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English College Lisbon January 2013

The Lisbonian
The Editor Kevin Hartley 8 Hanbury Hill Stourbridge DY8 1BE

– The magazine of the Lisbonian Society
All correspondence should be addressed to:

The Lisbonian is the bi-annual magazine of the Lisbonian Society, appearing in January and July, and covers a wide range of topics of current and historical interest. The magazine is distributed to all members of the Society and to those who have expressed an interest in the College. Articles relating in any way to Lisbon past or present and especially to former students of the College are always very welcome. Anyone wishing to submit an article for consideration should in the first instance contact Kevin Hartley as above or by email:

Lisbonian Society Lisbonian Society
Correspondence relating to the new address Hon Secretary Lisbonian Society V Rev Canon Gerard Hetherington, KHS 41 Rosaire Court, Rosaire Avenue St Peter Port GUERNSEY GY1 8UG Email: 2 | The Lisbonian magazine – January 2013

should be addressed to the


Editorial.............................................................. 4 Letter from Lisbon.............................................. 5 Lost in Translation............................................... 9 A Fond Look Back at Vallodalid...........................11 We Went to Silves...............................................12 Obituaries….......................................................17 Reflections – Funerals Draw Families Together.....19 The Silk Road......................................................20 Silk Road Poems..................................................27 Meeting..............................................................30 WANTED! PIDE Identity Card..............................33 One Year On.......................................................34

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2013 – A New Year A New Year and with it the Lisbonian offers a tribute to those of our company who have achieved one or other milestone in life’s pilgrimage, whether hanging on to parochial responsibilities or enjoying the busy satisfaction of retirement. This issue also records the deaths of alumni of the College. May they rest in peace. New Wine in Old Skins It may be that some rejoice in the liturgical texts that those masters of the English language in the Vatican have imposed upon us. ‘Lost in Translation’ might precisely encompass the frustration felt by those who have to navigate their way around the orotund complexity of Latin construction rendered into ‘crib sheet’ English. We are very fortunate to have a new contributor. ‘Letter from Lisbon’ provides a fascinating perspective on current-day life in the city that was the backdrop to our formative years. Grateful
Kevin Hartley your editor welcomes feedback and articles!

thanks to Jonathan Elms, a Lisbon resident, not only for this, but for his efforts to ensure that a commemorative plaque will at long last preserve the record of our presence in the Bairro Alto. Our round-up of the English speaking communities that sought refuge in the Iberian Peninsula is concluded by a personal reflection on life in Valladolid. There are differences, obviously, but there is so much we can recognise in this memory of El Real Colegio de San Albano. Moorish Memories The Alvor Villa may be but a distant memory but for some of us it provided an introduction to the Algarve . Nowhere more encapsulates the Moorish heritage of this region than the hill town of Silves, dominated by its castle and surrounded by its orange groves. If you haven’t visited, or if you feel daunted by the prospect of a journey along the Silk Road, you might be tempted to spend some time in Silves’ warm embrace. Keeping It Alive This magazine is the principal means by which the members keep in touch with the Society. We enjoy a generous grant from the hierarchy to subsidise the twice-yearly issues and thanks to the imaginative work of Peter

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Harrison and the professional standards of our printer we have a magazine that does the Society proud. Your subscriptions help to defray the rising costs, not least in postal charges, which make the production of the magazine more expensive year on year. However, the modest annual subscription of £10.00 is not paid by a substantial number of members of the Society and thus an unfair burden is placed on those who do pay. Amidst the busy responsibilities of parochial life or the various

distractions of retirement it is all too easy to overlook the writing of a cheque, but if you enjoy receiving this magazine, please remember that your subscriptions help to keep it alive! And, finally, please note in your diary that the Lisbonian Meeting will be on the 9th & 10th July this year, a week later than normal, owing to circumstances beyond our control (which, being translated, means someone got there before us!).•
Kevin Hartley

Letter From Lisbon
by Jonathan Elms
A Hunger and A Thirst! ‘Uma bica, faz favor.’ The empregado would still know what you meant, but he might raise an eyebrow. That’s the essence of Lisbon today; much remains the same, but much is different, too, in practice, if not meaning. So, today, you will find draft cerveja in the cafés, as well as bottles, and not just Sagres. You will be able to buy other brands of fizzy drink than Sumol or Laranjina, even Coca Cola, for goodness sake! The ubiquitous cafés are still on every corner, but you will struggle to find a local taberna or mercearia, and the tascas are all now restaurantes, marisqueiras or churasqueiras, though the food’s much the same, and it’s still freshly cooked and good value. There’s still plenty of choice, too, for where would a Lisbonense be without his lunch?

Lisbon Graca tram

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Dressed For the Occasion However, he and his wife may well be dressed casually these days; jeans and trainers are de rigeur across the board, so you really notice someone in a suit – if rarely a tie – or a woman dressed in a skirt. As in many western capitals, the young appear prevalent on the streets, and there is a real mixture of languages and colours. The retornados of the ‘70s have been succeeded by African, Chinese and even Indian immigrants, and a wide range of Eastern Europeans in the last ten years. The biggest expansion in the last 30 years has been in greater Lisbon; places like Almada on the south bank, Queluz in the north,

and Amadora in the east. The city centre remains largely unchanged, though Baixa has lost a number of the old shops. Bairro Alto still buzzes at night, and is a mishmash of sadly neglected old houses, and expensively refurbished ones that are now condominiums, like your own alma mater, now known as Convento dos Inglesinhos; where were the nuns, you may ask! The castle still dominates the cityscape, though, these days you have to pay to enjoy the view which now includes the new bridge, Vasco da Gama, but not Parque das Naçoes, the site of Expo 1998. The old refinery’s gone, to be replaced by apartments resembling a great steamship, a

Castelo de São Jorge – Lisbon Skyline to the East

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magnificent new aquarium, and even a cable car. There’s a vast new exhibition centre, and the concert hall is state of the art, so Lisbon is now on the world tour circuit, for pop stars and famous orchestras alike. Art, History and Design Alfama’s unchanged, but boutique and design hotels have penetrated to Lapa and Belém, Chiado and P r incipe Real . There are new galleries to augment the famous museums, and much evidence of the strength of Portuguese design, be it the arts, architecture, fashion or technology. In the great squares and avenues there is abundant evidence of inward investment, but like the French, the Portuguese have managed to blend the new and refurbish the old. There is also plenty of decay to bear testament to arcane property laws, and the austerity of recent years. Hop On A Tram! Perhaps, the biggest change a visitor from the ‘60s would notice is the transport infrastructure. There are now motorways linking Cascais to Praça Marqués de Pombal, Sintra to Sacavém and Setúbal to Loures. The Marginal is still the most beautiful urban coastal road in Europe, but the traffic’s on the motorways or CRIL/CREL, particularly the latter, now the tolls are ever rising. The trams are now sleek and air-conditioned, but there’s still the odd traditional ones

