Woburn Sands

By yet another stroke of incredible luck the Provincial House in Clapham was closing down just at this time and the Sisters were 'down-grading' to a much smaller property in Northampton. The retreat centre with its 40 or so rooms and facilities was empty, furniture and effects were being auctioned and there was every reason to suspect that any self respecting burglar would have his greedy eyes on the place. What better protection than having a chunky priest and his Boxer dog ( Butch had, sadly, gone to his reward and Bonzo taken his place) living in the centre - out of suitcases - as a night watchman in return for a comfortable bed and generous board. On several occasions young Bonzo went mad in the middle of the night and barked up and down the corridors but it is a moot point whether this was because of rabbits, wild deer or just sheer exuberance or whether he was actually putting the frighteners on prowlers and potential burglars. Nothing untoward happened, I led a peripatetic existence for several weeks going over to Woburn Sands a few times to be shown the ropes and great kindness by Fr. Golston, fed by his housekeeper sister and doing my very best not to give him the impression that he was dragging his feet a bit with the move. Hopefully I succeeded. He was a gentle and kind old gentleman and the parish had been his whole life for so long that he deserved to be given time to leave.