EXCLUSIVE: Fergal's Confidential Report to His Eminence...

As part of the intellectual explosion generated by the Catholica Australia website, we bring you another episode from that challenging son of Holy Mother Church, Fergal O’Dobbin. Fergal is a daily communicant and frequent letter writer to the newspapers, his parish priest, the bishops and to Rome. Catholica Australia is pleased to be able to bring you a copy of his highly confidential but very entertaining report to His Eminence on his recent quest to uncover a secret drinking school some of the men of the diocese had set up to escape their wives. Fergal was convinced they were up to no good and spreading dissidence and Cafeteria Catholicism around the nation. With his erstwhile recruit, David Hackenfurth, Fergal reports to His Eminence providing full details of their discoveries supported by numerous transcriptions of conversations made with their Sony recording machines.

Your Eminence,

For some time I have been keeping not only the churches and parish functions of the inner city, but the clubs — particularly those that dare to call themselves 'Catholic' — and also hotels and licensed restaurants under strict surveillance.

I have long suspected that the Disease of Dissidence has spread from places of worship into places of entertainment and diversion.

We may have driven out many of the ravens, but they have found nesting places elsewhere.

The Dissidents are going underground to do their vile work of Faith and Loyalty Destruction!

It has long been my suspicion, based upon strong empirical evidence, that they are forming drinking clubs to foment dissension.

I have not been able to exercise the interrogative skills I acquired in Egypt and other places, but have had to rely upon the acumen of observation and diligence in gathering intelligence. [Once again I appeal to Your Eminence to further the Cause of the Papal Knighthood of the President of the Sony Corporation for Services to Recording of Homilies].

I would not let a Dissident cross my threshold, but it is part of my Duty and Obligation to observe them at close quarters when their tongues are loosened by drink.

To this purpose I enlisted the aid of a young friend of Father Farzenheim, David Hackenfurth, a devout lay person of immaculate credentials, and equipped him with the latest and best of the Sony products.

He has prepared a brief transcript of some conversations recorded in a bowling club adjacent to an inner city church. Obviously it is in code.

First dissident: If the rain keeps off for another month we'll have to start drinking recycled pee.
Unidentified voice: Eh?
Second dissident: See Sandra's still off. Nearly broke her ankle when she slipped on a step.
Unidentified voice: Yep. That clock's slow, you know.
First dissident: Did Tulloch ever win a Melbourne Cup?
Unidentified voice: Nah.
Second dissident: I see Gimlet Eye's back in the club. Your idea of a drinking club at home with a few snags cooked by a woman lookin' for a few bob is a good idea. Look, here he comes - let's shoot through.
Unidentified voice: Could she make bread and butter puddin'? That clock's slow, you know.

Your Eminence, I had long suspected that such a plot was brewing. When I would enter a bar I discovered that it would quickly empty of all men I had known in the parish for many years. I would be left holding a beer alone, with a brief nod from the departing company.

Now I had corroboration: Young agent for the Faith, David Hackenfurth, has been code-named "Gimlet Eye" by these dissenters and found that his slightest interchange with these men would be met with responses like 'Yeah mate, I'm off' or 'Gotta love ya and leave ya, sport'.

They would leave unfinished glasses of beer and depart.

Hackenfurth and I began calling on the wives of these men and to be told that they were 'out'.

It was necessary to use eavesdropping devices to uncover the Truth.

These revealed that the husbands, individually, had suggested that the women form their own afternoon tea groups. The ladies snapped up the idea. But where were the men going? Where was their drinking club?

Your Eminence, I do not have to tell you what heretical crimes against Holy Faith can be committed when Catholic men meet and drink and talk in secret without the supervision of celibate clergy or bishops.

So the search began. The pubs usually frequented by the men were bare of their presence.

I did overhear a barmaid mutter to her friend, 'Gimlet Eye's back again'.

One night, as Agent Hackenfurth prowled the back streets of Newtown in support of my quest, he noticed a warm and welcoming light in the lead-light window of a terrace.

It was a warm, red glow. RED! Could he have uncovered the drinking club of these liberals, these backsliders, these Marxists under cover?

Inside, however, Hackenfurth discovered no men. Instead there were three young ladies sitting on a sofa.

A large and friendly woman welcomed him and produced a bottle of champagne on ice and a number of glasses.

Hackenfurth observed that despite the inclement weather the ladies were wearing little clothing. Champagne was not Hackenfurth's preference, but politeness is essential when encountering a Woman of Canonical Age.

Hackenfurth: Do any Catholic men come here?
Young girl: Lots of men come here (soft giggle). We're Catholics too.

When Hackenfurth looked out of the window he discovered to his amazement one of the fugitive drinking club members standing in the street. He was holding a carton of port wine and seemed pleased with himself as he stood there, obviously waiting for his companions.

How could Hackenfurth make his escape?

The girls had a lot of amusement in painting his face with rouge, eye-shadow and lipstick and the Woman of Canonical Age produced a large ballooning dress of the Spanish Fashion. When Hackenfurth came out the Drinking Club Member was astonished at the sight, showing no signs of recognition, and the agent was able to take to his heels down a laneway and arrive safely at my residence and report — after removing all signs of female décor.

