Our Churches and Chapels - Atticus
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A mile and a half distant, on the other side of the town, and
quietly resting amongst the desolate premises once occupied by the
Preston Ship Building Company, at the Marsh End, there is a small
preaching place, wherein the Scriptures are expounded and the
doctrines of John Wesley duly inculcated. About two and a half years
ago a couple of cottages in this locality were "thrown into one,"
and arranged so as to moderately accommodate those caring about
religion, and willing to have it in a "good old Methodist" style.
There was considerable briskness of trade hereabouts at that time,
ships were made in the adjoining yards, the bubble of speculation
was being strongly blown, large numbers of strong-armed men, caring
more for ale in gallon jugs than either virtue in tracts or piety in
sermons, resided in the district, the population was rapidly
increasing, a new section of the town's suburbs was being strongly
developed, and there being drinking houses, skittle grounds, and
other accompaniments of a progressive age visible, it was considered
prudent to mix up a small Wesleyan preaching room and school with
the general confraternity of institutions in the locality. At the
beginning of this year, owing to the insufficient accomodation of
the premises, a portion of the pattern room of the Ship Building
Company, which in the meantime had resolved its organisation into
thin air and evaporated, was secured, and arranged in a homely
fashion for the required business. After passing through a small
door in the centre of a large one, leading to the shipyard, then
turning to the right, then mounting 18 steep awkward steps, and then
turning again to the right, you arrive at the place.
The moment we saw it we knew it. It was in this very room where
grand champagne luncheons used to be given after ship launches, and
where dancing and genteel carousing followed. The last time we had
business at this place we saw twenty-three gentlemen alcoholically
merry in it, six Town Councillors helpless yet boisterous in it,
thirty couples of ladies and gentlemen dancing in it, four waiters
smuggling half-used bottles of champagne rapidly down their throats
in it, an ex-Mayor with his hat, thrown right back, looking awfully
jolly, and superintending the proceedings, in it, and in an
adjoining room, now used for vestry purposes, three ladies in silk
velvet, wine-freighted, and just able to see, blowing up everybody
because their bonnets were lost. The place where all this "fou and
unco happy" work was transacted is now the school chapel of the
Wesleyans. The room wherein the congregation meet is bare, plain,
and primitive-looking, with an open roof, whitewashed all round, and
boarded off from a workshop at the southern end. Its "furniture"
consists of eleven forms, three stoves, a pulpit with no back, and a
chair. A strip of wood is placed across a window at the rear of the
chair, which is used by the officiating parson, and this wood
prevents him from breaking the glass if he should happen to throw
his head back sharply. On one side of the room there are 19 hat
hooks, and on the other 24. There are seats in the place for about
100. The members number about 20, and the average congregation,
entirely working people, and of homely, orderly character, will
range from 80 to 100. The room is connected with the Wesley circuit;
every Sunday there are two services in it; a meeting for religious
purposes is held each Thursday night; and the preaching is done by
"locals" and "regulars." The singing is neither good, nor bad, nor
indifferent; but a mixture of the whole three qualities. It is
accompanied by a small harmonium, played by a young lady in
moderately tasteful style. The services are simple and hearty, and
whilst there may be a little plaintive noisiness now and then in
them--a few penitent flutterings--they are generally, and
remembering the complexion of the congregation, respectably
conducted.
"It's a regular bird nest, and you'll never get to it, unless you
ask the neighbouring folk," said a friend to us whilst talking about
the Revivalists' tabernacle. To the bottom of Pitt-street we then
went, and seeing two or three females and a man dart out of a dim-
looking passage beneath one of the side arches of the railway bridge
there, we concluded that we were near the "nest." Having sauntered
about for a few moments, and assured ourselves that this was really
the place we were in search of, we went to the arch, walked six or
seven yards forward, looked up a dark, tortuous, narrow passage on
the right, and entered it. In the centre of the passage there was a
hole, through which you could see telegraph wires and the sky, on
one side a grim crevice running narrowly to the top of the railway
bridge, and ahead a shadowy opening like the front of an underground
store, with a wooden partition, in the centre of which was a small
square of glass. Theseus, who got through the Labyrinth, would have
been puzzled with this mystic passage. We never saw such a time-worn
and dumfounding road to any place, and if those who patronise it
regularly had done their best to discover the essence of dinginess
and intractibility, they could not have hit upon a better spot than
this. A warm air wave, similar to that you expect on entering a
bakehouse, met us just when we had passed the wooden partition. In
the centre of the room there was a stove, almost red-hot. This
apartment, which was filled with small forms, was, we ascertained, a
Sunday-school. At the bottom end there were some narrow steps,
leading through a large hole into a room above--the "chapel." A fat
man could never get up these steps, and a tall one would injure his
head if he did not stoop very considerably in ascending them.
