Thanks for stopping by. My name is Tim Wilson and I’m a writer from Belfast, in Ireland, who has published two collections of short stories a play and a volume of poetry. I have been writing short stories and poetry for many years. In 1974 I had my play, ‘The Thunder and the Singing’, successfully performed in Trench House College, Andersonstown, West Belfast, publishing it in 1997. My volume of poetry, ‘Walk of Life’, was published in 1994 and my very successful book of short stories, ‘The Hanky Ball’, was published in 2000. I followed this up in 2001 with another anthology of short stories entitled ‘The Wart Well’.
Falls Road Stories
I also have published a series of booklets entitled ‘Falls Road Stories’, which are stories from around the area of the Falls Road and West Belfast. These are highly regarded by most of those who have read them and they have been sent to America, Australia, Canada and New Zealand etc. I hope to put many more of my stories and poetry on my site in the future.
Writing in Inishbofin Island, Co. Galway.
Hello Tim,
Greetings from Singapore. Very happy to see this blog up and running and I really look forward to reading more of your stories very soon!
By the way, lovely picture of you up there but where is Big Ear? Hehee…
Cheers,
Rachel
Hi Rachel,
A big surprise hearing from you and that you are the first to view my proud new possesion, my website. Timothy has done a fantastic job, and we still have work to do on it, but we are getting there. Big Ear is sitting forlornly on the working kitchen table, hoping to be warmed up soon by central heating specially designed for it, but that is still safe for human consumption. This can be tea, coffee, drinking chocolate or cup-a-soup. That’s where Nancy comes in as she is the one who leaves it out in the cold after her morning tea or whatever. Ha! Ha!
Talk to you soon,
Tim the elder, as in Breughal the elder, in Flemish art.
Hi Susan,
Hope you enjoyed your Australian trip. I didn’t know when you would be back. Here is the ‘Swanee River’ story again with an amended piece put in about going back to the confraternity after a short while. I was glad of your constructive criticism, which is important as readers can spot little things like that very quickly. Thank you. My son has just made a website for me and I call myself ‘Belfast Scribe’. I have a short story in it called, ‘A Country Gentleman’, and it’s about a walk around the Belfast of the early 1960’s when the pace of life was very different from nowadays and particularly before there was any hint of Northern Irish troubles. My wife, Nancy, thinks it is one of my very best stories. The web link is: timjwilson.wordpress.com so perhaps you can check it out and let me know what you think.
Tim Wilson
Belfast.
Absolutely love the website!!!!! It’s classy and warm. Your son obviously has a talent for that sort of work.
Hi Tim,
I enjoyed both stories very much. The rework of Swanee River flowed a lot better with the change to the ending — it covered that missing gap. Also, I think I agree with your wife. A Country Gentleman was one of those feel good stories that warms your heart and makes you wish life wasn’t as fast paced and impersonal as it is today.
But I also really liked Ariel Antics and A Gaggle of Giggling Girls. I’m so impressed with how you can develop a story with so much detail and from beginning to end it’s only two pages!!!!! I tend to ramble so I wish I had at least a quarter of your gift.
Thank you again so much for sharing them with me. I really look forward to them as a break from my crazy days and routine. Take care, Susan
Tim Says:
This was a response to my sending ‘Swanee River’ to Sr. Mary Lucy, a Poor Clare nun in a convent near New York:
Dear Tim,
I found your story so enjoyable it took me back to Belfast when I too saw ‘Swanee River’. So you have met an unsmiling Jansenist in your day? Ha! Happy that Nancy received good news. I am fine Thank God, the Sisters here say I have nine lives, watching our two cats at times I know why they say they have nine lives.
God bless your New Year
Sr. Mary Lucy.
On February 21, 2007 at 6:56 pm graceupongrace Said: |Edit This
Tim,
Thank you so much for commenting on my poem. Once I can slow down long enough to take some time to read, I hope to sit down and read some of your work. I am excited to do that.
Keep writing,
megan
I have a copy of a page that has your name in it and its been altered. I need to know if you did this.
