School Work and Farm Work
News Good and Bad
Death of Fr Calosso
During the winter, when there was no pressure of farm work, Anthony was reasonable enough about the time I gave to my books. When spring came, however, and work was more pressing, he began to grumble that he was left to tackle all the chores while I was wasting my time and acting the gentleman. After some lively exchanges involving Anthony, my mother, and me, it was decided in the interest of family peace that for the time being I should go to school in the morning and for the rest of the day apply myself to manual labour. But how could I study? How could I manage the translations?
Take note. The walk to and from school afforded me some time to study. When I got home I would take the hoe in one hand and my grammar in the other, and along the way I would study. Qui, quae, quod until I reached the place of work. Then glancing longingly at the grammar, I would put it in a corner and begin hoeing, weeding, or gathering greens according to the need.
When there was a rest break, I went off on my own to study, a book in one hand, a hunk of bread in the other. I did the same thing on my way home. Written work had to be done in short periods snatched at mealtimes or in time borrowed from sleep.
Despite all my work and good will, Anthony still was not happy. One day he announced very decisively, first to my mother and then to my brother Joseph, that he could stand it no more.
I’ve had it up to here, he blustered.
I’ve had my fill of this grammar business. Look at me, he said, I’ve grown big and strong without ever setting eyes on such books.
That’s nonsense!
Carried away by blind rage, I retorted in a way I should not have: Our donkey is bigger and stronger than you are, and he never went to school either. Do you want to be like him? This so angered him that only speed saved me from a volley of blows and smacks.
My mother was heartbroken, I was in tears myself, and the chaplain was upset too. In fact when that worthy minister of God got to know how matters stood in our family, he took me aside one day and said,
John, you’ve put your faith in me, and I won’t let you down. Leave that troublesome brother of yours and come and live in the presbytery. I’ll take care of you.
My mother was elated when I told her of this generous offer. In April I moved into the priest’s house, though I returned home to sleep.
No one can imagine how supremely happy I was. I idolised Fr Calosso, loved him as if he were my father, prayed for him, and tried to help him in every way I could. My greatest pleasure was to work for him. I would have died for him. I made more progress in one day with the good priest than I would have made in a week at home. That man of God lavished affection on me, and he would often say,
Don’t worry about the future. As long as I’m alive I’ll see that you want for nothing. And I’ll make provision for you after my death.
Things were going unbelievably well for me. I could say my cup of happiness was full. There was nothing else I could wish for. Then a fresh disaster blighted all my hopes.
One morning in April 1828, Fr Calosso sent me home on an errand. I had only just made it to the house when a messenger dashed in at my heels. He said I was to get back to Fr Calosso as fast as I could. He was very ill and wanted to see me. I did not run; I flew. I found my benefactor in bed suffering from a stroke and unable to speak. He recognised me and tried to talk but no words came. He gave me the key to his money and made signs that I was not to give it to anyone. After two days of suffering, Fr Calosso gave up his soul to God. His death shattered my dreams. I have always prayed for him, and as long as I live I shall remember my outstanding benefactor every day that dawns.
When Fr Calosso’s heirs turned up, I handed over to them the key and everything else.