A Devil of a Day

Fr Steve Gilhooley

A Devil of a Day by Father Steve Gilhooley

Sunday sermon over, Baptisms done and dusted, I retired to a local drinking consultants in order to quench the fire and brimstone.

I sported a cropped haircut, Billy Connolly T-Shirt, jeans and Doc Martens. My mate, Harry, having just finished his employment, wore a suit. The new owners of the Bar didn't allow swearing so we decided to leave to seek out a less "Christian" pub.

We wandered into The Woodhall Arms. I had heard of George, the ex-footballer proprietor and I assumed that had heard of me. We had never met though.

The locals nudged George and whispered, "That's the priest!" George duly breezed over, extended a hospitable hand saying, "Heard a lot about you, Father Steve" and proceeded to shake hands with....Harry. Harry politely informed him that I was the anointed one. "Whit?" George cried, "I had him doon as a Brickie!"

We sat down with George and it wasn't long before he popped the question, "Tell me, Father, dae ye dae exercises?" Perplexed at his enquiry I informed him that I attended the gym three times a week. "Naw", he laughed, "EXERCISES! Gettin rid o' ghosts." I kept a straight face and told him that I did them all the time. In fact, I had never performed an exorcism in my life.

He explained that his other pub in Leith was haunted and that the bar staff would not go down to the cellar. He invited me to go with him to "do the business" as he put it.

We arrived and slowly made our way down the winding stairs. The temperature dropped noticeably as we descended. It was so chilly I could actually see my own breath. George fiddled with a set of keys and eventually wrestled the huge oak door open. He tugged on a frayed piece of string and a very dull light bulb fought a losing battle against the darkness in the windowless room.

I stood completely still in the middle of the cellar then slowly extended my arms. George whispered, "Have you started yet?" "No" I whispered back feigning irritation at his interruption, "I'm just sussing out who's here....or what's here."

"Okay, are you ready, George?" He nodded his head, gulped nervously and stepped back to the perceived safety of the doorway. God and George only know what he was expecting to unfold. Summoning up all my earthly powers I shouted, "Ghosts....Bugger off!"

George looked shocked and stunned and said disappointedly, "Is that it? I thought ye were supposed tae say something holy."

"Okay" I obliged, "Ghosts, bugger off, Amen."

With that, I about turned and headed back up the stairs.

George locked the door and followed at my heels, "Are you sure you're no a Brickie?"

Back at the bar he poured me a Brandy to calm his nerves. I sunk it in a one-er to which he complained, "Aye, ye got got rid o' that spirit quickly enough!!"