It was originally my page with information about the books I’ve written.
teenytotstales.com
you can reach me here teenytotstales@teenytotstales.com
Hi Tim,
Sunny California is getting sunny again! We had a cold spell here in San Diego this past month or two – 35 to 50 degrees centigrade. But all is well now that the warm sun is out again. I know, we are very spoiled.
You probably wondered what happen to me. Ever since we came back from Australia it seems we have been away a few days of every week. My husband has started the year with a lot of business travel. He always likes me to come along so considering we’ve been married 30 years this year I am tickled he still finds me enjoyable company!!!
I got up to date this weekend with all your recent postings of poems and short stories. As usual they always delight and touch me. I’d like you to know I have shared many of your stories and your website with friends from the West coast of the US, East coast and many places in between. I’ve received some great responses. I’ll have to tell them to post them on this blog.
Well, I better run now but I’ll be checking in now and then to see what new bits of life you have to share with all of us.
Take care and God bless, Susan
Hi Susan,
Glad to hear from you. I was wondering what you thought of one of the last stories I sent you. It was called ‘Gerald’ and is about my brother who is based in Devon, England and is an Augustinian Recollect priest. He asked me to write the true story and I have not had any critiques about it. If you could let me know what you think I would appreciate it. Thanks for pushing my name and my literary endeavours around the USA to your friends. I have just bought the latest edition of an Irish magazine called ‘Ireland’s Eye’ and they occasionally publish my work, but this St. Patrick’s Day monthly edition has just published three of my stories. I can hardly believe it.
Talk to you soon,
G0od Bless,
Tim.
Hi Tim,
I looked through all you’ve sent me and I don’t find “Gerald”. I don’t see it on your website either. Maybe it got lost in my e-mail on one of those times I was on a trip. Could you resend?
Thanks, Susan
My last e-mail, condensed………………………
Gerald — I LOVED IT…………. then when I turned to the last page I got that sad feeling you get when you are reading a book you really really like and realize you’re almost finished reading it and it will soon come to an end. I didn’t want it to end……………. What a wonderful story.
Now you really have my curiosity with this next one — …………….Blessings, Susan
I think I remember you! My parents did amateur dramatics in West Belfast in the 70’s and I think they were in your play. Do you remember the Camplisson’s and McGowans? I am now in San Diego but my Dad Matt Camplisson is still in Ireland. He was a busman. Do you recall?
Hi Dominic,
Delighted to hear from you. Of course I remember your parents and your sister Annie who played a pivotal role in my play, The ‘Thunder and the Singing’. I remember you as well, but you were too young to engage in the Amateur Dramatic world at that time.
I saw you at your mother’s funeral and that was a very sad day for all of us and I lost a very dear loving friend in your mother, RIP.
This is just for the website. I will write a longer epistle to your email address. Surprised, happy and delighted that you have got in touch with me.
Tim Wilson.
HI Tim!
Hope you don`t mind me using your website to send you an email. I`m just writing to tell you I bought one of your latest `Falls Road` Booklets from Jamesy`s shop in Whiterock Drive and saw you mentioned my Dad`s name in it, Terry Rice(Shields) and The Green Cockade! Was talking to my uncle Martin(Martin Kearney) online last night and we were wondering if you have any old pics of him as a boy?? or even of my dad and my Uncle, Peter Rice? that you could email for us.
hope to hear from you soon,
godbless
Veronica
Helio again, my Dad is looing for you. Can you send me your email address so I can let him get in touch with you. He is happily retired now in Kerry.
Hi Dominic,
Glad to hear from you. Did you like the photo I sent you of us all in the George Shiels play, ‘Professor Tim’. That was taken in 1969 just before the troubles in the North began.
My email address is: timj.wilson@gmail.com and I would be delighted to be in touch with your father again.
Tim Wilson.
Hi Veronica,
Delighted to hear from you. Could you send me an email to my email address. It is in the Falls Road Stories book and it would enable me to talk to you easier as well as less public as on the website. I have lots of old photos from the Green Cockade days and would be delighted to send you the ones that would be most interesting to you. I don’t know your surname. Pat Kearney worked in the Belfast Exchange with me and he would be your uncle I think. I know he passed away some time ago, but he is mentioned in some of my stories, especially one when I mitched school and went up our back entry to hide ab=nd found him already there. We were all terrified of the teachers in St Kevin’s and their liberal use of the cane. Only found your comments today, 1 4 2008
Talk to you as soon as I have an email address.
