Born: 24 February 1906, Taieri, Otago, New Zealand
Entered: 04 March 1924, Loyola Greenwich, Australia (HIB)
Ordained: 12 August 1934
Final Vows: 10 March 1942
Died: 03 September 1959, St Patrick’s Mission, Barrow (Utqiagvik), Alaska, USA - Oregonensis Province (ORE)

Transcribed HIB to CAL : 1929; CAL to ORE

by 1928 at Eegenhoven, Leuven Belgium (BELG) studying

◆ David Strong SJ “The Australian Dictionary of Jesuit Biography 1848-2015”, 2nd Edition, Halstead Press, Ultimo NSW, Australia, 2017 - ISBN : 9781925043280
His grandfather was deported from Ireland to Australia for some act of patriotism. His secondary education was with the Christian Brothers at Dunedin, New Zealand before he Entered the Society in Australia at Loyola Greenwich, 1924.

1926-1927 He was sent to Rathfarnham Castle Dublin for a Juniorate
1927-1930 He was sent for Philosophy to Eegenhoven Belgium and Spokane Washington, USA. During his third year of Philosophy he was transcribed to the Oregon Province (ORE) having volunteered for the Alaska Mission. At Spokane he was known as a quiet and hardworking student with a fine mind, who never seemed to get tired. He was fiercely competitive at sports and the best soccer player among the scholastics.
1930-1931 He was sent to Kashunak School, Holy Cross, Alaska for Regency
1931-1934 He went to Montreal Quebec, Canada for Theology
1934-1935 He made Tertianship at Mont-Laurier Quebec, Canada
1935-1936 He began his missionary work at Nome Alaska
1936-1944 He was sent to work at Little Diomede Island Alaska. He became a US citizen 01 October 1941.
1944-1946 He was a Military Chaplain with the US Army, during which time he visited Australia and the Pacific region, which included New Caledonia, Manila, Honolulu, Guam and Japan. He even spent four months in Korea in 1946
1946-1947 After the war he returned to Little Diomede Island
1947-1950 He was sent to work with the Eskimos at King Island Alaska. Here he taught school at the Bureau of Indian Affairs, as well as catechising, visiting the sick and sharing in village life. This included joining the local men hunting.
1950-1952 He became a Chaplain with the Air Force, spending much of his time teaching Arctic survival to servicemen.
1952-1953 He spent a year as a missionary at Kotzebue (Qikiqtaġruk) Alaska
1953 He moved further north in Alaska to Point Barrow (Nuvuk). Using this as a base, he went on long dog-sled journeys across the world’s last frontier, seeking Eskimo souls for Christ and working with white Catholics in Point Barrow (Nuvuk), construction workers, military personnel, people connected with the school, the hospital, the US Weather Bureau and the Civil Aeronautics Administration. He also ministered to the men working on the “Distant Early Warning” radar sites.

His life in Alaska was a saga of heroic deeds. he once saved a village from starving by personally conducting a hunt on the Arctic Ocean during very severe weather. His trained eye picked out the ice floe that was to be the home of scientists and airmen for eighteen months during the “International Geophysical Year” of 1957. This project was known as “Operation Ice Skate” and was completed under the guidance of Thomas Cunningham.

His “Parish” had been the 150,000 cold square miles of Alaska above the Arctic Circle. His parishioners were anyone he met. For a quarter of a century he laughed at Arctic dangers, survived pneumonia - which he caught while cruising the icy Bering Sea in a leaky sealskin boat. He leapt down an icy cliff and jumped to safety from ice cake to floating ice cake as Soviet officials sought to take him captive when his boat had been blown into Big Diomede Island (Gvozdev) during an Arctic storm. He mushed through winter blizzards that had kept even the Eskimos indoors, travelling on one missionary journey for 2,500 miles behind dogs.

His deeds in the Arctic became legendary and were told and retold wherever Eskimo or white men gathered along the Arctic coast or north of the glacier-packed Brooks Mountain range.

He learned the Eskimo language during his early Alaskan years, and spoke it with a fluency that amazed the natives. He was a scholar, who compiled an Eskimo dictionary of over 7,000 words and their English equivalents. He could look at an ice flow and tell the age of the ice, and accurately guess its depth and longevity. He knew more of the traditions, legends and anthropological lore of the Eskimo than anyone else in the north. He held a Major’s commission in the Air Force and had received a commendation-of-merit ribbon from the Secretary of the US Air Force.