Lisbon Chestnut Seller – © 2010 Bob Hall

at night. Not originals, though, now they are ones imported from San Francisco! The Metro now covers the whole city, but you’d recognize the trains on the linha de Cascais – underneath the graffiti, that is. No more doubledecker buses, and Lisbon has yet to ban the ‘bendy’ ones, but the routes remain unchanged, and the stops familiar; Rossio and Restauradores; Espanha and Entrecampos; Saldanha and Sete Rios. An Olfacatory Paradise Lisbon is still a smelly city; sardines in Summer, chestnuts in Autumn, grilled chicken all year round. Eucalyptus up in Monsanto and Serra de Sintra; fish and ozone from Paço de Arcos to Guincho, the ‘river’

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smells of the Tagus, particularly in high Summer! Not so much hanging washing these days, but it’s still there, and the lixo is still collected nightly, though from green plastic street bins these days. Re-cycling’s something of a moveable feast, but there are plenty of locations. There are even drops for used cooking oils and batteries, usually close to the markets, so you can really enjoy the contrast between fresh and stale. Familiar Sounds In The Air Noises, too, will bring back memories. Occasionally, the knifesharpener’s whistle; piped fado; the Bombeiros and Police sirens, still strident and frequent. It may be my imagination, but there seem to be fewer bells, and certainly horn use has reduced, official vehicles aside. The pregões have largely gone, except the occasional one at a market stall. The whine of tyres over the bridge at Alcántara (now called ‘25 de Abril’) can still be heard, even above the trains which use it now, too. Lisbon In Your Blood?

What will never change, of course, is the weather and the geography. The Spring and Autumn light still brings tears to the eye. The hills still require a robust constitution, and the beaches still offer more variety and choice than any other city in the world. It does rain a lot in the Autumn; and it can become impossibly hot in high Summer, but it’s still a city for young and old, a place to grow up, live and die in. Lisbon’s DNA gets into your blood, which fizzes whatever the season. Just jump on a plane from Bristol, London, Luton, Manchester or Dublin, enjoy the view as the plane circles into Portela over Caparica, the river and the city, and you’ll know exactly what I mean. The years may pass, and the faculties fade, but a visit is sure to revive. Bem vindo! •

Something for You to Dig Out?

Noises, too, will bring back memories. Occasionally, the knife-sharpener’s whistle; piped fado; the Bombeiros still strident and frequent…
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Pictures and memories associated with the College and life in Portugal in past and present times are always appreciated to make The Lisbonian more interesting to the readers. Send us your pictures and we can scan them, if of suitable quality, and return them to you if you wish. Ed

Lost In Translation
by Stephen Harrington
Traduttore, traditore
‘The translator is a traitor’. Either he betrays the language being translated or the language of the translation. If he is really unfortunate, he betrays both. Or does he? If his translation is accurate, it falsifies itself; if it is inaccurate, it verifies itself, but misses what the original author was trying to convey. It is all very confusing. Yet we understand the general point. If we translate literally, we may lose the sense and produce something that does not sound English, if that is the receiving language, at all. If we translate freely, we may miss the nuances or the rhythms of the original. The meaning sacrifices the form. Jewish poet Haim Bialik wrote, ‘Reading the Bible in translation is like kissing your new bride through a veil.’ The beauty is only half glimpsed, if at all. Who would be a translator? Going back to our original bon mot, the English seems to make a fair attempt to mimic the rhythms of the Italian. It has two sets of four syllables with the stress on the odd numbered ones. The double syllable rhyme pattern is maintained: tore/ tore; ator/ator. But the five English words seem verbose against the concise two words in Italian. In August, 2001, we had the good fortune to travel down the Californian coast from San Francisco to San Diego. One perfect summer day was spent in Monterey. I watched surfers’ boards throwing white plumes of water into the blue-tinged green of the Pacific; I watched children searching for small marine creatures in small pools set in silver sand. In the early evening, we went to Mass in the cathedral, a small mission church with a status

Roman Missal – Third Edition 2011 © CTS

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higher than originally intended. It was the seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time. The Collect was this: ‘God our Father, open our eyes to see your hand at work in the splendour of creation, in the beauty of human life. Touched by your hand, our world is holy. Help us to cherish the gifts that surround us, to share your blessings with our brothers and sisters and to experience the joy of life in your presence…’1 Its appropriateness and beauty could not be missed. The presiding priest made it the theme of his homily. Its words and rhythms encapsulated the Christian’s joy in being alive. Did it convey the exact sense of the original Latin? Almost certainly not! On the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception last year, the Prayer Over the Offerings went as follows: ‘Graciously accept the saving sacrifice which we offer you, O Lord, on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and grant that, as we profess her, on account of your prevenient grace, to be untouched by any stain of sin, so, through her intercession, we may be delivered from all our faults…’1

Whose Language? Is this faithful to the original Latin? Almost certainly. The heavy punctuation and the archaic, ‘prevenient’ betray its origins. Is it good English? No. Such passages as this have accurately been dismissed as ‘Latlnish’, a linguistic half way house that serves neither language. It is interesting to know that words like ‘prevenient’ and ‘prevent’ once meant ‘coming before’ or ‘come before’, meanings they retain in specialist theological circles, but the liturgy is not an etymologist’s playground or a theologian’s if it comes in the way of comprehension, but a means of expressing as well as possible our deepest feelings. Must Do Better We can all sympathise with those who produced the new translation of the Roman Missal. As I have suggested, they were bound to fail. But pity too those who have to use it. I have yet to hear a celebrant who can master its poor rhythms and have heard several who simply lose the sense of the words. Anybody can make a mistake. The new translation is a mistake. Surely it cannot be allowed to linger any longer than necessary, before being amended. I recommend the advice of Samuel Beckett: ‘Try, fail; try again; fail better.’•
1 The Roman Missal – English translation © 2010 ICEL

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A Fond Look Back To Valladolid
by John Short
A Scouser Loses His Innocence! I can never think of Real Colegio de San Albano without experiencing a deep sense of loss. Cultural loss. The loss of my Scouse accent. There are still traces but gone are the full catarrhal cadences that marked me out as a native of the Capital of Culture. When I pronounced a word in other than the received English fashion while reading in the refectory, Mgr Henson, the rector, would ring his bell and ask me to repeat it. A Word From the Good Book To avoid indigestion, I rewrote pages in advance substituting words which circumvented the richer musical Scouse sounds. I assumed nobody had noticed even when I rewrote scripture. Wrong! When I was leaving the college after nearly three years of training to be a martyr, Jimmy Saunders, our spiritual director, advised me to avoid writing as a career at all costs and to look for a job in Woolworth’s.