Tim Wilson
Hi Tim,
it has been such a long time, how are you and Nancy? I have just put the link to your site on my web blog. Just thought to say hi and ask about Big Ear as well hahaa!
Best regards,
Rachel
Hi Tim,
It is a long time since we acted together. If I cant get this on your website, I will try by E Mail
next time.
Matt Camplisson
Hi Tim,
I enjoyed your story “The Country Gentleman” and thank you for sending it to me by E Mail. I am going up to the Big Smoke for a couple of days (No Not Belfast — just Dublin which is our Big Smoke down here!)
I’ll be able to send you another E Mail next week sometime.
give my regards to Nancy.
All the best, for Matt.
Hi Tim,
I just wanted to say it was great meeting you last week and I enjoyed your poetry sharing and our little chat afterwards.
Since this is my first time here I’ve clearly got a lot of catching up to do.
I like the site layout and I look forward to browsing over the next while.
God bless,
Ann
This story is about my brother who was to become an Augustine Recollect Priest based in Devon. His way to a vocation was fraught with difficulties, but nothing is difficult to God, so here is his story. I hope you all enjoy it.
Gerald
One day in the early 1960’s, while in the charge of Fr. Walsh, an Augustinian Recollect priest, a crowd of young boys were digging some sort of trench in the grounds. One of the boys gave a shout and held up an ancient old blackened bottle that he had found. Fr. Walsh pushed his way through the crowding boys taking the bottle and on close inspection discovered that there was something inside. He gave instructions to one of the boys who broke the bottle with the side of one of the spades and a piece of paper was found. The paper turned out to be parchment of an indeterminate age but very old.
On reading the enclosed message it appeared to tell where some treasure could be found starting from an oak tree and the only oak tree nearby was one that must have been about five hundred years old. This it seems was the very tree. So under the guidance of Fr. Walsh they read the instructions and discovered that they must take one hundred steps from the oak tree in a straight line heading north and they would come to the location of the treasure. The boys were now in a frenzy of excitement, but Fr. Walsh calmed them down and said that they would have to do this logically and get the steps correct so that they could find the exact location. Some of the boys thought it might be pirates or buccaneers who had come inland from Cornwall to hide their booty.
One of the older boys with a good stride was chosen to do the stepping out and he began striding strongly from the oak tree. With about twenty strides left he was nearing the Seminary and by the time he arrived at the wall of the building he had ten strides to go. The treasure if there was one was onside their building. Fr. Walsh stood there for a few moments and then after giving the matter some thought the penny began to drop. Well boys some of you have been playing a prank on us all. This is a very serious matter and I want the perpetrators to own up and nothing more will be said. If they don’t I will have to report the matter to the Vicar Provincial who will take a very dim view of this escapade.
The game was up and Gerald McCullough, Adrian Mellon and P.J. McLaughlin owned up with the originator of the plan being Gerald. He then told Fr. Walsh that they had found the old bottle in one of the cellars in the seminary and got hold of a blank back page of parchment from an old book in the library. Gerald then with his undoubted artistic skills drew a map of the grounds before the building had been built, showing where someone from the past had buried treasure in the field and had put an X on the map where it was buried. He then wrote down, with the approval of his two conspirators, the directions, and among these was the important final steps to where the treasure was buried. An oak tree was the starting point and they knew the old oak tree would be a good starting point. The other boys enjoyed the joke, although the three boys were given a good talking too by Fr. Walsh who kept a straight face while doing the telling off.
Gerald’s eldest brother Billy McCullough trudged up the long hill of the Whiterock Road on his way from school one day in the year 1947 and upon arrival at his home was greeted by the sound of a baby’s cry coming from the bedroom beside the living room. A little baby boy had been born while he was at school and he was ushered in to see him lying in his proud mother’s arms.
