The Hope, The Faith, The Fear, and The Fury.

April, 15th. 1912

It was the type of Spring day in Belfast when a man could find the whimsy of old Ireland in the skies. Reaching through the bronchial clouds, gold, watery, fingers of light stretched from the heavens to caress the castles of the merchants, the mill owners, and the ship builders. Each great crane of steel, each new hull of ship, each black slate roof along the endless lines of terraced housing, shimmered beneath the divine touch. Smoke from the stalagmites of chimneys rose up like genies into the warm, rolling, sea breeze, joining in its whispers of hopefulness.

His Excellency, The Lord Bishop of Down and Connor, stood at the open window of his chambers, marvelling at the magnificence of this new Belfast day. It was a week after Easter, the time in the Christian calendar when Christ's resurrection is celebrated, when hope is believed to return to the world. This time of year, thought His Excellency, was synonymous with the spirit of Belfast. Theirs was a city built on hope. From the continent, from Scotland, from England, and from Wales, streams of merchants, tradesmen, and industrialists poured in through the docks in search of the opportunity to build and pioneer. From South Ireland, swathes of Irish Catholics were moving north to escape from the poverty blighting them. As varied as all the people who came to Belfast were, all of them were united within the same, singular hope; the hope of better tomorrows.

Belfast in 1912, thought His Excellency, carried within its streets more hope than perhaps anywhere else in the world.

Taking in one last lungful of spring air, and enjoying the light breeze dance through the few remaining grey hairs on his head, His Excellency closed his window and turned to settle himself at the small table by his hearth. The warmth from the roasting coals glowing in the grate wrapped around his ankles, and His Excellency said a few words of thanks for the glory of the day. Then, before pouring out his morning tea and spreading some best butter on his freshly baked drop scones, he spoke a few more words in thanks for the comfort that was his eleven o clock constitutional.

As he lifted the lid off his butter dish, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes." Called out His Excellency.

Mrs O'Hanlon, his housekeeper, bobbed her neat, grey, head around the edge of the large oak door. "Sorry to disturb Your Excellency. Only... your guest has arrived early."

"Ah. Has he now." His Excellency smiled. "I would not be surprised if Father Doon came early because he could smell these drop scones all the way from St Pauls." He chuckled.

Mrs O'Hanlon, smiling meekly and nervous of her intrusion, crept her way around the door apologetically, she knew how much His Excellency enjoyed the ritual of morning tea and cake. It felt almost sacrilegious to disturb him.

"What is the matter Mrs O'Hanlon?" His Excellency asked. "Please show Father Joseph Doon through to my chambers. I am sure there is enough tea and scones here for both of us."

"Father Doon would not come in." She bit at her lip as she spoke. "He has gone straight to the Cathedral." Mrs O'Hanlon shook her head as His Excellency looked at her quizzically. "I am so sorry Your Excellency, but Father Doon was insistent that you hear his confession. He is already sat in the confessional waiting for you." She paused before adding, "He is awfully agitated Your Excellency."

"Goodness." His Excellency stood up. Father Doon could be a theatrical type of fellow but even for him this seemed rather dramatic. "How extra-ordinary. I had best make haste and hear what it is that he has to say."

Swiftly, changing into appropriate robes, The Lord Bishop made his way to St Peters. Despite his years, and maligned rotundness, his Excellency was a nimble enough fellow. He swished along the paving stones that wound round to the cathedral, untroubled by the many eager and reverent souls gathered along the way. As he passed by he could be heard muttering words of thanks. Little did the good folk know that his gratitude was for the softness of his shoes.

He entered the great, vaulted, nave of St Peters at the side of the altar and knelt before it to respectfully genuflect. Then, rising, he steadily made his way to the confessional. As he walked, he was aware that there were a number of eyes watching him. The Lord Bishop hastening to hear the unsolicited confession of another Priest was, after all, an unusual occurrence.

His Excellency stopped before stepping inside the ornate wooden box, and turned to look out across the pews, catching as he did, a number of curious eyes. Working his way from face to face, His Excellency assured each enquiring soul, with a steady and certain gaze, that what was unfolding here... was absolutely none of their business.

The nods of the good people, and the ease with which they continued their individual work and prayer, reassured him. His Excellency turned and pushed open the heavy door of the confessional to greet his Priest, his friend... the penitent Father Joseph Doon.