He was a very cheerful person, very pro Irish and anti British, and a marvellous raconteur. He was small in stature, but very strong. He said he chose the Alaskan Mission because it was cold like his native place in New Zealand. He died in his Rectory cabin at Point Barrow (Nuvuk) from a heart attack. The US Air Force flew his body from there to Fairbanks, and he was buried there with full military honours and a 15-gun salute.

He was a remarkable Jesuit, described by a fellow missionary as “one of the most loved, versatile and dynamic missionaries ever to serve the Alaska Missions”. He was recorded in the “Congressional Records” as “a noble and gallant figure, a devoted servant of God and his fellow men”. Both “Time” and “Newsweek” magazines noted his passing.

cf “Memoirs of a Yukon Priest”Segundo Llorente SJ, Georgetown University Press, Washington DC 1990 - ISBN 10: 0878403615

◆ Irish Province News

Irish Province News 6th Year No 2 1931
Alaska :
Mr Tom Cunningham has already been doing excellent work in Alaska. He will be most likely prefect and principal of a school next year.
Irish Province News 8th Year No 2 1933
Montreal
A great many of us remember Mr. Tom Cunningham, an Australian, who finished his juniorate at Rathfarnharn in 1927. He volunteered for the Alaskan mission, and at the end of philosophy was sent to the far north. He is now doing 2nd Year Theol. at the “Immaculate” Montreal. He sends an interesting letter :
It will be no time 'till I find myself back in Alaska for a life sentence, and the moment cannot come too quickly for me. It is true that life in Alaska is hard. You are lonely and cold, the food is of the crudest kind, the silence of the Arctic winter nearly drives you crazy, and you begin to wonder sometimes if you will ever see the sun again, or get a letter from home.
But it has its compensations. There is a sort of mysterious something about the Yukon that gets a grip on you, and makes you wish to be there rather than any place else. It must be the grace of God. I know that I wouldn't stay in Alaska one day if it were not for a supernatural motive.

Irish Province News 12th Year No 2 1937
ALASKA :
The following letter is from Father T. Cunningham who was a Junior at Rathfarnham in the year 1926-27. Shortly afterwards he joined the California Province in the hope of being sent to the Alaska mission. He now belongs to the Oregon Province, and when his theology at the Immaculate Conception, Montreal, was finished his hopes were realized, and he was sent to Alaska, the land his heart desired. Our regret is that limited space prevents our giving the entire letter, but the parts we are enabled to give are decidedly interesting. The letter is an answer to one received from a Jesuit friend.
“When your letter arrived the spirit was low. I don't mean low in the wrong sense of the word, but that lowness that comes from a long, miserable, cold winter, with always a couple more months to go, and a lowness that is increased by had grub, hard work and loneliness.
Much to my astonishment I was assigned on my return to Alaska to Nome. (Father Cunningham had spent some time in Alaska before his theology.) Nome has a reputation of wrecking havoc in the minds and bodies of the clergy. Of my predecessors one went completely mad, one froze to death, three lasted a year and then had to leave through ill health. I have been here since September, 1935, alone, and believe me it's no picnic. I have been to confession once since then when I went fifty miles out of my way to call on my neighbor in Kotzebue 200 miles north of here.
When I saw what I was up against I drew up a schedule to be followed as closely as possible here and when travelling. The day was divided from 5 a.rm. to 10.30 p.m. between prayer, study teaching catechism and manual labor, in such a way that I didn't have time to sit down and feel sorry for myself.
Outside of Nome the work was fine. My territory stretches as far north as the Noatak River, well within the Arctic Circle, and as far west as Cape Prince of Wales, the most westerly point on the Continent. I got over the whole district twice and my procedure was always the same, study of the various changes of dialect in each village, and teaching catechism to the children in the afternoon and to the adults at night. In between times, when I had the dishes washed, dogs fed, and the wood chopped against the next morning, I would do what I could towards easing the various bodily ailments to which the Eskimo is prone. I relied as often as not on the grace of God as on my own medical knowledge. Anyhow I produced some surprising results, and didn't kill anyone.
The winter was moderate. The coldest around here was 70 below zero, but only for a day or so. There was a seven weeks spell of minus 50 during March and April. The coldest I experienced when travelling was 58 below zero. That was too cold to travel but I didn't want to spend the night in the open. I came through the winter with only feet frozen twice, and frost-bitten hands and nose every other week, nothing serious, only inconvenient. It is really hard to describe the cold and the famous north Wind which makes it much worse.
Now we are enjoying what is rightly called Little Winter or that period of two months or so between the end and beginning of the Big Winter. We had five beautiful days early this month (July), but most of the time it's a cold damp atmosphere with an occasional frost and snow flurry. It did clear up enough to see the Midnight Sun on two occasions.
I have made satisfactory progress in the language, and can preach, hear confessions, teach catechism without much difficulty, and I hope to know it as well as possible in two more years. There are no books on the subject, and most of all I know I had to find out just by asking around.
The language has one big rule turn everything possible into a verb. Thus, “I didn't eat all day” is “I dayed without eating” - “Oubluzunga herrinanga”. They have no generic words, for the six kinds of foxes, they have six different words.
The method of counting is queer but logical. They count to twenty, as that is as far as the fingers and toes go. Then they multiply and add till they reach a hundred. 67 would be 20 by 3 plus 7.
Now, my status for next year. I have been billed to found a new mission on Little Diomede Island, in the Bering Sea, near Siberia. I shall be the first priest to winter there, and, as far as I know, the only white man. I go there in September (1936), and will have no communication with the mainland from October till the following July, when the ice begins to break up. Someone has to go there as it is a good place in case we can ever work on the Eskimos in Russia. The address will be : Ignalit - Diomede Island, via Nome. Alaska.
I would take it as a favour if you gave this letter to the Editor of the Province News, as I like to think that all my old Irish friends have not completely deserted me simply because I turned Eskimo.
We haven't enough men here. We cannot do half enough. I have at least six native villages to attend to outside Nome, and a fellow can be only in one place at a time, and dogs go only an average of six miles an hour, and that's good going. I was lucky to get all around twice.
Give my regards to all my old co-juniors,
Sincerely,
TOM CUNNINGHAM, SJ”