In later years his mother would often recount the story about Nurse Owens the midwife at the moment of delivering the baby exclaiming in surprise that his arms were positioned in the shape of a cross:
“Oh! You have a clergyman in the making here, Mrs McCullough? That’s something I’ve never seen before.”
On his way up from school the following day, Billy found a little piece of wet cement that had just been put on by the repair men on the City Cemetery wall that wended its way up the Whiterock. He engraved GW ’47 in the small patch of wet cement with his pencil and was able to look at that little initial for many years even as his brother Gerald was growing up. Billy and indeed his family never forgot about Nurse Owens prophetic words which in later years would indeed come true, but only after many trials and vicissitudes for his brother Gerald. While growing up and without being prompted Gerald would stand beside his mother at the working kitchen sink and say to her that he wanted to become a priest.
Eventually Gerald with another young lad went down to St John’s Church to see about becoming altar boys and they were told that there were enough. Later he went to see one of the priests in the same church about entering the priesthood and was told, a little rudely perhaps, but rightly at the time, that he had not enough education and so he was turned away once more. His mother contacted the Salesians, St John Bosco’s Order, in Faversham, Kent, to which she had been sending donations for years and when they heard of his young age and lack of education they were not in the least impressed either. By this time at the age of twelve it looked as though Nurse Owens words would never be fulfilled.
At the age of thirteen his mother spoke to a friend who mentioned the name of a priest from the Lower Falls Road who was an Augustinian Recollect Priest called Fr. O’Hagan and he was serving as a teacher in a little village in Devon which went by the name of Honiton. In due course a priest from the order arrived at the McCullough home and told Gerald’s mother that they would be willing to take him on and he would be going to secondary school there and would receive a good sound education with the order. Gerald was elated that at last his dream was now to become reality.
When the day arrived he discovered that he was one of forty boys that had been brought together from all over the North and South of Ireland, and his grand adventure would begin when they would be embarking on the Liverpool boat that very evening. The year was 1959.
From the beginning Gerald enjoyed the life at the Seminary and made friends with the other boys very quickly. His very special friends would become Adrian Mellon, P.J. McLaughlin, etc. and the priests from that early period were Fr. O’Sullivan, Fr. Gaubino, Fr. Caddle, Fr. Walsh, Fr. Brooke and Fr. Holland and the priest from Belfast, Fr. O’Hagan. Gerald was set to work out of school hours with milking the cows and helping around the Seminary and occasionally helping a much older lay brother called Br. Leo who hailed from Co. Armagh.
Many years went by and after a good education, quite a lot of it spent in Spain in the Monastery of Monte Guido in the North of Spain, Gerald was duly professed a brother in the year 1970 and when he arrived back in England all the family came to Devon for the great and happy occasion and a great time was had by all. Sadly by this time most of the original forty boys had left the Order, having tried their vocations and been found wanting, but most of them remained steadfast in their faith and retained happy memories of the order. Later on reunions were established for these old boys and they would come back to see their friends again. Gerald missed some of these boys keenly as he had become fast friends with them but such is life and they had moved on.
Brother Gerald was eventually sent to London to their recently bought House just off High Street Kensington. Here he cooked the meals and looked after the maintenance of the house for quite a few years. Then he was brought back to Honiton and continued working and doing some further education. He learned woodwork and other skills that he turned to good use around the Seminary.
It was around then that he became acquainted with the Marist sisters from the convent in nearby Ottery St. Mary and it was there that he met two Marist sisters, Sr. Marie and Sr. Christine who taught in the school attached to the convent. Br. Gerald gave them some help when they were arranging their annual Christmas show. One evening after they had put in a lot of work, painting scenery and making props for the forthcoming show they finished around ten o’clock and went for a drive in the car to Lyme Regis. They walked along the waterfront with the white spume flecked waves breaking on the shore in the darkness. During their talk as the three walked along, Sr. Christine suddenly changed the subject:
“Br. Gerald, did you ever think of becoming a priest?”
Br. Gerald was stuck momentarily for an answer, but then getting his wits together he braved it all off with a quick riposte.
“Why would I want to become a priest? I’m alright as I am. Sure I’m very happy as I am in Honiton, and I’m doing good work for the seminary there and they need me as a brother. Sure you know all that anyway.”