The confessional was dark. On the other side of the partition wall His Excellency could just make out the shadowy shape of his Priest. His head was low, his shoulders rolled forward. The effervescent animation which Father Joseph Doon was known for, noticeably absent from this rather withered silhouette.

Arranging his robes around his legs for practicality and comfort His Excellency made the sign of the cross, and sat down.

"Forgive me, Your Excellency." Father Joseph Doon began as expected... and then stopped.

His Excellency turned to the partition. "What ever is the matter Father Doon?"

These words from His Excellency curled into Father Doon's consciousness like a spoon through soup. He was a swill of emotion and his thoughts could find no order within it. He slowly moved his head from side to side hoping that the motion would help somehow. When this had no effect he banged at his temple with his palm, as though doing so may beat his thoughts into an arrangement.

"Oh my, Father Doon!" His Excellency was increasingly surprised at the behaviour of his Priest. Father Doon was usually such an articulate man, a talented orator, capable of delivering world class sermons that rang with inspiration. To see such a confident and sure-footed fellow so addled, was somewhat disconcerting. He picked up his rosary, sat back on the confessional bench, and waited for signs that Father Doon's agitation was subsiding.

His Excellency, a patient man, considered confessions to be like gifts in that they should never be snatched from the penitent. Thumbing through his rosary he calmly waited as Father Joseph Doon attempted to make strides into the silence between them.

After a number of overly drawn out breaths, and a sigh that shivered, Father Joseph Doon spoke. "Forgive me Your Excellency," he said as he looked at his Lord Bishop through the small mesh window between them, "I have sinned... many... many times."

The Lord Bishop stared at his Priest, his eyes adjusting to the weak, grey light that filtered in through the leaded glass window above them and onto the criss-crossed roof of the confessional. A lattice shadow lay thick along the young priest's furrowed brow. His eyes beneath were drawn, heavy, and furtive with burden.

"Please begin, Father Doon."

His Excellency closed his eyes, readying his energy to accommodate the weight of the Priest's soul.

"I shall Your Excellency. Although, how this ends, you will not want to hear."

The Lord Bishop flashed a glance at Father Doon, displeased at the judgement.

Father Joseph Doon hung his head against the confession partition wall, pathetic in his disappointment.

He began.

"My first sin came about in September 1911." He sighed as the weight of this first burden started to seep from him into the confessional's overly polished air. "I had been invited, if that is the correct way to describe it, perhaps it is more that I was asked to go? How it came about is irrelevant..." He shook his head as he stumbled over the point. "All that is relevant... is this... I was down at the Harland and Wolff ship yard performing a blessing on the soon to be birthed ship, The Olympia. It was not an official blessing, of course, Baron William Pirrie and company, as you know, do not subscribe to blessings on their ships. Certainly not Catholic blessings. It was a secret blessing, organised by the Catholic men who helped build her."

Father Joseph Doon sat up and away from the confessional partition and sighed again. "I am endlessly amazed how speaking of ill will really does help purge it. I know I am a Priest, and repentance forms a large part of my life, still... to hear my heart speak its truths and to know that you are here listening to them Your Excellency...well... there is a light that creeps inside my darkness. For this, I am so thankful."

The Lord Bishop opened his eyes at the aside. "I have heard no sin yet Father."

"Of course. I shall get to it."

Continuing to thumb through his rosary, His Excellency, considered his Priest. He knew Father Doon well enough to know that he was not a naïve man. He was young, but sufficiently experienced as a Priest to hold a tight court in a confessional. It was a common mistake that a Priest's choice of celibacy, and their singular relationship with God, meant that they lived a sheltered life. On the contrary, a Priest's days were generally saturated by the sin of others. This alone, made them worldly. His Excellency was therefore confused by the apparent innocence of this Priest. There was only one conclusion His Excellency could fathom. He spoke his thoughts as his Priest collected in his. "I think Father Doon, that perhaps you have not spent enough time repenting your own sins if you are only now aware of the virtue inherent to sharing them."

Father Doon, rubbed at his face before saying. "Or, perhaps the sins I have previously repented are comparatively insignificant to those which I repent today?"

"Perhaps." Confirmed His Excellency. "Although, at this rate of confession, we may never discover which it is."

"Forgive me."

"When you give me something to forgive you for, I will consider it."

