“YOU ARE NOT TO MARRY A CATHOLIC!”
(Written by
Warren Maloney – September 2015)
This bald, authoritative statement, indeed commandment,
was issued to my Mum by
her Presbyterian parents
and aunts several times in the 1930s.
The sectarian divide was common and respected up
until the 1960s in Australia. As an edict, it stood in importance with the
marriage choices on skin colour, language, and economic class. The religious,
or those that wished to be seen to be religious, knew from table and fireside
chats and stern pulpit warnings that a marriage of a Catholic and a Protestant
was always doomed to failure.
I could spend time now trying to understand the
rationale of the accepted forecast of disaster but it is really of no gain. The
DNA of the warnings reflected the Irish/English/Scottish history of conflicts
encompassing memories of Oliver Cromwell, the Reformation, the selling of
indulgences and the “untrustworthy” human natures of the leading zealots on
both sides.
It is fair to say that the divide also existed on
both sides when contemplating marriage with those of the Jewish faith. But
those concerns did not appear in my family until the 1980s and love across that
divide was not contemplated in my forbear insular Brunswick and Carlton
families.
My maternal grandfather, Tom Bradley, was a
member of the Loyal Orange Lodge,
maintaining the hatreds from two generations back in Ulster and insuring their
survival as long as possible.
My mum, Doris, affectionately known as Dot, had
been adopted into the Bradley family as a baby and it would be expected that
the strong views, the admonitions, the stories about the wicked Catholics would
have had an effect.
Doris 1940
But and there is always to be expected a “But”,
Dot may have gained independent strength after her father died in 1937. For, in
1939, aged 28, she focused her eyes at the factory on the 26 years old Ray
Maloney
and I don’t think she saw his Catholicity as a brick wall in front of her in
her pursuit and love.
I am sure that, once grandma, Gladys, realised
the “game was afoot”, there would have been reminders of her dead Dad’s wishes,
plus a not too subtle verbal undermining of Ray and his dysfunctional family,
and certainly meetings with the Bradley women who stated clearly – “You are not to marry a Catholic!”
It was
clear that this was water off the determined young woman’s back. Dot wanted Ray
as a husband. Besides she had more worries in this pursuit than Ulster
politics. She had to wrest his attention away from his mates, his pubs, his
sports, long enough to get a proposal agreed to (yes, she proposed); and she
had to counter the influence of his older brother, Roy,
who had a “Rasputin-style” influence on Ray and had declared “She will marry him over my dead body.”
Roy & Ray 1938
The demise of Roy may have privately appealed to
Dot but a compromise was reached and Roy, early on, was to be the Best Man if
the wedding was ever allowed.
Of course, the religious divide was honoured on
both sides and the only way Dot was to get her man, according to Fr. George
Brendan Cannon,
was for her to attend and “satisfactorily complete” lessons in understanding
the Catholic faith – six weekly lessons of about 2 hours each on a one-to-one
basis – lessons requiring endurance and considerable patience if not humble
acquiescence.
Intellectually or emotionally wrestling with my
Mum was never easy and I am sure that the good Father found it a challenge; as
did Dot who always regarded Catholic teaching and rituals as beliefs without
reason, loyalty without outcome and preserving priests’ powers without sharing
of decision-making with the believers. But she knew she had to get through
these six weeks and in February-March 1942 she did. Ray was a Catholic and this
was a locked and guarded door that she had to open.
Meanwhile near the home hearth, equally strong
positions were being announced. All the aunts, and therefore their husbands and
children, would NOT be attending a Catholic service. It was a definitive line
in the Ulster sand – not to step one foot over into a Catholic Church.
So, Dot faced a wedding where her sister, Norma,
and most reluctantly her mother, Gladys, were her only family members who
agreed to attend. Indeed, the aunts never forgave and never spoke to Dot again.
Compounding all these obstacles, it was the third
year of WW11 - difficult days of battle losses abroad and strict rationing at
home. Ray had left the West Brunswick hosiery factory and was working at the
Maribyrnong munitions with the likelihood of conscription later in the year.
