of the Book of Wisdom.

Charles Young's father, from whom he inherited both Christian name and surname, was a wealthy Dublin merchant, residing in Bridge Street. Mr Young's brother was Bishop of Limerick. The pious Catholic spirit of the Young household may fairly be conjectured from the vocations of the children. One of the daughters became a Poor Clare at Harold's Cross, Dublin, and two entered the Ursuline Convent at Blackrock, near Cork. One of these composed the “Ursuline. Manual”, a more enduring and effective work than her “History of England”. Of Mr Young's six sons four became priests. William and James were both very zealous and holy priests, worthy of being the brothers of the celebrated Father Henry Young, whose saintly life has been chronicled by the sympathetic pen of Lady Georgiana Fullerton.

The youngest brother of this remarkable family resisted for a considerable time the blessed contagion of such example: He was educated at Oscott and intended for secular pursuits. During some years after leaving school he lived in the South of Spain, and many a good story he used to tell about Cadiz and Seville, and about the Spaniards and their ways. He had unbounded love and adıniration for everything Spanish. Those who knew him can easily recall the graphic descriptions of persons, scenes, and manners, to which his great charm of manner, voice, and expression lent such attractiveness. At Tullabeg, when he was well beyond 70 years of age, many can well remember the interest he took in teaching the language of “The Cid” to some boys from South America, who wished to keep the knowledge of it fresh. But nel mezzo del cammino, at the mature age of thirty-four, he retired from the world and entered as a novice into the Society of Jesus. His life-journey was not yet in reality half over, however it may have seemed at the time. There still remained to him that full span which, counting from the cradle, is called the grand climacteric - sixty-three years: These years except a few at first on the Continent and a brief residence in St Francis Xavier's, Dublin - were divided between the colleges of Clongowes and St Stanislaus, Tullabeg. The latter was the scene of his final labours, of his cheerful term of waiting when labour was over for ever, and at last of his happy death.

Through his long life Father Charles Young was loved and revered by all with whom he came in contact, and most by those who knew him best, his religious brethren. He was remarkable for his cheerful, unaffected piety, his simple gaiety of heart, and the delightful union of solid and amiable qualities which lent such a charm to the intimacy of community life.

Not a single boy who was at Clongowes in the Sixties, or at Tullabeg from 1870 to 1886, can fail to have any but the sweetest, recollections of the holy old man, who had for everyone he met the kind word, kind look, and, kind act.

They will remember distinctly the grace of manner and elegance of bearing which reminded us of the days of the Grand Monarque. May he rest in peace!