Father Joseph Doon breathed deeply, his broad shoulders sagging further towards his knees as he began to fidget and shuffle his feet. He sat on his hands to try and stop the movement. "My first sin happened that night." He paused. "In fact, if I am being absolutely accurate, my first three sins happened that night, within a few short hours."

"I am listening."

Father Doon nodded. "I had joined a few of the men from the ship yard for a drink after the blessing, and as we sat in the bar talking, I happened to ask one why I rarely saw him at church any longer."

"What did he say?"

"At first he looked at me like I was an idiot. He laughed. Then, as I pressed him on the subject, he told me it was none of my business."

"But you are his Priest are you not?"

"Precisely. That was my response. I am afraid, at the slight, I became rather, how shall I say.... zealous."

"The drink I assume had a part to play?"

"A little. You know me Your Excellency. I am, by nature, gregarious and I confess... an all too easily encouraged man. I saw an opportunity to bolster the faith of the people I was with and I seized it. I jumped on the table and I quoted the scriptures of St Peter with all my heart."

"This is your sin?"

"In a way. There I was, delivering what I seem to remember being one of the best sermons that I have ever delivered. I was pulsing with passion, confident, articulate, I could feel God with me in the room." Father Doon paused, held his hands up and dropped them into his lap. "Then, the next thing I know I woke up in the gaol with a bloody and broken nose."

"In gaol?"

Father Doon nodded. "Arrested for inciting a riot."

"A riot?" His Excellency repeated the words incredulous to what he was hearing.

"Indeed."

"And you have waited until now, six months later, to confess?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. I believed, at the time, that I was acting in righteous indignation. I see now I was an arrogant fool. Your Excellency, had I not felt the need to preach to these people, these people who were quietly trying to abide by their faith, in a world often hostile to it, then none of the other events, none of the other sins that I am here today to confess, would have happened."

His Excellency took a moment to gather in what he was hearing. "Was anybody badly hurt?"

"There were a few cuts and bruises, that was all. What pained me most was that all the Catholic men with me that night were arrested alongside me. Arrested for disturbing the peace."

His Excellency shook his head. He knew what this meant for a Catholic man in Belfast. It was hard enough to gain employment and be true to your faith without being marked as a man who caused civil unrest. Families could and would starve as a result of such foolish arrogance. "You still maintain that your indignation was righteous?"

"What I felt in my heart was righteous. Catholic men should not have to deny their faith. How I conducted myself was wrong. It was not behaviour befitting of a priest."

His Excellency shifted, uneasy in his seat, and muttered a prayer. After a moment he said. "Tell me your next sin Father."

"These men, through no fault of their own, had found themselves locked up with me. All of them were Catholic, Your Excellency. All of them. What does that tell you?"

His Excellency could sense the righteousness of the young Priest raising its head again. Refusing to be drawn by it he leant forwards and sternly repeated to Father Doon. "What is your sin Father?"

Father Joseph Doon rubbed again at his face. "Forgive me Your Excellency, despite my sins I so struggle with the passion that has led me to them."

He paused to collect his thoughts once more.

"That night in the gaol, Your Excellency, I heard stories about the ship yards of Harland and Wolff that I had never heard before. Catholic men trying to feed their families cannot do a good days work there without penalty. I saw the scars, Your Excellency. Two of the men showed me where hot tar had been dripped on their backs. Others showed me where they had been bruised by tools, hammers, purposefully dropped or thrown at them. Did you know, Your Excellency, that there was apparently a consignment of rivets delivered with the words "No Pope" stamped into them that the riveters delighted in hammering into the hull of the Titanic?"

"I have heard some of these stories." Confirmed His Excellency. "Tell me Father Joseph Doon. What is your sin?" His patience, as generous as it was, waning by the Priest's inability to own his sin, or to state it concisely.

"After getting them all locked up because of my passion to prevent the denial of faith... I then turned right around and decided that I would help them deny their faith after all."

His Excellency narrowed his eyes. Before him, in the confessional of the House of God, was a Priest whose core purpose it was to unite people in faith and yet here he sat confessing to doing the exact opposite. His Excellency thought perhaps he had misunderstood. Confused, he said, "but you are a priest."

"Yes, Your Excellency. I am a priest. I am a priest that has helped good Catholic men deny their faith. I am also a priest that has provided the word of God as justification for their denial."