The chapel is about five yards wide, 15 yards long, very low on one
side, and moderately high on the other. It is plain, ricketty, and
whitewashed. The side wall of the railway bridge forms one end of
it. On the northern side, there is a door fastened up with a piece
of wood in the form of a large loadstone. This door leads to the top
of a pig-stye. The "chapel" will hold about 70. When we visited it,
the congregation consisted of 35 children of a very uneasy sort, 11
men, and five women. Every now and then railway goods trains kept
passing, and what with the whistling of the engines, the shaking
caused by the waggons, the barking of a dog in a yard behind, the
grunting of a pig in a stye three yards off, and the noise of the 35
children before us, we had a very refreshing time of it. The
congregation--a poor one--consists of a remnant of the Revivalists
who were in Preston last year, and it has a kind of nominal
connection with the Orchard United Methodists. The building we have
described was formerly a weaving shop or rubbish store. Its present
tenants have occupied it about twelve months. They are an earnest
body, seem obliging to strangers, are not as fiery and wild as some
of their class, and might do better in the town if they had a better
room. They have no fixed minister. The preacher we heard was a
stranger. He pulled off his coat just before beginning his
discourse. After a few introductory remarks, in the course of which
he said he had been troubled with stomach ache for six hours on the
previous day, and that just before his last visit to Preston he had
an attack of illness in the very same place, a lengthy allusion was
made to his past history. He said that he had been "a villain, a
gambler, a drunkard, and a Sabbath breaker"--we expected hearing him
say, as many of his class do, that he had often abused his mother,
thrashed his wife, and punished his children, but he did not utter a
word on the subject. The remainder of his discourse was less
personal and more orthodox. At the close we descended the steps
carefully, groped our way out quietly, and left, wondering how ever
we had got to such a place at all, and how those worshipping in it
could afford to Sabbatically pen themselves up in such a mysterious,
ramshackle shanty.
ST. MARY'S AND ST. JOSEPH'S CATHOLIC CHAPELS.
In this combination the past and the present are linked. Into their
history the elements of a vast change enter. One is allied with
"saintly days," followed by a reactive energy, vigorous and
crushing; the other is amalgamated with an epoch of broadest thought
and keenest iconoclasm; both are now enjoying a toleration giving
them peace, and affording them ample room for the fullest progress.
Unless it be our Parish Church, which was originally a Catholic
place of worship, no religious building in Preston possesses
historic associations so far-reaching as St. Mary's. It is the
oldest Catholic chapel in Preston. Directly, it is associated with a
period of fierce persecution. Relatively, it touches those old times
when religious houses, with their quaintly-trimmed orders, were in
their halcyon days. After the dissolution, caused by Henry VIII, it
was a dangerous thing to profess Catholicism, and in Preston, as in
other places, those believing in it had to conduct their services
privately, and in out-of-the-way places. In Ribbleton-lane there is
an old barn, still standing, wherein mass used to be said at night-
time. People living in the neighbourhood fancied for a considerable
period that this place was haunted; they could see a light in it
periodically; they couldn't account for it; and they concluded that
some headless woman or wandering gnome was holding a grim revel in
it. But the fact was, a small band of Catholics debarred from open
worship, and forced to secrete themselves during the hours of
devotion, were gathered there.
When the storm of persecution had subsided a little, Catholics in
various parts of the country gradually, though quietly, got their
worship into towns; and, ultimately, we find that in Preston a small
thatched building--situated in Chapel-yard, off Friargate--was
opened for the use of Catholics. This was in 1605. The yard, no
doubt, took its name from the chapel, which was dedicated to St.
Mary. There was wisdom in the selection of this spot, and
appropriateness, too--it was secluded, near the heart of the town,
and very close to the old thoroughfare whose very name was redolent
of Catholicity. Friargate is a word which conveys its own meaning.
An old writer calls it a "fayre, long, and spacious street;" and
adds, "upon that side of the town was formerly a large and sumptuous
building belonging to the Fryers Minors or Gray Fryers, but now
[1682] only reserved for the reforming of vagabonds, sturdy beggars,
and petty larcenary thieves, and other people wanting good
behaviour; it is now the country prison . . . and it is cal'd the
House of Correction." This building was approached by Friargate, and
was erected for the benefit of begging friars, under the patronage
of Edward, Earl of Lancaster, son of Henry III. The first occupants
of it came from Coventry, "to sow," as we are, told by an ancient
document, "the seeds of the divine word, amongst the people residing
in the villa of Preston, in Agmounderness, in Lancashire."