Sr. Christine waited patiently until he had finished then in even more measured tones repeated the question.
“Did you ever think of becoming a priest?” said she.
“Sure I did, I tried when I was young in Belfast, but sure they all turned me down.”
“That was quite some time ago,” said the Sligo born Sr. Christine. “You are more educated now than you were then?”
Sr. Marie spoke:
“Br. Gerald, if you thought of becoming a priest all those years ago, why let yourself become contented now as a lay brother, when your original plan was to become a priest in the first place.”
“Ach! The both of you just don’t seem to understand. As I said I tried a few years ago, I failed, I became a brother, I’m happy, what more could I ask for?
“Perhaps for the grace that if it’s God’s will you might become an Augustinian Recollect priest.” Said Sr. Christine in a very gentle tone.
“I know what you both mean, but I don’t think I have a vocation to the priesthood. Here, it’s getting late, I think we’d better be getting home now, or they mightn’t even let me stay being a lay brother?” quipped Br. Gerald jokingly and no more was ever said on the subject by Sr. Marie or Sr. Christine.
Around a year or so later Sr. Marie began to notice a change in Sr. Christine. She appeared listless and her cell was becoming more untidy, which was not characteristic of the Marist nun. She was eventually diagnosed by the doctor as having an inoperable tumour on the brain and within a year she was dead.
Br. Gerald went to the convent and saw her laid out in the coffin and having never had the experience of seeing one of his contemporaries die so young the effect on him was shattering. His heart went out to the young thirty–one year old Sr. Christine whom he remembered being so full of gaiety and life and hardworking. For weeks he was in a sort of stupor, although he continued his work and disguised the fact from those around him. Then one day about three months later, he was working quietly away at painting a wall in the seminary thinking about Sr. Christine when he suddenly remembered the conversation on the beach at Lyme Regis that had begun with:
“Br. Gerald, did you ever think of becoming a priest?”
The words kept coming back as he automatically continued slapping paint on the wall. Then he heard almost audibly the final words she had said on that occasion:
“Perhaps for the grace that if it’s God’s will you might become an Augustinian Recollect priest.”
These words now resonated in his mind over and over again as he recollected the way they had been said by Sr. Christine. He was in turmoil as he slapped on more paint then as he finished the wall he came to a decision. Why not try to become a priest anyway; after all it was what he had wanted from the beginning only the obstacles were too difficult to overcome at that time. He had matured in the meantime and… the penny suddenly dropped as he now recognised that Sr. Christine, from her privileged position in heaven was once more prompting him. Tears came to his eyes when he realised that his nun friend in life was thinking of him in heaven and a new bold decision came so quickly that it took him by surprise.
The next thing he knew he was in Fr. Caddle’s office telling him that he would like to become a priest. Fr. Caddle was delighted at Br. Gerald making such a decision. He said:
“You know Br. Gerald, these moments come suddenly and I have seen brothers leave because they were dissatisfied with the life and could not go any further. I don’t think that would have happened to you, but I’m delighted that you have thought this out for yourself.”
At this point Br. Gerald told Fr. Caddle about Sr. Marie and Sr. Christine and how he thought Sr. Christine had prompted him from heaven.
“These things can happen, Br. Gerald, and I’m sure you’re right. I will do everything in my power to help you to become a priest. It will mean lots of hard work and study, but then you have never shirked any jobs that have been assigned to you. Leave it with me Br. Gerald.
In the year 1986 Br. Gerald rang his mother in Belfast and told her that the date for his ordination would be the twentieth of September of that year. The conversation went something like this:
“Ah! Gerald!”
“What’s wrong mum, are you disappointed?” said a worried Gerald.
“Ah! Gerald!” said she with emotion, “that’s my birthday.”
“Ah! Mum, I’m delighted, I forgot all about that. The date was just sprung on me. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Well Gerald, it just goes to show you that the hand of God is there. Congratulations son.”
“I can’t believe the coincidence, mum, imagine, it seems miraculous.”
“Well God works in mysterious ways, son.”