His Excellency held up his hand to stop the Priest from saying anything further. "Let me ensure I have understood you correctly. First you incite a riot with your inappropriate behaviour, then you help a whole raft of men deny their faith, and in doing so you provide the word of our Lord as justification for your sin."

"Yes, Your Excellency. Timothy 5:8." Father Doon cleared his throat before reciting the passage from the Bible.

"If anyone does not provide for his relatives and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever."

His Excellency turned once more to his rosary, in consideration of the hallowed words.

These poor Irish Catholic families who were coming to Belfast in droves escaping famine, poverty, and destitution. With them they brought the infections, disability and madness that an impoverished life so often led to. Their presence in Belfast was seen as a scourge by many, a threat to the glorious pioneering hopes that were being built.

His Excellency leaned his head back against the wall behind him, raising his eyes upwards. It was a tale with which he was familiar. Not of foolish priests and their wayward ways, but the tale of men and their hopes. Why was it always so that with great hope there always came great fear? The two were like lovers coupled forever in an incendiary conspiracy, each unable to live or die without the other.

Outside the confessional the cathedral bells were peeling, calling people into Mass. Through the walls the two devout men could hear the hum of a congregation beginning to commune. Father Joseph Doon looked at His Excellency for confirmation to continue.

Leaning forward, His Excellency extended permission. "Tell me your next sin Father Doon."

Father Doon nodded. "Until a week before the Titanic left our shores, heading for Southampton for its maiden voyage, I was the proud Priest of a makeshift Catholic Church onboard."

His Excellency's eyes blinked rapidly as he processed this new information. "How is that even possible?"

"With a lot of cunning Your Excellency. It is amazing where the gift of a well baked cake can get you. Of course, nobody in authority there knew I was a Priest. I was just a nice man who had too much money. A man who they believed to be fascinated by ship building."

Father Doon looked directly at His Excellency, slowly nodding his head, the words he spoke were the honest truth. "I have been all over that ship. I have even had a guided tour by the Foreman. Honestly, Your Excellency, the men that built that ship were on the whole good men, and were enormously proud of what they were building. They loved showing it off nearly as much as they loved my cook's cake!"

Gravity getting the better of his bottom jaw the Lord Bishop said, "You gave holy communion on Baron Pirrie's ship... The Titanic?"

"Yes.. and confession."

"Goodness me.... To how many?"

"Many, Your Excellency. The register claims that amongst the thousands that work there, only 300 are Catholic. I know that number is not true. I helped the men hide their faith. They would sign in the register as Protestant and be assured that whenever they needed to confess or have spiritual support I would be there for them. They were able to earn their living, feed their families, and worship at the same time. It felt like quite a glorious coup."

His Excellency looked at Father Doon amazed. "How did you fit all this in around your Parish duties?"

"I gave up anything that wasn't necessary. Tea breaks, reading, letters. I have no trouble writing my sermons. Unlike some Priests, who need to stagger through lengthy texts to research their work, I relied on the time I spent with good Irish people for inspiration. My sermons practically wrote themselves."

Outside the confessional the first liturgy had begun.

"We should stop a moment Father Doon." His Excellency lowered his head to listen. Father Doon nodded, respectfully following.

The tonal voices of a large assembly of people chimed the words, "Lord hear our prayer."

Each of the men in the confessional crossed themselves and knelt to join in with the proceedings in the cathedral.

Head down, palms together, listening to the ebb and flow of the harmonious liturgy, His Excellency meditated on the sins of Father Doon.

Knelt on the other side of the partition was a man crippled by the love of others. This Priest had been foolish, arrogant, and proud, but these sins were born from an eager heart determined to help others lead the lives they hoped for. If only Father Doon had approached him for counsel. If only he had shared his burdens earlier, perhaps he could have been saved from ever having sinned at all.

As the prayer and liturgy concluded in the great hall outside, the congregation bustled in preparation for hymns and holy communion. His Excellency rose from his knees and sat back on the small wooden bench. "Tell me more Father Doon," he encouraged.

Father Joseph Doon remained on his knees, his head leaning against the partition wall, his breath had started to fall again in shudders.

"Father Doon," His Excellency spoke softly, "We have come so far. Please, continue your confession."

"Oh Your Excellency!" Father Doon began to sob. He curled himself tightly around his knees, as though trying to disappear into himself, and for a few seconds he rocked back and forth, self-nursing. Then, as though the motion had re-charged him he lifted his head and said "My sin until a few days ago was that I lied about who I was every day for months." He emitted a long, deep sigh. "Again, I justified the denial of my position with the fact that I was doing it for the greater good. I was supporting good Catholic families maintain their faith and feed their children. What I did was out of love. I was proud of my lie."