Primarily it was a very fine edifice, was built in the best style of
Gothic architecture, and had accomodation for upwards of 500 monks.
Upon its site now stands the foundry of Mr. Stevenson, adjoining
Lower Pitt-street. The Catholics of Preston satisfied themselves
with the small building in Chapel-yard until 1761, when a new place
of worship, dedicated to St. Mary, was erected upon part of the site
of the convent of Grey Friars. Towards this chapel the Duke of
Norfolk gave a handsome sum, and presented, for the altar, a curious
painting of the Lord's Supper. But this building did not enjoy a
very prosperous career, for in 1768, during a great election riot,
it was pulled down by an infuriated mob, all the Catholic registers
in it were burned, and the priest--the Rev. Patrick Barnewell--only
saved his life by beating a rapid retreat at the rear, and crossing
the Ribble at an old ford below Frenchwood. Another chapel was
subsequently raised, upon the present site of St. Mary's, on the
west side of Friargate, but when St. Wilfrid's was opened, in 1793,
it was closed for religious purposes and transmuted into a cotton
warehouse. The following priests were at St. Mary's from its opening
in 1761 until its close in 1793:- Revs. Patrick Barnewell, Joseph
Smith, John Jenison, Nicholas Sewall, Joseph Dunn, and Richard
Morgan. The two last named gentleman lived together in a cottage, on
the left side of the entrance to the chapel, behind which they had a
fine room commanding a beautiful view of the Ribble, Penwortham,
&c., for at that time all was open, on the western side of
Friargate, down to the river. Whittle, speaking of Father Dunn, says
he was "the father of the Catholic school, the House of Recovery,
and the Gasworks," and adds, with a plaintive bathos, that "on the
very day he left this sublunary world he rose, as was his custom,
very early, and in the course of his rambles exchanged a sovereign
for sixpences, for distribution amongst the indigent."
In 1815 the chapel was restored; but not long afterwards its roof
fell in. Nobody however was hurt, just because nobody was in the
building at the time. The work of reparation followed, and the
chapel was deemed sufficient till 1856, when it was entirely rebuilt
and enlarged. As it was then fashioned so it remains. It is a chapel
of ease for St. Wilfrid's, and is attended to a very large extent by
Irish people. The situation of it is lofty; it stands upon higher
ground than any other place of worship in the town; but it is so
hemmed in with houses, &c., that you can scarcely see it, and if you
could get a full view of it nothing very beautiful would be observed
about the exterior. The locality in which this chapel is placed is
crowded, dark-looking, and pretty ungodly. All kinds of sinister-
looking alleys, narrow yards, dirty courts, and smoky back streets
surround it; much drinking is done in each; and a chorus of noise
from lounging men in their shirt sleeves, draggle-tailed women
without bonnets, and weird little youngsters, given up entirely to
dirt, treacle, and rags, is constantly kept up in them. The chapel
has a quaint, narrow, awkward entrance. You pass a gateway, then
mount a step, then go on a yard or two and encounter four steps,
then breathe a little, then get into a somewhat sombre lobby two and
a half yards wide, and inconveniently steep, next cross a little
stone gutter, and finally reach a cimmerian square, surrounded by
high walls, cracked house ends, and other objects similarly
interesting. The front of the chapel is cold-looking and devoid of
ornament. Upon the roof there is a square perforated belfry,
containing one bell. It was put up a few years ago, and before it
got into use there was considerable newspaper discussion as to the
inconvenience it would cause in the morning, for having to be rung
at the unearthly hour of six it was calculated that much balmy
quietude would be missed through it. Some people can stand much
sleep after six, and on their account early bell-ringing was
dreaded. But the inhabitants have got used to the resonant metal,
and those who have time sleep on very excellently during its most
active periods.
The chapel has a broad, lofty, and imposing interior; but it is
rather gloomy, and requires a little extra light, which would add
materially to the general effect. There is considerable decorative
skill displayed in the edifice; but the work looks opaque and needs
brightening up. The sanctuary end is rich and solemn, has a finely-
elaborate and sacred tone, and combines in its construction elegance
and power. At the rear and rising above the altar there is a large
and somewhat imposing picture, representing the taking down of our
Saviour from the cross. It was painted by Mr. C. G. Hill, after a
picture of Carracci's, in Stonyhurst College, and was originally
placed in St. Wilfrid's church. St. Mary's will accommodate about
1,000 persons. All the pews have open sides, and there are none of a
private character in any part of the church. The poorest can have
the best places at any time, if they will pay for them, and the
richest can sit in the worst if they are inclined to be economical.