Courtyard – Colegio de San Albano – Vallodalid

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But who could complain about exchanging an accent for all the college gave in return? Drinking and smoking to start with. Everyone had to drink the wine provided on Sundays and feast days, even though many of us were virtually teetotal when we arrived. Smoking was not quite as obligatory. It was John O’Donovan who introduced me to that pleasure on the first Sunday I was in college. We had walked to the Scots’ Ribera after lunch and were sheltering from the sun under a tree. He rolled two cigarettes from that appalling tobacco and gave me one. ‘Sorry, don’t smoke.’ You apologised for not smoking in those days. ‘And what else are you going to do for the next six years?’ he asked dryly. I was a 20 a day man for 20 years. Semper Paratus – Be Prepared! Not that I arrived in Spain completely naïve. I had taken the precaution of asking John Rudd, one of the first Albanians to be ordained after the war, for advice: ‘Woollies,’ he said succinctly. ‘There is no heating in the house and so you will need all the woollies you can get. A flying-suit is a very good investment. Also a foot muff for use during study.’ I actually took out a pair of bomber pilot electric boots – wrong voltage of course! By good fortune I was not always as cold as I might have been. In the same year was the man who

introduced central heating to the college. Not, of course, today’s kind, something a little more primitive. John Tormey used to sit at his desk with his biretta firmly on his head, wrap himself in a blanket off the bed leaving just enough of a gap near his mouth to fit his pipe. This he lit and blew the hot smoke inside the blanket. It was a time for invention. Then and Now Am I complaining? Not at all. I mention these things only to praise and admire the magnificent stewardship of the modern rectors. Twice I have visited the college and been awed by the changes: we have modern heating, en-suite rooms, a magnificent chapel, study facilities to die for, swimming pool and arcades of computers. And as that English island in the heart of Castile, we are even on the city’s heritage trail. I say ‘we have’ and ‘we are’. Boasting? Perhaps, but we are the college, all of us, not the buildings, however magnificent they may be and however ordinary we may be. Being a member of the college is like being a member of the Church; it allows us the comfort of transcending our individual ordinariness. So with real optimism and genuine affection I propose a toast to our alma mater to which we added little, if anything, but in return got so much, not least a genuine love of Spain.•

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We Went To Silves
by Kevin Hartley
The Road Toll The A22 has become a toll road, the beady camera eyes on the gantries clocking your progress, the billboards informing you of the cost of the next tranche of tarmac. How one pays the dues remains something of a mystery to the visitor – can one really believe that the car hire firm picks up the tab? The road has become almost deserted. The hordes of Spaniards who used to zip along at speeds never less than 150kph have chosen to nip across the frontier and now seek their cheap meals and shopping in the environs of Vila Real de São Antonio, an area well prepared for the influx of their next-door neighbours. Land of Sun, Sand, Sea and Sex The first impression of the Algarve coast is of an economy largely dependent on sun, sand, sea and sex, not necessarily in that order. The little villages that nestled in the more sheltered areas of the coast have been swallowed up by the tourist industry, but are still struggling to survive in the midst

Ponte Romana – Silves

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A hinterland of rural tranquillity, small villages, oranges, lemons, figs and vines, the occasional braying of a donkey. Tudo bem…
of high-rise apartment blocks, gigantic hotels and fun-seeking foreigners whose ideas of propriety are sometimes far removed from traditional Portuguese values. But in effect, there are two Algarves. Beyond the concrete corset of the coast lies a hinterland of rural tranquillity, small villages, oranges, lemons, figs and vines, the occasional braying of a donkey. Tudo bem, is the assurance given to the question, how goes it? A stork wheels high overhead; or could it be an eagle? Rabbits, dark brown creatures, leap for cover and that streak of brown fur half-seen in the undergrowth, could it be an elusive

Iberian Lynx? Probably a feral cat, or possibly a mongoose, for there are such creatures in this far southwestern corner of Europe. And that creature motionless on the sunny wall is indeed a praying mantis. An Old Moorish Atmosphere Silves, once the Moorish capital of Al Gharb, ‘The West’, of the Moorish part of the Iberian Peninsula, is a hill town, rising above the valley of the Arade river that made the town an important port for Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans and Moors. As the river valley gradually silted up, traffic became more and more restricted until today only light small pleasure craft can come upstream from Portimão when the tide is right. The ‘Ponte Romana’ still retains traces of it Roman origins but is now only open to pedestrian traffic. A parkland walk along the river is a pleasant postprandial occupation after lunch in one of the restaurants by the old market, itself an interesting attraction especially when it spills out into the surrounding lanes, offering everything from couves to galinhas ‘in the feather’. The town of Xelb, as it was then called, was captured from the Moors in 1060 by Ferdando I of Leon and Castile, but the conquest was of short duration. The Moors retook their town and it was not until 1189 that the Portuguese King Sancho I succeeded in reconquering the town with the help

Xelb Castello – © 2012 Kevin Hartley

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of English, Flemish and German crusaders, who promptly broke their promises as soon as the town surrendered on terms, and massacred everyone they could lay hands on in the Christian spirit of the time. The castle, its gateway flanked by a gigantic statue of King Sancho I, dominates the town. It was probably a Roman fortification originally, before being extended by the Moors and finally by the Christians. It was heavily restored in the 1940s as part of Dr Salazar’s programme for re-establishing pride in Portugal’s history. Just nearby is a fascinating museum centred on a magnificent Moorish well some 15 metres deep; with piercings at different levels to provide access to the water at whatever level via an outer staircase. A gigantic cistern in the castle grounds provided the town’s water until comparatively recently and there is evidence that it might have been supplemented by an ingenious system of bucket wheels that lifted water from the river. A Coutinho Family Connection The Moniz family held the title of alcaidé-mor [Military Governor] of Silves and on the tombstone of one of them, who died in 1580, is the almost identical coat of arms to the one on the cover of this magazine! More information is needed on the relationship between the Coutinho family and that of Moniz. The network of steep winding

cobbled streets leading up to the castle are lined with a bewildering variety of houses, humble cottages looking little changed from the time of the Moors, stately town houses boasting fading memories of eighteenth and nineteenth grandeur and, nestling into the castle walls, dwellings little better than shacks. The former cathedral, now the parish church (the bishop's see was removed to Faro in the fifteenth century), is built on the site of the town's principal mosque and the name of one of the streets in the lower part of the town, Travessa da Mesquita, marks the site