"Yes, Father Doon" His Excellency nodded. "Be assured that amongst your sins I can see the love."

Father Doon wept as he heard these words. Choking on his tears, he stammered his appreciation. "Thank you but I do not deserve any kindness. What I have done is unforgiveable." He sobbed again, fumbling as he tried to drag a handkerchief from his pocket. After a moment he continued. "A week before the Titanic left our shores the little consecrated space that I had established on her lower decks was discovered."

"Oh... goodness."

"Discovered, and completely desecrated. The wine that I had stored there had been flung all over the walls, and the communion bread... burned. Painted in large letters were the words "No Pope Here". Outside on the hull, as brazen as anything, the same words were daubed larger still "NO POPE HERE". It wasn't just the desecration either... one of the men who had helped me organise the space was beaten so ferociously that he remains in hospital to this day. I have taken it upon me to look after his whole family, otherwise they would be destitute."

"Oh my." The Lord Bishop put his hands to his mouth in horror. "That poor man.... his family... heaven have mercy..."

"Your Excellency." Father Joseph Doon lifted his bloodshot and tear-filled eyes to the small mesh window between them. "With the utmost respect, I still have not confessed my greatest sin."

His Excellency, despite the growing rumble of communion that was coming from outside the confession box, had nearly forgotten the circumstance of where he was, so washed away in the revelations of the story that Father Joseph Doon had brought him. "Oh Father... I sit here wondering now if this will be a sin at all."

"It is, Your Excellency. It most definitely is." Father Joseph Doon shook his head in sorrow, and tried to draw some breath from the now fuggy confessional air. "In my rage at the desecration... and I can assure you this rage was not a righteous rage... this was a rage full of hate. This was a rage surging with contempt and loaded with blind fury. How could they have done what they did Your Excellency? How could they have desecrated a House of God? Ours was a peaceful place of worship... small, unassuming... a sanctuary. It did not deserve to be destroyed so heinously. In my fury, Your Excellency, my capacity for forgiveness burned... and I turned my back on that ship yard.

Your Excellency, every ship that has ever sailed from that yard over the last ten years has been blessed by me. Every single one of them, except for that one. I could not bring myself to bless the Titanic. I felt a smite within me and I cursed that ship with all my heart for the hurt, for the desecration, for the fear, for the persecution, and for the torture that it had housed within its arrogant and greedy hull. It was not a Catholic ship. It was not going to have my blessing. It was not going to sail in the name of God. I willed, with all the wrath that I could muster, for it to sink."

Father Joseph Doon punched the partition wall in memory of the rage that he had felt on the day of the desecration. Then, juddering and whimpering with the hysteria of a small, inconsolable, child, he said , "Your Excellency, today.... this morning... I heard the news... The Titanic has sunk. Hundreds... hundreds of people are dead."

"Oh Dear Lord. Oh Dear Lord!" His Excellency fell to his knees. "Father Doon!"

The congregation outside, unaware of the tragedy of the great Titanic as it had not yet made its way to the news stands, started to sing the joyous verse of the hymn "Morning has Broken" in celebration of Spring.

Caged within the imploding confessional, His Excellency's heart crashed to the floor like a broken sack of marbles, racing away from him in all directions. Unable to reach his fallen Priest, he clasped his hands together, held them tight to his chest, and prayed in earnest... in desperation... for all the lost souls of the Titanic, for their families, for their friends, for all the souls of Belfast, and for the wretched, tortured soul, of Father Joseph Doon.

***

Author's note:

This story is a work of historical fiction that weaves together a number of myths and conspiracy theories from the building of the Titanic.

For example, the daubing of "No Pope Here" never happened. Rivets did not have the words "No Pope" stamped into them. Both however, are well known urban myths from Titanic Belfast.

It is true, that the unskilled Irish Catholics were not welcomed by the ship yards who favoured employing skilled Protestants in 1912. Those Catholics who did work there reported numerous accounts of bullying.

All characters described, or mentioned above, are fictional and based on no actual person or persons (although I should mention that my full name is Caroline Jane O'Hanlon - I added in a namesake - I am not 110+ years old!)

Thank you for reading.