Large congregations attend this chapel, and the bulk, as already
intimated, are of the Milesian order. At the rear, where many of the
poor choose to sit, some of the truest specimens of the "finest
pisantry," some of the choicest and most aromatic Hibernians we have
seen, are located. The old swallow-tailed Donnybrook Fair coat, the
cutty knee-breeches, the short pipe in the waistcoat pocket, the
open shirt collar, the ancient family cloak with its broad shoulder
lapelle, the thick dun-coloured shawl in which many a young Patrick
has been huddled up, are all visible. The elderly women have a
peculiar fondness for large bonnets, decorated in front with huge
borders running all round the face like frilled night-caps. The
whole of the worshippers at the lower end seem a pre-eminently
devotional lot. How they are at home we can't tell; but from the
moment they enter the chapel and touch the holy water stoops, which
somehow persist in retaining a good thick dark sediment at the
bottom, to the time they walk out, the utmost earnestness prevails
amongst them. Some of the poorer and more elderly persons who sit
near the door are marvellous hands at dipping, sacred manipulation,
and pious prostration. Like the Islams, they go down on all fours at
certain periods, and seem to relish the business, which, after all,
must be tiring, remarkably well. Considering its general character,
the congregation is very orderly, and we believe of a generous turn
of mind. The chapel is cleanly kept by an amiable old Catholic, who
may, if there is anything in a name, be related to the Grey Friars
who formerly perambulated the street he lives in; and there is an
air of freedom and homeliness about it which we have not noticed at
several places of worship. Around its walls are pictures of saints.
They make up a fine family group, and seem to have gathered from
every Catholic place of worship in the town to do honour to the
edifice.
There are sundry masses every Sunday in the chapel, that which is
the shortest--held at half-past nine in the morning--being, as
usual, best patronised. The scholars connected with St. Wilfrid's
attend the chapel every Sunday. Each Wednesday evening a service is
also held in the chapel, and it is most excellently attended,
although some who visit it put in a rather late appearance. When we
were in the chapel, one Wednesday evening, ten persons came five
minutes before the service was over, and one slipped round the door
side and made a descent upon the holy water forty-five seconds
before the business terminated. Of course it is better late than
never, only not much bliss follows late attendance, and hardly a
toothful of ecstacy can be obtained in three-quarters of a minute.
The singing is of an average kind, the choir being constituted of
the school children; whilst the organ, which used to be in some
place at Accrington, is only rather shaky and debilitated. During
the past ten years the Rev. Thomas Brindle, of St. Wilfrid's, has
been the officiating priest at St. Mary's. Father Brindle is a Fylde
man, is about 45 years of age, and is a thoroughly healthy subject.
He is at least 72 inches high, is well built, powerful, straight as
a die, good looking, keeps his teeth clean, and attends most
regularly to his clerical duties. He is unassuming in manner, blithe
in company, earnest in the pulpit. His gesticulation is decisive,
his lungs are good, and his vestments fit him well. Not a more
stately, yet homely looking, honest-faced priest have we seen for
many a day. There is nothing sinister nor subtle in his visage; the
sad ferocity glancing out of some men's eyes is not seen in his. We
have not yet confessed our sins to him, but we fancy he will be a
kindly soul when behind the curtain,--would sooner order boiled than
hard peas to be put into one's shoes by way of penance, would far
rather recommend a fast on salmon than a feast on bacon, and would
generally prefer a soft woollen to a hard horse hair shirt in the
moments of general mortification. Father Brindle!--Give us your
hand, and may you long retain a kindly regard for boiled peas, soft
shirts, and salmon. They are amongst the very best things out if
rightly used, and we shouldn't care about agonising the flesh with
them three times a week.
St. Joseph's Catholic Church stands on the eastern side of Preston,
and is surrounded by a rapidly-developing population. The district
has a South Staffordshire look--is full of children, little
groceries, public-houses and beershops, brick kilns, smoke, smudge,
clanging hammers, puddle-holes, dogs, cats, vagrant street hens,
unmade roads, and general bewilderment. When the new gasometer,
which looks like the skeleton of some vast colosseum, is finished
here, an additional balminess will be given to the immediate
atmosphere, which may be very good for children in the hooping-
cough, but anything except pleasant for those who have passed
through that lively ordeal. In 1860, a Catholic school was erected
in Rigby-street, Ribbleton-lane. Directly afterwards divine service
was held in the building, which in its religious character was
devoted to St. Joseph. But either the walls of the edifice were too
weak, or the roof of it too strong, for symptoms of "giving way"
soon set in, and the place had to be pulled down. In 1866, having
been rebuilt and enlarged, it was re-opened. In the meantime,
religious services and scholastic training being essential, and it
being considered too far to go to St. Ignatius's and St.
