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Authors: Adrian D'Hagé
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mountain waters, swollen by the early rains, gurgled over the rocks.
‘Is there really gold in this river, Father?’ Tom asked excitedly, munching on a bread roll his mother had baked earlier that morning.
‘Bound to be.’
Tom helped Father Courtney unpack a shovel, a pick and two buckets to collect the gravel, a bright blue plastic dish fitted with a small screen and a strange ribbed oblong box about 5 feet long made out of lightweight aluminium.
‘What’s this, Father?’
‘A sluice. Give me a hand and we’ll set it up.’
Tom followed Father Courtney through the tumbling waters of the river to the opposite bank. This new priest, Tom thought, was really nice.
‘The gold is heavier than the gravel so it sinks to the bottom while the gravel runs over each of the riffles and back into the river.’ Father Courtney propped two large rocks on either side of the sluice to steady it, picked up the shovel and gave Tom the pick. Tom grinned and swung on the pick with gusto. They took it in turns to shovel and pick, and after ten minutes of hard digging both large buckets were full of gravel.
‘The most important thing is not to dump too much gravel into the top of the sieve, otherwise it will run out the other end taking the gold with it. You’ve always got to be able to see the tops of the riffles,’ Father Courtney explained, feeding the gravel slowly into the top end of the sluice. Tom watched as the gravel washed over the riffles, leaving the concentrate behind.
‘OK, Tom, now we get to see if we’re rich,’ Father Courtney said with a big smile, filling a pan with the black concentrate. Holding the pan just under the water, he shook it gently to get the lighter dirt to the surface and then swirled it over the lip. Suddenly a small flash of yellow appeared in the bottom of the pan.
‘Father! Look!’ Tom pointed. Father Courtney picked the small nugget out of the black sand. It was about the size of a pea, but as far as Tom was concerned it could have been the mother lode.
‘There you are, Tom. I told you we’d find gold here.’
It was the only ‘nugget’ of the day. After two more hours the pan yielded about half an ounce of gold flakes, which Father Courtney put into a small plastic cylinder. Tom couldn’t have been happier.
‘Can you drive, Tom?’ Father Courtney asked as he finished loading the car. Tom shook his head.
‘Well, get in this side and you can steer some of the way back.’ Father Courtney held the driver’s door open and Tom stepped onto the running board and slid under the white bakelite steering wheel with its shining chrome horn.
‘Nice car, Father.’
‘It is, isn’t it. Grab the wheel,’ he said, putting his arm around Tom. For about a mile they drove up from the riverbank, Tom grinning as he piloted the big car around the potholes and puddles.
‘If you like I’ll teach you to drive. I’m generally free after Mass on a Sunday.’
‘Thanks, Father. That would be terrific,’ Tom said, his eyes shining as Father Courtney took the wheel. His excitement turned to confusion when Father Courtney took one hand off the wheel and rubbed the inside of Tom’s thigh.
‘It’s a good thing to be close to your priest, Tom. God meant it to be this way.’
Father Courtney pulled Tom’s hand across and put it down the front of his trousers. It hadn’t occurred to Tom that Father Courtney might have loosened his black priest’s belt, or the fly on his black priestly trousers. Black. Priestly black. Sinister, evil black. Father Rory Courtney had planned the whole outing meticulously, right down to the loosening of his belt. A simple manoeuvre as Tom had turned his back and clambered excitedly into the car. Father Courtney’s timing was the result of years of practice. Each time there had been complaints and each time the Vatican had hushed them up and moved their priest to prey on another unsuspecting group of children. This was Father Courtney’s third parish in
‘Is there really gold in this river, Father?’ Tom asked excitedly, munching on a bread roll his mother had baked earlier that morning.
‘Bound to be.’
Tom helped Father Courtney unpack a shovel, a pick and two buckets to collect the gravel, a bright blue plastic dish fitted with a small screen and a strange ribbed oblong box about 5 feet long made out of lightweight aluminium.
‘What’s this, Father?’
‘A sluice. Give me a hand and we’ll set it up.’
Tom followed Father Courtney through the tumbling waters of the river to the opposite bank. This new priest, Tom thought, was really nice.
‘The gold is heavier than the gravel so it sinks to the bottom while the gravel runs over each of the riffles and back into the river.’ Father Courtney propped two large rocks on either side of the sluice to steady it, picked up the shovel and gave Tom the pick. Tom grinned and swung on the pick with gusto. They took it in turns to shovel and pick, and after ten minutes of hard digging both large buckets were full of gravel.
‘The most important thing is not to dump too much gravel into the top of the sieve, otherwise it will run out the other end taking the gold with it. You’ve always got to be able to see the tops of the riffles,’ Father Courtney explained, feeding the gravel slowly into the top end of the sluice. Tom watched as the gravel washed over the riffles, leaving the concentrate behind.
‘OK, Tom, now we get to see if we’re rich,’ Father Courtney said with a big smile, filling a pan with the black concentrate. Holding the pan just under the water, he shook it gently to get the lighter dirt to the surface and then swirled it over the lip. Suddenly a small flash of yellow appeared in the bottom of the pan.
‘Father! Look!’ Tom pointed. Father Courtney picked the small nugget out of the black sand. It was about the size of a pea, but as far as Tom was concerned it could have been the mother lode.
‘There you are, Tom. I told you we’d find gold here.’
It was the only ‘nugget’ of the day. After two more hours the pan yielded about half an ounce of gold flakes, which Father Courtney put into a small plastic cylinder. Tom couldn’t have been happier.
‘Can you drive, Tom?’ Father Courtney asked as he finished loading the car. Tom shook his head.
‘Well, get in this side and you can steer some of the way back.’ Father Courtney held the driver’s door open and Tom stepped onto the running board and slid under the white bakelite steering wheel with its shining chrome horn.
‘Nice car, Father.’
‘It is, isn’t it. Grab the wheel,’ he said, putting his arm around Tom. For about a mile they drove up from the riverbank, Tom grinning as he piloted the big car around the potholes and puddles.
‘If you like I’ll teach you to drive. I’m generally free after Mass on a Sunday.’
‘Thanks, Father. That would be terrific,’ Tom said, his eyes shining as Father Courtney took the wheel. His excitement turned to confusion when Father Courtney took one hand off the wheel and rubbed the inside of Tom’s thigh.
‘It’s a good thing to be close to your priest, Tom. God meant it to be this way.’
Father Courtney pulled Tom’s hand across and put it down the front of his trousers. It hadn’t occurred to Tom that Father Courtney might have loosened his black priest’s belt, or the fly on his black priestly trousers. Black. Priestly black. Sinister, evil black. Father Rory Courtney had planned the whole outing meticulously, right down to the loosening of his belt. A simple manoeuvre as Tom had turned his back and clambered excitedly into the car. Father Courtney’s timing was the result of years of practice. Each time there had been complaints and each time the Vatican had hushed them up and moved their priest to prey on another unsuspecting group of children. This was Father Courtney’s third parish in
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