My First Journey Home By Fr Tony Murphy, mhm
nd (60 years) Jubilee this year)
(Fr Tony is celebrating his Diamo
my time, the ten was reduced to eight. That was how it stood when I had set out in 1962. “So you’ll be away for 8 years!” the neighbours said, “Ah sure you won’t feel till you’re home again!” My father was not well at the time. Saying goodbye to him was the hardest thing in my life up till then. In the meantime, the age of airtravel had dawned. Suddenly home seemed nearer. A journey that previously took weeks, now took just a day. In 1967, the eightyear stay abroad was reduced to five, and that made me eligible to travel almost immediately. The realization that I was going home was slow sinking in. I had become acclimatized to the life and routine in Uganda! “You will find big changes in Ireland!” someone said.
r, Fr Sean, - also Mill Hill
Fr Tony (right) with his late brothe
It was mid-December 1967 and I was returning home after my first sojourn on the missions. I had been away for five years, but actually I hadn’t expected to be going home so soon. The question of the expected length of missionary journeys abroad had been under review for some time. In the very early days, Mill Hill missionaries left their homeland for life. There are records of tearful farewells as young men parted from their 12
families, never to see them again in this life. Mind you, the lives of those early missionaries were often sadly short. A large proportion of them soon fell victim to repeated attacks of malaria, before finally going down with “Black Water Fever.” From that most dreaded one, very few recovered. It was partly due to this alarming loss of life that missionaries were given the option of returning home every ten years. Then, shortly before Spring 2022
‘My bag was overweight’ There had been changes in Uganda too. At Entebbe airport, all the personnel were Ugandan, all smiling faces and cheerful welcomes. Nevertheless, when I approached the desk I saw immediately that air-travel had its set-backs: my bag was overweight! The sum I would have to pay for the few extra kilos seemed enormous, and I had practically nothing in my pocket. I stood there wondering what
to do. A very portly man arrived and went through. No problem at all with his baggage! He walked past me, his new shoes groaning under his weight. “Not fair at all!” I thought. Then suddenly a man in uniform appeared. “What’s the matter Father? Over-weight? Is this your bag? Let us have a look!” I opened it there on the ground. “What’s this? A book? Put it in your pocket! And what’s this? A trousers? But you’re already wearing one, so you don’t need this! And a shirt, the same!” A few minutes later my suitcase lay there looking sorry for itself, various belongings, even my tooth-brush, scattered around it. But my friend closed the lid and brought the depleted bag back to the scales. “You see, Father!” he said. “It is just the correct weight! Now we can put everything back again!” Together we re-packed the bag and we lifted it in, careful not to touch the scales this time! ‘I would be home for Christmas’ Then we were in the air, and at last the realization began to register. I was going home! My father would not be there … but my mother would be, and the family. And Christmas was near. I would be home for Christmas! Down below was the Sahara Desert. And there was the Nile like a great snake, cutting through
‘Down below was the Nile River like a great snake’ Spring 2022
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