1155 The storyteller's story must be told\nThe death of Fr William Ainsworth sdb
austra L asia 1155
The storyteller's story must be told
The death of Fr William Ainsworth sdb
BOLTON: 5th June 2005 -- Limited through brief
contact and the 'news' genre, what follows is a personal memory, but on
hearing of the passing, today, of Fr William Ainsworth, there are two
little stories that can be told amongst the many that will be
told. He had only recently celebrated his 97th birthday. At
that point his health was already failing fast, and in the past few
weeks he had been moved to a nursing home.
The two little stories belong to 1968, the place
Australia, more precisely Hobart, Tasmania. But some brief
background first. Fr Ainsworth had been the editor of the
Salesian Bulletin in two stints totalling about 14 years, beginning in
1940 a year before he was ordained. He knew a thing or two about
stories, telling them and writing them. He was also the
consummate gentleman.
He came to Australia in 1966 and left again in
1969. It was a brief interstice
between two periods as Provincial Delegate for South Africa, as was the
role and the place at that time. He went to South Africa in 1957,
and after his three-and-a-bit years in Australia returned there in 1969
again as Provincial Delegate until 1974. From 1974 until his
death he was in the Bolton (UK) community.
Four of us young fellows were in practical training
in Tasmania at the time, and William Ainsworth came in mid-winter for a
few days - probably sent to look after us, now on reflection, while
other community members went to 'the mainland' on retreat! What a
wonderful time it was, though. We took him up Mount Wellington,
first, which dominates the Hobart skyline in much the same way as
Table Mountain dominates Cape Town. He wanted to know the story
behind the winding trail (vehicle) up there. We couldn't tell
him, not even the Tasmanian amongst us. Not satisfied with that
answer, he invented the history of that trail. I recall there was
a Gingerbread man as part of the account!
We then spent a week at Swansea, a small seaside
fishing village on the East coast of the Island - a week spent
investigating the municipal library for its hidden treasures, then
retiring to a roaring hearth in a
building that had witnessed convicts and which told the story of one
who gained his freedom by swimming into the bay to rescue a family
shipwrecked towards the end of their journey from 'the
old dart'. The outline of that true tale is still barely
legible on the headstone of those who did not make it in the graveyard
next to Schouten House, as our residence was called. But what an
invitation for a man who also taught us the unthinkable (in Aus) habit
of mulled beer around that fireplace!
William Ainsworth's impact on a few young men in but
a brief formative moment was substantial. He was also Rector of
the Theologate in England from 1952-56, but over all his Salesian
years, as person, poet, priest, chronicler and captivating gentleman
who could produce a Foster's for any
Aussie visitor to Bolton, he has influenced thousands similarly, no
doubt. Does heaven have mulled beer, I wonder?
VOCABULARY
interstice: any space between two things
hearth: fireplace
the old dart: England, the Old
Country. A term known to older Australians but not used in
England. Does not refer to Dartmouth prison but is most likely a
corruption of 'the old dirt' something like the Irish 'Old Sod'!
mulled beer: whatever the proper way of
doing it might be, Fr Ainsworth did it by thrusting a red hot poker
into the beer can.
Foster's: an Australian beer that used
dominate international markets as 'the' Australian beer. No
longer.
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