King Sancho I of Portugal – Silves

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of another place of worship: there may have been others. The Santa Case de Misericordia maintains a large presence near the castle and what was their chapel is now a tourist attraction. In spring time the scent of orange and lemon blossom fills the Arade valley and by the end of May the bulk of the harvest (fruits from the previous year’s blossom) has been gathered. A Navel Orange from Silves is impossible to beat for flavour and juiciness – a far cry from those bitter fruits that the trees produced on the Quinta at Luz! Cork may no longer play such a

great part in the economy of the Algarve but the Fabrica do Ingles, founded by an English entrepreneur in the nineteenth century, bears witness to its one-time importance. Sadly closed at the moment, the place was renovated some years ago to incorporate a museum illustrating the cork industry and a lovely courtyard restaurant. The Café Ingles however, just beneath the Castle, is still very much in business, a good place on a Sunday morning after Mass (ten ‘clock, if the priest turns up!) to sit under the plane trees with a bica and an aguardente, watching the tourists trudge pass.•

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Obituaries –
Michael Ullman Your prayers are requested for Deacon Michael Ullman who died peacefully on 11 November in The Rowans Nursing Home, Macclesfield. Michael was born on 23 May 1934. He spent some years in Lisbon and started training for the Diaconate in 1996. Following Ordination on 21 July 1999 he served in St Alban’s, Macclesfield. For a time he was Editor of the Catholic Voice. His wife, Winefride, died in January 2011 and Michael had been ill for some time. May He Rest In Peace ✛✛✛ Terence Patrick John Higgins Te r r y w a s b o r n i n 1 9 2 9 i n Silvertown, East London. After some time working for the Inland Revenue he was apprenticed at Fords of Dagenham and trained as a toolmaker, leaving Fords when he became convinced he was being called to the priesthood. After a couple of years at Osterley, he came to Lisbon and was ordained priest in 1964. He worked for some years in the Brentwood Diocese but came to the conclusion that life as a priest was not for him. He became a teacher, working at St Edward’s Primary School in Eltham, South London. With his great love for sport he formed a school football team that achieved
much success in and around London. Terry and Mary were introduced by a mutual friend and it seems to have been love at first sight, a love that quickly led to marriage in 1970 and a life together for 42 years, with Mary becoming known as the Saturday morning football widow and tolerating his membership of Ilford Golf Club. A deeply religious person, Terry was at church every morning. He was a Eucharistic Minister and for several years was president of the SVP in his parish, where he also formed Our Lady’s Prayer Group that grew to have a membership of about 70. With Mary he was a regular visitor to Ireland where he kept a boat to indulge his love of sailing, despite he and Mary capsizing on one occasion and being lucky to escape with their lives.

May He Rest In Peace ✛✛✛ John Joseph Gallagher John (Jock) Gallagher was born 5 April 1920, in Waterside, Aryshire. John arrived in Lisbon on board the Highland Princess on 2 September 1933, aged thirteen, as a junior seminarian for the Archdiocese of Westminster. He was to be joined by his brother. However, in February of 1940 he was obliged by poor health to

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make the perilous journey back to Britain. After a short spell in St Edmund’s College, Ware, he joined the RAF and served in North Africa and the Middle East. After demobilisation he joined the Civil Service in London and after making contact with Canon Arthur Holmes, former Vice-President who was by this time Administrator of Brentwood Cathedral, he was accepted as a student for the diocese, studying at Grove Park and finally at Oscott before being ordained priest in the church of the Good Shepherd in Ayr. He served in various parishes in the Brentwood diocese until his retirement in 1985. For some years he lived and did supply work in the diocese but in 2001 he returned to his roots, taking on the post of chaplain at Nazareth House in Kilmarnock. With failing health he moved to the Glasgow Nazareth House where he spent his final years.

Jim Finnegan – Footballer

May He Rest In Peace ✛✛✛ James Finnegan Jim Finnegan never wished to be associated with the Society. A highly intelligent man, with a BSc in mathematics, though he proved himself to be a brilliant

footballer, he found college life in the late fifties and early sixties restricting and the academic limitations stultifying (though to be fair, he would probably have found a similar situation in any seminary of the time). It probably didn’t help that he was deputed – unlikely that his own opinion was consulted – to teach in the junior seminary at Upholland. He was happiest in parochial work in Liverpool and formed a good friendship with Tony Fleming. May He Rest In Peace

Live forever, Alma Mater, be her sons for ever blest…
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A Funeral Seems to Draw Families Together
Bizarrely, the news came across the Atlantic via e-mail from New York. A cousin’s husband had just died, very suddenly, in Lancashire. There’s another cousin in Chicago, and yet another in Liverpool. A flurry of e-mails follows. The world has shrunk to the size of a computer screen, a keyboard and a cordless phone. And the funeral? Depends on what view the Coroner takes. A death at home if the victim hasn’t seen a doctor for seven days calls for a post mortem but it seems the Coroner has discretion about the need for an autopsy. There are more relatives dotted throughout the length and breadth of the British Isles and many of them will be at the Requiem. An aunt, the last of her generation is too frail to be there in person, but she will be with us in spirit on the day. The mentally-handicapped son of another cousin has to be told about the death in terms he might understand, as if anyone can fully take it in. Bob had been in poor health for a long time, with early stages of dementia but was quite cheerful. He and Josie had been out the day before, to a garden centre, to choose a couple of fruit trees for the garden and a heart attack seemed a relatively kind way to take him. A funeral seems to draw families together far more than does a wedding perhaps because a death serves to give us a livelier appreciation of what life means? A brother priest, long since gone to his rest, advised me that a funeral is one of the greatest opportunities to draw people back to the Church, and he might have been right. Josie’s stipulation that there should be no mourning black seemed right in the light of the Saviour’s assurance that we are of his family, our grief at our loss gently accompanied by affirmation of salvation.•
Contributions to Ref lections are invited, on condition of strict anonymity, from any member of the Society. The subject is entirely at the choice of the contributor and should be of approximately 500 words in length. The views of

the contributor do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of The Lisbonian. Ed