Augustine's, which were the places patronised prior to the opening
of St. Joseph's mission, another school, with accomodation in it for
divine worship, was erected on a plot of land immediately adjoining.
Nearly one half of the money required for this building, which was
opened in 1864, was given by Protestants. At the northern end of it,
there is a closed-off gallery, used as a school for boys. The
remainder of the building is used for chapel purposes. The exterior
of the edifice is neat and substantial; the interior--that part used
for worship--is clean, spacious, and light. At the southern end
there is a small but pretty altar, and around the building are hung
what in Catholic phraseology are termed "the stations." There is not
much ornament, and only a small amount of paint, in the place.
The chapel will hold 560 persons; it is well attended; and the
congregations would be larger if there were more accomodation.
Masses are said here, and services held, on the plan pursued at
other chapels of the same denomination. The half-past nine o'clock
mass on a Sunday morning is a treat; for at it you can see a greater
gathering of juvenile bazouks than at any other place in the town.
Some of the roughest-headed lads in all creation are amongst them;
their hair seems to have been allowed to have its own way from
infancy, and it refuses to be dictated to now. The congregation is a
very poor one, and this will be at once apparent when we state that
the general income of the place, the entire proceeds of it, do not
exceed 100 pounds a year. Nearly every one attending the chapel is a
factory worker, and the present depressed state of the cotton trade
has consequently a special and a very crushing bearing upon the
mission. A new church is badly wanted here; in no part of the town
is a large place of worship so much required; but nothing can be
done in the matter until the times mend. A plot of land has been
secured for a church on the western side of the present improvised
chapel, and close to the house occupied by the priests in charge of
the mission; but until money can be found, or subscribed, or
borrowed without interest, it will have to remain as at present.
The first priest at St. Joseph's was the Rev. R. Taylor; then came
the Rev. R. Kennedy; next the Rev. W. H. Bradshaw, who was succeeded
by the Revs. J. Walmsley and J. Parkinson--the priests now at the
place. Father Walmsley, the superior, who originally came from
Brindle, is a placid, studious-looking, even-tempered gentleman. He
is slender, but wirey; is inclined to be tall, and has got on some
distance with the work. He is thoughtful, but there is much sly
humour in him; he is cautious but free when aired a little. He knows
more than many would give him credit for; whilst naturally reticent
and cool he is by no means dull; he is shrewd and far-seeing but
calm and unassuming; and though evenly balanced in disposition be
would manifest a crushing temper if roughly pulled by the ears. His
first mission was at the Church of the English Martyrs in this town;
then he went to Wigan, and after staying there for a time he landed
at St. Joseph's. Father Parkinson is a native of the Fylde, and he
has got much of the warm healthy blood of that district in his
veins. He has a smart, gentlemanly figure; has a sharp, beaming,
rubicund face; has buoyant spirits, and likes a good stiff tale; is
full of life, and has an eye in his head as sharp as a hawk's; has a
hot temper--a rather dignified irascible disposition; believes in
sarcasm, in keen cutting hits; can scold beautifully; knows what he
is about; has a "young-man-from-the-country-but-you-don't-get-over-
me" look; is a hard worker, a careful thinker, and considers that
this world as well as the next ought to be enjoyed. He began his
clerical career at Lancaster in 1864; attended the asylum whilst at
that town; afterwards had charge of a workhouse at Liverpool; is now
Catholic chaplain of Preston House of Correction, and fills up his
spare time by labouring in St. Joseph's district. Either the House
of Correction or the poor mission he is stationed at agrees with
him, for he has a sparkling countenance, and seems to be thriving at
a genial pace. Both Father Walmsley and Father Parkinson have been
in Spain; they were, in fact, educated there. Both labour hard and
mutually; consoling each other in hours of trial, tickling one
another in moments of ecstacy, and making matters generally
agreeable. The schools attached to St. Joseph's are in a good
condition. They are well attended, are a great boon to the district,
and reflect credit upon those who conduct them. All the district
wants is a new church, and when one gets built we shall all be
better off, for a brighter day with full work and full wages will
then have dawned.