My First Holy Communion

BY NOEL O’NEILL

Last Sunday the priest spoke slowly in an effort to make us all understand, but I had not eaten (as is customary before receiving communion) so I was hungry and only wished he would speak a little faster, just pick up the pace. After receiving the host, I walked from the altar, knelt in the pew, my eyes closed, my hands clasped, a silent prayer came from my lips. As the host slowly dissolved in my mouth, I remembered my first holy communion. My mind raced back to the 50’s in Cork where I previously had gone through the ritual at school of learning how to swallow a piece of wafer. Most of us chewed them so that we could get more, some choked and spit them out but the teacher grew wise and then impatient with us so we finally allowed the wafer to moisten and swallowed it.

The night before the big day I was scrubbed in the tin bath that used to hang on a hook in the back yard. It was brought in and laid out in front of the fireplace and filled with hot soapy water on Saturday nights. I was rubbed down roughly with a towel by me Dad like a fighter in the corner of a boxing ring, and sat in front of the flaming coal fire. Then as the night got old and the fire was going out, I was carried upstairs on me Dad’s shoulders, who reminded me in my prayers to pray for the dead… G’night Dad. The big day had arrived. No breakfast. I was to ‘fast’ before communion. I was dressed in a new suit, white shirt (washed in bleach with a starched collar by me Mam), shoes (polished to a brilliant shine by me Dad), a new tie, a medal pinned on me lapel like I was a soldier and of course, my catechism. The whole family went to the Mass as did others. The parents and grandparents all attended. As I walked up the aisle I could see their strong, swollen working hands joined together, their sad eyes gazing at the crucified Christ who died for all of our sins. I sat in silence with the other boys from my school dressed to the nines and girls in white dresses who looked like little brides. The priest spoke slowly. I remember me Mam telling me the reason he spoke so slowly was because he was caught by the Japanese during World War II and they cut the tip of his tongue off so that he couldn’t preach anymore. But the rumour among us boys was he liked the blood of Christ better than the body of Christ so he was pickled most of the time, “Through… Him… with… Him… in… Him... in... the... unity… of… the… Holy… Spirit... all… glory... and... honor... is... yours… almighty…Father… forever… and… ever…” we all responded “Amen”! I remember thinking, hurry up Father, please, I’m starvin’! There he stood now in front of me with the host in his hand whispering, “Body… of… Christ”. “Amen”. I closed my eyes as I received it. It tasted holy. I opened my eyes, walked back to my pew, genuflected and knelt down to say my prayers, licked the host off my palate and swallowed it. Jesus was inside me now. I felt holy. I think I understood what my teacher said about what communion meant. It was a communion between me and Jesus, but I remember sitting there in the front pew thinking, He had his last supper and I didn’t have my breakfast yet! The procession followed. From there I was led home and finally fed with a bib tied around my neck, “so you don’t get egg on your suit!” Then I was taken down to the Coal Quay where me Mam owned a laundry. I was told to sit behind the counter (still dressed in my communion suit), an odd sock hung on a nail above my head. The customers would come in for their laundry. Collars and cuffs, shirts, sheets, pillow cases, pressed trousers, curtains. They would smile at me and leave change on the counter as a reward for my first communion. Pennies, half-pennies, farthings, three-penny pieces, tanners, one man who smoked a pipe left a shilling! Me mam said, counting it all out when she closed up, “He’s a manager of a bank, lives alone poor soul.” But I couldn’t understand a poor soul giving away a shilling. Money all counted came to fifteen shillings and sixpence. I was given the sixpence. We stepped off the bus and walked the little way home. Me Mam said, “Well you had a grand day today. Confirmation now is next but you’ll be about twelve then…” and I distinctly remember thinking, if it’s the same priest I’ll be fourteen by the time he gets finished with the ceremony!

It was a communion between me and Jesus, but I remember sitting there in the front pew thinking, He had his last supper and I didn’t have my breakfast yet!