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by Joe Swann
So to Tashkent Wide, tree-lined boulevards and a glaring sun. In the Rhineland we had scarcely seen the sun since May, so it was most welcome. The ‘plane had been five hours late in Frankfurt, and by the time we got to bed in Tashkent the dawn light was already filtering through the trees. There was no time now to look round the city, but we could catch up with that at the end of our trip. Our driver, Ali, was keen to get us on the way to Samarkand, so we soon found ourselves bumping across the endless plain of Uzbekistan. Relegated to the back seat of a seven-seater bus, I could stretch out in relative comfort and catch up on lost sleep, popping my head up every now and then to catch a glimpse of cotton fields stretching away to the horizon or to join the others of our party in a feast of melon purchased from roadside vendors. It is said that the Emperor Babur, who founded the Moghul dynasty in Delhi, longed for the sweet melons of his Central Asian home. In Samarkand From the terrace of our hotel in Samarkand I look out over the fluted turquoise dome and tiled minarets of the Gur Emir Mausoleum, last resting place of the tyrannical founder of an empire that stretched from Istanbul to Delhi. Known as Timur the Lame , he is fêted in postCommunist Uzbekistan as the warrior who threw Genghis Khan’s Mongol hordes out of the country, but his bloodthirstiness vied with that of his fearsome ancestor (he was descended from Genghis on his mother’s side). The cultural unification he brought about within his empire is evident in the great buildings he and his

Gur Emir Mausoleum – Samarkand © 2012 Joe Swann

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successors left. In their renovated state, begun under Soviet rule in 1976, they are truly magnificent. A Cultural Tour This evening the sky is overcast and the colours of the dome are not as bright as they were two days ago when we visited the mausoleum. It was our first stop on the cultural tour and one of the most impressive. Early in the morning there were few people about, and the courtyard was a haven of peace. Under the arching dome two stone sarcophagi, one bearing a helmet, marked the Emir’s burial place. Fittingly, we went straight from there to the centrepiece of Timur’s empire, the Registan, a spacious square surrounded on three sides by mosques and madrasas – Islamic seminaries – their massive portals towering forty metres or so above the broad central plaza. Faced in ceramic tiles whose abstract patterns of interlacing lines, squares and lozenges express the essence of Islamic art (which trusts no living image), the entire complex immerses one in a world of jewelled geometry. Yet here, as further west, it is an irreversible development that the students’ rooms should today be devoted to commerce. Essential Teahouses Food was a bit of a problem. There was a good breakfast on offer in the hotel; otherwise the tea

Massive portals towering forty metres or so above the broad central plaza. Faced in ceramic tiles whose abstract patterns of interlacing lines, squares and lozenges express the essence of Islamic art …
houses [chaikhanas] became an essential part of our holiday. As in Arab countries the thin black (or alternatively green) Uzbek tea is wonderfully refreshing, and the opportunity to put one’s feet up and read, snooze or chat lazily through the midday heat was too good to be missed. Instead of chairs and tables, the chaikhanas have what can best be described as large raised wooden-framed sofas with cushioned back rests round three sides and a low table in the middle under which six people can comfortably stretch their legs – a sign of a society that values relaxed conversation and of restaurant owners content with a modest profit.

Uzbek tea is wonderfully refreshing, and the opportunity to put one’s feet up and read, snooze or chat lazily through the midday heat was too good to be missed…

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One of the madrasas that face each other across the Registan is called after Timur’s grandson, Ulugh Beg (fl. 1420), who did not allow his duties as emperor to interfere with more intellectual pursuits. In his day Samarkand was a seat of Islamic learning and the Registan, its university. Ulugh Beg’s passion was astronomy, and outside the city there is a most interesting relic – a vast quadrant of cut stones that formed the foundations of his astrolabe, its curved track now set deep in the hill. The calibrations with which he plotted the course of the stars are still plainly visible. Here, as elsewhere in the world, a cultural Golden Age seems to have followed close on the heels of a powerful (and ruthless) body politic.

A m o n g S a m a r k a n d ’s m a n y monuments it is perhaps the Valley of the Living Kings – not far from Ulugh Beg’s observatory, that stays most firmly in the memory. You climb up a long flight of steps and enter through a low gateway into a narrow cobbled street lined on both sides with richly ornamented houses – except that they are not houses, they are tombs. Their tall fronts form a cleft in the hillside, a place of brilliantly alternating light and shade. Some of them are open, and the intricately patterned tiles of their walls and domes bear endless variations on the line and leaf motifs seen throughout the Islamic world. The same motifs cover the heavy wooden doors and

Ula Beg’s Observatory – Samarkand

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pillars of many of the Silk Road’s public buildings. Samarkand was the most sumptuous of our stops, but Bukhara was the place that touched our hearts – partly because of our hotel, a restored 19th century Jewish merchant’s house whose three inner courtyards and beautifully carved ceilings gave a sense of intimacy to the journey. The city flourished earlier than Samarkand: already in the tenth century it was famous for its learning, and outside the modern medical faculty stands a statue of Ibn Sinna, a.k.a. Avicenna, the city’s most celebrated son. Here it is his anatomical learning that is being celebrated, but if my memory of Dr. Williams’ lectures

in the College library serves me, his commentaries on Plato and Aristotle were – among other Islamic sources – the vehicle through which Greek philosophy, via the Maghreb and El Andaluz, became known to the West. A circuitous route indeed. Mosques Aplenty In its heyday Bukhara is said to have boasted 365 mosques, and quite a few are still standing, some of them splendid monuments, others in regular use, and still others in varying degrees of disrepair. Wandering through the maze of dusty old streets, we kept encountering them, and in the heat it was again a rooftop teahouse that saved us from