When the day dawned in the little village town of Honiton, the entire McCullough family, having arrived the day before, were in a state of palpable excitement and the sun was showing agreeable tendencies that it would shine all day. His brother, Billy had his two Olympus cameras fully loaded with black and white and colour films and his brother-in-law, Joe Murray had his video camera also at the ready.
Many women friends of the order from the village had worked very hard for many days getting everything ready and they had done the Order proud.
The ordination was most impressive and when over everyone went forward to receive the first blessing of the newly ordained priest. Fr. Gerald McCullough was beaming as he blessed all his friends and the video and cameras kept clicking away steadily. They then went in to the large splendidly decorated hall that had been prepared for the occasion and Fr. Gerald called for quiet so that he could make an announcement:
“My friends, I just want to thank everyone for this day especially the people who decorated this hall and who have also prepared the dinner, but I most specifically want to mention that this happy occasion also happens to be my mother’s birthday.”
Everyone clapped while his beaming mother was given a large bouquet of flowers then everyone sat down to a marvellous dinner. When that was over everyone went into the spacious grounds for more video and photography of the happy day.
That evening the newly ordained Fr. Gerald spoke to Billy and his wife that he was going out to Ottery St. Mary to say a private first Mass for the Marist sisters and Sr. Marie would be there. He told Billy that he wanted the two of them to come along with him, which was recognised by Billy as a great privilege. Being the eldest in the family he was privy to the story of Sr. Christine’s involvement in his vocation to the priesthood, so this visit was really extra special and Billy and his wife felt humbled at such a precious honour.
Billy had only met Sr. Christine once while he had been oat a Conference in London in 1978 that had entailed a journey to Honiton for a few days so that he could spend some time with Br. Gerald. On that occasion she had visited St. Rita’s where they met. This was another reason why Fr. Gerald wanted him and his wife to come along.
At the convent Billy noticed in the chapel that Sr. Marie was sitting with an unoccupied seat beside her and the reason for this was not lost on Billy. This seat was reserved symbolically for the absent Sr. Christine.
One of the most unusual things that happened after the McCullough family returned home was that the entire family were walking on air for a fortnight. It was a spiritually uplifting time to be savoured and the spirituality of that fortnight would remain emblazoned on their memories for ever.
The next step that Fr, Gerald wanted to take was to say his first Mass in his old parish church, St. John’s, on the Falls Road. On that day all the close friends of the McCullough family were in place in the church and everything had an aura of spirituality about it.
On leaving the church after having given his blessing to all his friends he went outside for some photos to be taken. He was going out of the grounds on his own after this, intending to drive up to his old Whiterock home where his parents were waiting, having left before Fr. Gerald. It was then that he was approached by a young woman who said to him:
“Fr. McCullough, would you mind coming with me to visit my mother, she only lives two doors away from the church?”
Fr. Gerald was taken aback at this and asked who her mother was:
“My mother is a retired midwife, who was known around the Falls Road as Nurse Geraghty.”
Immediately Fr. Gerald recognised who she was:
Ah! Your mother is the famous Nurse Owens who brought me into the world?” said he almost reeling from shock and surprise.
“Yes, that’s her, Father, she’s bedridden now, but she asked me to see if you could come in to see her?”
“Nothing would please me more, Miss Geraghty.”
Fr. Gerald was ushered into the parlour where the elderly midwife was in bed.
“Congratulations, Father, on your great day.” said she.
“I can’t believe that I am meeting you,” said Fr. Gerald. “It’s a great privilege.”
“The privilege is all mine, Father, I have thought of you all the years and how you were born with your arms crossed. I felt that you were something special and I remember telling your mother that she had the makings of a clergyman on that day when you were born.”
“I have been listening to that story all my life, Nurse, Geraghty.”
“And I am delighted to have lived to see this day, Fr. Gerald.”
Father Gerald then gave her his blessing and as he placed his hands on her forehead he noticed the tears of happiness on the elderly lady’s face. A year later she had gone to her reward her prophecy fulfilled to the letter.
Tim Wilson © 12 1 2007
Postscript
Fr. Gerald after his ordination would go on with his studies until he had his Master of Arts degree and at the moment he has attained the position of Vicar Provincial of the Augustinian Order of Recollects in England.