Dot had
also taken on the role of a forelady at the factory as the men had left to wear
the khaki. This meant long hours, piece-work pay, living with a very grumpy
mother, attempting to keep Ray focused on the wedding needs – getting a suit
and staying sober - and trying to find ways to enjoy the upcoming wedding day.
The wedding was set for 2pm on Saturday, 11th
April 1942, the Saturday after Easter,
at St George’s Church. It was to be a small affair with 2 Bradleys and 15 or
more of Ray’s family and friends to create a special and memorable celebration
- food and, of course, drinks afterwards at the Maloney family home in Lygon
Street.
St George's Catholic Church
And the Wedding Day certainly began memorably
when Dot, Norma and Gladys arrived by taxi from West Brunswick to the front
door of the church to be greeted by a distressed Jim Davis
with the panic announcement “We can’t
find Ray …………. Not to worry, I’m sure he’ll turn up ………We can’t find Roy either
so perhaps they just ducked down for a beer and lost track of the time ……. Not
to worry……….”
I can only imagine how Mum handled this as she
stood with Norma and Gladys, both not backward at voicing opinions, and tried
to get some order into her mind and the day.
Had Roy got his wish in a very public way? Did
anyone see Ray at all today? What is the appropriate time to wait before
getting a taxi and going home?
It may have been five minutes. It no doubt seemed
like sixty but with no announcement Ray and Roy came around the side of the
church entrance, Ray saying loudly – “Sorry
Dot, I had to get baptised.”
Mum later recounts that she just stared at her
beloved for some time before saying quite firmly “Really …… well tell me later ……. get into YOUR CHURCH down the front
and at least allow me to walk down the aisle ……….”
Ray naturally complied and the wedding began.
I am sure Mum contemplated briefly saying No to
whatever the Priest was asking. I am sure she also thanked someone above for
the fact that her aunts had not witnessed this “Catholic debacle.”
Apparently, it was in the vestry later, whilst
signing the marriage certificate, that Dad got the opportunity to explain. It
seems that when he and Roy arrived at the Church (in plenty of time at 1.30pm),
the dutiful and officious Fr. Cannon asked for a copy of Ray’s baptismal
certificate. It seems Fr. Cannon had double-checked on Ray’s assertion that he
had been baptised a Catholic in that very Church in July or August 1913.
“That is
not the case Raymond. There is no record here. Are you sure you were baptised a
Catholic?”
Pregnant pause no doubt from Ray who had never
been known to attend to detail.
“I’m sure I
have and it was here and I went to school here and had First Communion and
First Confession here and …………”
“But there
is no record of baptism, Raymond.”
Panic then set in quickly and Ray and Roy, in
their good wedding suits, were seen to run from the Presbytery back to the
family home at 238 Lygon Street to find either a baptismal certificate or their
mother, Ruby.
Alas Ruby had already left for the Church and a quick look was going to be
futile – so a return run, a distance of about two kilometres, to face up to the
priest and ask for a solution.
Fr. Cannon knew the importance of time so at
1.55pm in the Presbytery Ray was baptised and Roy, the only one available, was
nominated as his godfather and the priest’s housekeeper stepped forward as the
new godmother.
Task done – then to find and face Dot.
Mm absorbed this tale and put it in context in
front of the patronising brother, Roy, her grinning sister, Norma, and the
cautious Fr. Cannon –
“So, I have
had to lose the support of my Presbyterian family who commanded me never to
marry a Catholic and put up with this over-bearing Priest for six whole weeks
and swear that our children, if we ever have any, have to be brought up as
obedient Catholic angels and it turns out you were never a Catholic in the
first place!”
The audience knew there was no room to reply.
Mum took a breath and said, “Well at least we are bloody married.”
And so shortly afterwards, the “happy couple” had
their wedding photos taken, received the good wishes of those attending and adjourned
to the downstairs and back yard of 238 Lygon Street for a few drinks, a bit of
a dance and the beginning of married life.
Postscript
It turned out that Ray had indeed been baptised
in July 1913 as a Catholic but not at St George’s Church and with some very
surprising godparents – Aaah, but that is another story in itself!
Roy & Ray & Doris & Norma 1942
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