Regista Square – Samarkand © 2012 Danial Barker

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Counting banknotes as fast as the Uzbeks, and bending a wad into a U between three fingers and riffling the protruding end with the free thumb and forefinger…
hunger and dehydration. Here we had an unparalleled view of the city’s main square, where the kids played football in the evening between mosque and madrasa (the latter being the only one in Central Asia still used for its original purpose). A Modicum of Change Now I must say something about money, especially about the Uzbek currency, the Zum. Two thousand of them are worth a dollar, and the biggest denomination note is 1000 Zum, so dinner for six people at 10 dollars apiece meant counting out 120 banknotes. You’ve never seen people – or perhaps you have in the Lloyds and Barclays of our youth – counting banknotes as fast as the Uzbeks, and in the end we got quite good at it ourselves, bending a wad into a U between three fingers and riffling the protruding end with the free thumb and forefinger. Another problem, which had taxed us before we left home, was the lack of reliable ATMs and credit card facilities. In the end we took cash for the whole trip

with us, and as we had to pay our hosts in Bukhara for all our hotel and transport expenses, it meant folding dollars into slim packs and concealing them in a money belt; somewhat medieval and perhaps unnecessary, as we were at no point even remotely threatened, but it gave us peace of mind. The Streams of Trade The cities of the Silk Road owe their wealth on the one hand to the caravans trading for millennia between China and India and the West, and on the other to the fertile plain, watered by two great rivers, the Oxus [Amur Darya] to the south and the Jaxartes [Syr Darya] to the north, on which they stand. Those rivers once fed the Aral Sea, but it is a visible result of a planned economy that they no longer do so. Cotton needs a lot of water and Uzbekistan was, under Stalin, as it is today, a major producer of raw cotton. So much water is drawn from the two rivers that what is left seeps away into the desert, reducing the Aral Sea to a couple of lakes. By the thirteenth century Bukhara had developed into a major commercial and cultural centre. Then came Genghis Khan and his ‘Golden Horde’ on their way to Hungary and the gates of the West. Descending on Central Asia around 1220, they sacked Bukhara, razing its great buildings (apart from one 50 metre tall

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minaret which even Genghis found impressive), trampling its sacred books in the dust, and slaughtering its people (except for a few useful scribes and artisans). Genghis’ message was simple: ‘You must be very wicked people to deserve me’ – a severe form of culture shock evidently inherited by later rulers, for the Emirs of Bukhara, as an alternative to beheading, had criminals (and others not to their liking) thrown from the top of the aforementioned minaret. Among the latter category were two British officers who strayed into Transoxania (as it was then known) in the early 19th century and were duly beheaded for failing to respect the Emir’s dignity, but only after spending an uncomfortable two years in a vermin-infested pit. We were advised to be particularly polite to officials in that city! The other building spared by the Khan’s Tartars was a small cubic mausoleum buried among trees outside the city. Dating from the early tenth century, it is the last resting place of the region’s early Persian rulers, the Samanids, and although they were Muslim, the building’s decoration is at least partly Zoroastrian (the culture of the pre-Islamic fire-worshippers of Persia, remembered in the name of Nietzsche’s ‘Zarathustra’), and its walls, instead of tiles, are faced with a sort of basketwork

terracotta. Squat, powerful and perfectly proportioned, it is a gem of a quite different kind. Earth from earth. Road to Kiva The toughest part of our journey still lay ahead. The highway t o K h i va , t h e s m a l l e s t a n d westernmost of the three Silk Road cities, skirts Central Asia’s biggest desert, the Kizil Kum. And Ali, our driver, was not exaggerating when he said it was, ‘a very bad road’. The trip took eleven hours, with a single stop for tea in a strictly medieval service station: ‘bogs’ in the back, take a peg. But in its way it was one of the most intensive experiences of the trip (I mean the journey rather than the facilities): swaying and bumping from one

Wandering through the dusty streets – © 2012 Joe Swann

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side of the road to another (the counter-flow consisted of about 6 trucks all day). The frustrating thing was that one lane of a smooth new concrete ‘Silk Road’ ran alongside our dirt track pretty much all the way, not yet open to traffic. In some misty future when it is finished, instead of 16 years it will probably take 16 days for the round trip between Xian and the Mediterranean. Khiva the Desert City Khiva was more intact than either of the other two cities because it was built later. Its monuments were as interesting in their way, though less decorated. A city of the desert, it has the feel of the desert, its terracotta buildings

touched here and there with colour, its impregnable city walls and statutory four gates still in daily use. But it was rather like living in a film set, because the old town only had tourists, and not even many of them during the hot summer months. The only real life was in the bazaar, where we regularly bought our lunch. But Khiva was quiet and allowed us to recollect, read and relax. We did a day trip into the desert to see some pre-Islamic forts, largely gone with the wind. But we had seen so much by then that seeing more hardly mattered, one way or another.•

Khiva – Skyline and minaret

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Silk Road Poems
by Joe Swann
Seminary years, labyrinth of youth, midday wisdom under a Zarathustrian sun. Start where you stand, shed memory with expectation, find the single focus of the mind. In the Emir’s summer palace a swallow beats against a cracked window pane.


What lazy breeze from the Alentejo stirs siesta curtains in Bukhara? Traders on Silk Road and sea route, cultural salesmen, cut-throats, value added at every step. Voices murmur in the courtyard – someone’s purpose. Distant banging of a door. Traces of a familiar, other, a time between, before.

Silk Road

Rimmed with turquoise the minarets of Bukhara soar into a molten sky. Conjunctions of power, warlord, merchant, banker – in Avicenna’s city death and beauty are never far apart. Did the conqueror assume the mantle of the conquered, as we, cultural nomads, seek to know ourselves?

Skirting the Kizil Kum
Window on sand and stillness. Not in itself is transcendence, but in the seeking. The God of Israel and Islam is nameless, but a thousand names mark the parting of the ways. Relation unrelated – God’s being or man’s? Let Aquinas and Avicenna debate it under a desert sun.•

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Letters to the Editor
From: Sister Mary Magdalen

I am writing on behalf of our Sister Mary Rita whose work in Peru the Lisbonian Society has so kindly supported over recent years. Please convey our grateful thanks to your Members. Our Congregation has been obliged to withdaw from this Mission on account of shortage of Sisters and consequently, St Mary Rita will not be returning to Lima. With every good wish
Convent of Mercy: Maricourt Hall Lane, Maghull Liverpool L31 3DZ From Philip Gummett

spirit. Please remember me to Bill Dalton, my only contemporary (I think?) still around. My congratulations to all the Jubilarians, especially to Eddie Matthews who helped me so much during my Diaconate formation with his expert knowledge of Liturgy. My fraternal love to you all
Philip Gummett 11, Glynnmarch Street Deri, Bargoed CF81 9HZ

From sister Rose Carmel RSM
On behalf of all of us within the Association of Our Lady of Mercy in Romania I thank you all for your generosity to our mission here. The help is invaluable in our efforts to journey with the marginalised. More and more needs daily come our way and the poor get virtually no support. We currently support 80 elderly people whose pensions on average amount to £60 a month and we have one lady in her eighties who receives nothing. We also support 25 families where sickness and poverty abound and we visit families with sick parents or children. We are organising