Our surveillance intensified, Your Eminence. Success came when I noticed the following advertisement in the local newspaper:

Men's group requires casual female cook. Non-drinker and non-smoker preferred. Sausages and chops essential. Ability to make pies and bread and butter pudding an advantage. A bar girl also required.

So it was that young Hackenfurth and yours truly, Fergal O'Dobbin, found ourselves in a premises in Oxford Street kitting ourselves out in feminine attire for the Second Stage of our Intelligence Gathering.

Lest there be a hint of scandal, I have a Sony recording of the transaction.

Assistant: Taking a walk on the wild side, are we?
O'Dobbin: We require two costumes, one suitable for a Woman of Canonical Age, and a second for a young person employed to pour libations.
Assistant: You mean one for the old tart, the Big Butch, and another for the juicy little bit of stuff just down from Toowoomba?
Hackenfurth: I'm not from Toowoomba. I'm from Queanbeyan.
Assistant: QUEEN- beyan. Oh, you delicious little sausage, I could eat you, right now!
O'Dobbin: We require feminine attire to cook sausages for gentlemen of the Catholic Faith, as part of our employment. We are not transvestites.
Assistant: Oh, no, of course not. Just delivering the sausage, eh?

Your Eminence, great sacrifices are called for the Faith. It was a case of Pick Up Your Handbag and follow me. A good blade and a bit of lather had removed my moustache. Such is the work of an undercover agent.

Entry into the enemy Camp was surprisingly easy. In the cellar of a terrace house we found the 'catholic' culprits in their cups, taking hardly any notice of us, so intent were they upon their conversation of which I have an excerpt. It does not contain the atmosphere of the gurgle of drink, the long pauses and the occasional breaking of wind.

First dissident: Careful, the snags are hot.
Unidentified voice: This one's burnt to a cinder.
Second dissident: That clock's four minutes slow.
First dissident: What year did Comic Court win the Cup?
Unidentified voice: 1950. Do you think she could make plum duff as well as bread and butter pudding? Mum used to make plum duff.

So perfect was our disguise that on the way home we passed Your Eminence as you were leaving the Cathedral. I curtsied and Hackenfurth produced his Rosary. What super spies you have working for you and Holy Church! You did not recognize your own good and faithful servants!

At home we transcribed the tapes from our recordings of the conversations of this Coven and prepared for our next expedition into the secret world of the ungodly.

Our tale now turns into one of treachery and gross betrayal, Most Noble Leader of the One True Church in Our City.

The Assistant who sold us our feminine costumes had an Aunt who was a member of the wives group that had taken advantage of the absence of their men to begin their own gatherings. She told her relative about the Old Tart and the little country sweetie who had graced her shop. Even worse, she had been so proud of her costuming, that unbeknown to us, she had taken a little snap.

And so it was, in between cups of tea and talk of grandchildren, the knowledge that would blow our cover made its way into the homes of the perpetrators.

Unaware of this betrayal we made our way to the secret drinking Club, the next morning, only to be met with a hail of missiles from the balcony. A bucket of prawn heads hit poor Hackenfurth in the chest, followed by saucepans, bottles of detergents, old motor car tyres - such an avalanche rained on us that soon we were both unconscious martyrs.

The blows upon us must have turned on the Sony because the following excerpt was recorded in Casualty at St Vincent's Hospital.

Attendant: Gender?
O'Dobbin: Celibate Catholic. Is there a priest of magisterial status that can perform the Rite of Extreme Unction?
Attendant: I'll just book you in for an HIV test as a gay.
O'Dobbin: Gay? We have been engaged in a most serious mission for His Eminence!
Attendant: OK. Gay. Who's the pretty bit of stuff, then? Out like the proverbial light.
O'Dobbin: That is none other than my Fellow Martyr, Mr Hackenfurth, another victim pro Ecclesia of the Heretics of the Novus Ordo Church.
Attendant: OK. Gay too.
Hackenfurth: Ooooh, my head hurts so. I'm from Queanbeyan.
Attendant: QUEEN-beyan, of course. Ha, Ha!
O'Dobbin: I insist that you telephone His Eminence immediately.

Thank you Your Eminence for coming so promptly. I regret that you had to come as a Celibate Priest into the Women's Ward where Mr Hackenfurth insisted on being admitted.

I am examining our next disguise for this Continuing Intelligence Operation. I think Portuguese Troubadors might be a better option.

I remain,

Your respectful and obedient servant,

Fergal O'Dobbin

Mr O'Dobbin welcomes your reports and suggestions of all priests, bishops, nuns and general members of the laity who are heretics, cafeteria Catholics or simply not pulling their weight. He is happy to provide you with confidential advice on how to report their behaviours to the proper authorities (the cardinals, bishops, and members of the Holy Roman Curia and Inquisition who will take action). His advice is always delivered in plain, brown paper envelopes without any identifying marks as to where they came from. He has a lifetime of experience in "thought police forensic investigation" and can guarantee you will get results if you follow his advice. You are most welcome to address your suggestions to him through our forum.

©2006 Clifford Baxter

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