Unfortunately I must once again offer my apologies for absence to the Brethren, due to various things, including disability and my lack of transport. Nevertheless, I look forward to receiving news about the College, my ‘Home’ from 1936-43, of which I still enjoy fond memories. Moreover, I enjoy reading our magazine – may it continue to appear for many years yet to come! Although I shall be absent from the Mass, Meeting and ‘Quinta Day’ lunch, I shall be with you all in

Opinions and views expressed in The Lisbonian are deemed to be those of the contributors and do not necessarily reflect those of the Editors or the Lisbonian Society.
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wood for winter fuel for our elderly people and we are also organising help with school materials, clothing and footwear for school children. A visit to our website,, will give you some insight into our mission. Renewed thanks and may the lord reward your generosity.
From Stephen Harrington

I returned to Ghana in March of this year to present another 190 wheelhcairs (880 more than we had hoped for) in Sunyani, a town in the South West of the country. To give a brief example of the difference a wheelchair can make, one of them went to a nineteen year-old young man called Daniel. He had been carried seven miles to the presentation on the back of his

mother, a small woman, no more than five feet tall. Until that day, his mother Miriam, a single parent, had carried him everywhere since the day of his birth. She will never need to do that again. The project has now been responsible for 590 wheelchairs being delivered to the country through our efforts. The trustees of the project are the members of the Rotary Club of Westhoughton. I am very grateful to the Society for its most generous donation and want to assure members that every penny will be spent on purchasing wheelchairs. There are no overheads. With best wishes
Stephen Harrington

Late News
Stephen Harrington has agreed to act as Assistant Editor for The Lisbonian magazine, so thanks to him for his efforts in helping with this edition. ED

Blessed are they… who pay their Society subscriptions without need of a reminder!

T he Lisbonian welcomes your letters and e-mails. Correspondence should be addressed to the Editor at the address on page 2.
The Lisbonian magazine – January 2013 | 29

The Lisbon Society Meeting
3-4 July 2012 Hinsley Hall, Leeds
Brothers Together Quam bonum et quam jocundum habitare fratres in unum! Well, that certainly proved true for twenty three of us. Familiar faces, a couple of unexpected ones, and what has happened to...? There are a few more grey hairs, a few lost hairs and inch or two [5.1mm for the newer faces!] around the waist; and the legs are not quite as sturdy as they used to be in the days when yard football was a lethal postprandial pastime. There is much talk, many a ‘d’you remember?’ And a sign of the times: the serried ranks of black suits that graced our gatherings in former times have long since gone; Lisbonian meetings these days look more like Easter Week at the Quinta. Two Changes A bold decision had been taken to make the evening gathering purely a social occasion, leaving the serious business of the meeting until the morning. As far as can be gathered, the brethren appreciated the change, which incidentally did no harm to the bar takings. The meal was good, the singing a soupçon less certain but then there was the toast, the highlight of the feast (reported below). Followed by more conviviality before closing accounts for the night. Never let it be said that Lisbonians are set in their ways. When it was discovered that Hinsley Hall was already booked for the dates we would usually attend, there was no more than a moment’s hesitation before a bold decision was reached – we would meet the following week! Contrary to expectations the sky did not fall on us at that point, though an interesting observation was made – the traditional date of the meeting was fixed so as to allow the President time to arrive from Lisbon by train. So, please remember, the next meeting will be held on 9/10th July at Hinsley Hall, Leeds. Put the dates in your diary NOW! As Time Rolls By Michael Williams (does anyone recall why on earth he was called Tippet?) achieved his ninetieth birthday and sent thanks to those members who had sent him greetings.
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We judicially allocated funds to various good causes. After notice of the closure of Ushaw College some concern had been expressed about the future of the Lisbon Collection. The meeting was pleased to be assured that the University of Durham has taken over responsibility for the day-today management of the whole of the Ushaw Collection, including the contents of the Lisbon Room and an archivist, Jonathan Bush, has been appointed and has already begun work We had been promised that the long-awaited College History would be appearing in September 2012. It was only subsequent to the meeting that we learned of yet further delay. Dear Reader, watch this space! Jubilarians and Alma Mater Gerry Hetherington confessed to having cold feet at twisting yet another arm to give the after dinner speech and so took on the task himself. ‘One of the Hon Secretary’s chores in preparing for this evening is to find a speaker for the Toast. I must say thank you to all those who have responded to my request in past years. But to save hassle and arm-twisting I decided with some reluctance to take it on myself for once. Thinking of this year’s golden jubilarians reminded me of

my first holiday in Portugal – it was 1959 – with John Helm in the yet undeveloped Algarve. The Pensão Lucia in Portimão was our base I think. We set off from Quinta Luz, stopping off in Lisbon for supper and a visit to the church of São Domingos before making our way across the Tagus and on to Portimão. Next day the front page of the Díario de Notícias informed us that São Domingos had gone up in flames. I want to assure you that we had nothing to do with the conflagration but the event is embedded in my memory and it is a place I never fail to visit whenever I am in Lisbon. What else do I remember? Getting badly burned at Praia da Rocha, running very low on cash and making our way to the Casa de Santa Zita in Évora, driven by a crazy driver who seemed to enjoy taking the bends at speed and paying more attention to the girls than to the road. My next adventure was by coach from Caçilhas to Seville with John Grady and Eddie Matthews. We were to join Vic Bridges, Bernard O’Brien, John Timmins and Jude Thurlow. I remember Bernard and myself getting back to a pension in Malaga earlier than the others and being

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roused later by the others shouting at us to open the door, which was locked in such a way that we couldn’t oblige. Eventually after much noise, someone came and let them in but not before the police threatened to take the disturbers of the peace into custody! I think it was also in Malaga that we met a lady chaperoning three girls. She was interested in us, asked if we were English, to which Vic answered, ‘Irlandeses’ – which the lady took to mean that we were Dutch. They invited us to a show in which they were performing but John

Timmins got cold feet at the last moment so we never discovered what we had missed. On another occasion on that holiday Bernard and I were invited to a Sunday lunch en famille, with several generations gathered round a large table, everyone shouting and grabbing what they wanted – a completely new experience for me and one which I have never repeated. Finally we got separated and after a fruitless day trying to hitch-hike outside Faro I caught the train to Lisbon. As I sat down a larger hand

Quam bonum et quam jocundum habitare fratres in unum! – Lisbonian Society 2012

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descended on my knee – it was Jude and wasn’t I glad to see him. And so on to Fatima and the 13th celebrations. I think these experiences did us good and endorsed Cardinal Manning’s comments on the worth of continental seminaries: ‘It is of great moment to the Catholic Church that its priests should possess a little of the cultures of other Catholic nations.’ The Cardinal thought that what rubbed off on those like ourselves who were fortunate to study abroad would have

something to ‘contribute to the culture of England’. And so we congratulate our Golden and Ruby Jubilarians and wish them ad multos annos. In toasting them we also toast the Alma Mater who formed us and the Society which binds us together. While Alma Mater may not live on in a building, she lives on in our hearts as we remember her with gratitude.•
The Editor of T he Lisbonian welcomes your ideas and suggestions for articles to appear in the magazine. Authors are especially welcome!

Anyone Got an PIDE Identity Card? Has anyone retained his

Identity card issued by PIDE and is willing to lend it to the Kevin Hartley [Editor]? ‘I can guarantee it will be returned to you without delay!’ says Kevin. Well! While i hate to admit it I do have one! In case you can’t remember what yours looked like can you identify the ‘innocent’ in the picture aside? Answers on a postcard or email to Kevin Hartley please. •
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One Year On1
Saint Francis Home For Skills Training 2012

By Sister Hedwig Vinyo
Saint Francis Home for Skills Training [SAFRAHOST] is a skill development centre created to help vulnerable teenagers to become self reliant. This centre officially started in October 2011. We have five work shops • Carpentry workshop, • Motorbike Mechanic • Shoe Mending • Manufacturing • Sewing and Knitting. There are 40 trainees 25 boys and 15 girls and some 22 of these are boarders.

Our Goal
Locally, the lack of education leads to poor living conditions and poverty. So the goal of the Educational Centre is to improve living conditions for children, and adolescents and as the adults that they will be tomorrow. The overall intention is to enable them to earn their own living and sustain their families.

For the one year Saint Francis Home for Skills Training has been working, much has been achieved and the children are doing well in both

Safrahost trainees – Picture © 2012

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their practical and general courses.

The five workshops have also been productive as their respective outputs reveal: Carpentry – a total of 13 beds, 80 bunk beds, 60 table and chairs, 2 sets armchairs,15 stools, 2 centre tables, 1 mirror holder, 4 tool boxes, 3 drying stands and 35 tables have been produced. Motorbike Mechanic – a total of 60 motorbikes had been repaired. Shoe Mending – a total of 540 sandals has been produced and 409 repairs done.

Sewing & Knitting – 341 uniforms made and 310 shirts, 70 gowns, 100 trousers, 123 skirts have alos been sewn. While the Knitting section made a total of 927 pullovers, 10 baby sets, and 15 caps, and 10 jackets have also been knitted

Skills Acquired
But, of course, it is the confidence and life skills that have been acquired that are so very important. In the Carpentry Workshop the skills of 11 trainees have greatly improved. About 9 children are able to produce tables, table chairs, bed and simple armchairs.

Safrahost trainees Knitting & Sewing – Picture © 2012

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While in the Motorbike Workshop the 7 trainees there are able to assemble a motorbike, they are able to identify all parts of the machines and their functions as well as detect machanical faults from the sound. All the trainees are well versed with the highway code and three amongst these seven are now able to ride a motorbike very well. As for the Shoe Mending and Manufacturing section, the trainees are able to identify the different type of leather, they also able to do a few repairs especially hand sewing, and they can file shoes using the electric and hand filing2 machines. They are also competent in the finishing work

– that is wiping, and polishing new shoes. All of them are able to produce small size slippers.

Challenges Remain
Despite all these achievements many challenges still remain, especially at the level of workshop equipment. In the carpentry workshop equipment is still needed: machines, carving knives and some tools etc. For one year we insisted that the children should be trained how to produce furniture without using machines because we are aware that most of them are from villages where there is no electricity for them to use. Now we need to have machines

Safrahost trainees – ‘Them boots are made for walking’ – Picture © 2012

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for them in the workshop so that they can learn how to work on the machines because, in the future, some of them will surely be employed. In the motorbike workshop the following items are still lacking: two motorbikes, oil pump spanner, camp sharp spanner, key spanner, big block, complete saw, tyre lifter, scissors, patching gum, tyre bump and twelve sockets. In the shoe mending and manufacturing section, the following equipment is still needed: two sewing machines,

shoe forms, filing machines and leather. In the sewing room they need the following materials: sewing thread, cloth for practical work, machine fan belts, bobbing cases and electric irons. In the knitting workshop needs: two knitting machines, selectors, knitting brushes, casting pins and wool. As you might expect, the lack of finances to pay the teachers their due salaries has also been one of the main challenges the institution is facing.

Safrahost trainees – Bikers getting the job done – Picture © 2012

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Safrahost trainees – ‘Greens today!’ – Picture © 2012

Basic Needs
Shortages of beds in both girls and boys dormitory has also been a major problem, we are still using borrowed beds from another school. We need 40 bunk beds. The provision of food issue is also a major problem due to the fact that the care givers are unable to provide food or pay the contribution charge. The food supply is hardly enough and we are contemplating on stopping the day students from taking lunch in the Centre. Some of the children staying in the Centre are not able to afford to get their basic needs.

Other Priorities
Some of our other priorities include: • Fencing of the entire campus, since the Centre is located in a village and the main economic activity in this neighbourhood is the keeping of animals such as goats, fowls, sheep, pigs. Not surprisingly these animals stray on to the campus and cause a lot of damage in the garden and the surrounding environment! • Also the equipping of the Carpentry workshop is one of our priorities. As this department has the highest

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number of enrolments and these trainees need individual equipment to learn their work skills. The Centre also needs accommodation for the staff so that they can be permanently on the campus to care and control the boarders. We have eight teachers, two young people working in the office, and two Sisters. Three teachers are also able to stay on campus to take care of the children. The village also faces a water crisis. We need our own source of water especially during the long dry season. With our

own water, the children will not need roam around the neighbourhood in search of water in the river. We shall also then be able to keep the Centre’s environment clean. Despite the challenges we are confident that these children have gained a lot and we have hopes that the future is bright for them. We wish to thank all our benefactors and friends for their prayers, support and encouragement given to us.•
1 Note –This report represents an edited version of the Centre’s Annual Report 2 Filing shoes – Believed to be grinding and finishing

Safrahost trainees – ‘Having fun too!’ Picture © 2012

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English College Lisbon

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