Irish Province News 23rd Year No 3 1948
Letter from Fr. Tom Cunningham, King Island, Alaska :
“... A plane flew over this island last week and dropped some mail - a most pleasant surprise. This mail had been accumulating at Nome since last September and it contained two 1947 copies of the Irish Province News. Though it is a long time since 1929, the names of the older members of the Province are still very fresh in the memory.
If you know of any budding missionaries who wish to come out here, tell them from me that they need only one quality above other missionary requirements, viz. the desire and the ability to learn the Eskimo language, which I am convinced is the hardest language imaginable. I don't know though - a few years ago I came across a tribe in Liberia, who were Eskimo in every respect except language. Their language was very simple and after less than a month's association with them, I could get along fairly well. If a future missionary can grasp a language, he has overcome the most difficult part of the Alaska Missions. The weather, travel, terrain, etc. can be handled easily.
If you don't mind, let me bring you up to date on my personal activities. I was on Diomede Island from 1936 to 1940, when I then went to tertianship. Back again on Diomede till 1942 when the war had upset everything. There were soldiers all over Alaska except on these remote islands. I worked with the army quite a lot as adviser on Arctic conditions and spent some time training Arctic Search and Rescue Crews on the Alaska Liberia Wing of the Ferrying Command. Thousands of planes went through Alaska to the European Front. Americans would fly them to Alaska and the Russian pilots would take over there.
In 1944 I was commissioned in the Chaplain's Corps and sent to the S. W. Pacific, being on Hawaii, Guam, Saipan, Manila and eventually Tokyo and Korea. I was released from the army and went to Lewis Washington in September, 1946 and arrived back at Nome two weeks later. I spent last winter between two Missions on the mainland and from January to June, I was on Diomede Island,
Last summer, Fr. Lafortune, the priest who built the Mission on this island died, and King Island was added to the territory which I already had. My Present Parish is composed of King Island and Diomede Island in the Baring Straits and Teller and the village of Igloo on the Mainland. The latter three are accessible during the winter, but once on the island you must stay put till the ice goes.
My plans now are to alternate between one winter here and one divided between Diomede, Teller and Igloo. The population here is 198, all Catholics. Diomede has 94 of whom 86 are Catholics. Teller has 35 Catholics out of 150 and Iglo has 48 people, all Catholics. The distances between are considerable : Teller to Igloo 50 miles, Teller to Diomede 98 miles and Teller to here 40 miles. Teller is a sort of Headquarters. There are two stores there. I built the Chapels at Diomede, Teller and Igloo. This island and its buildings, I have inherited so to speak; a fine Church, nice living quarters and the most fervent congregation I have ever come across. There are at least 25 Communions daily and over 100 on Sundays.
I have been assigned considerable territory as you see, but except for Igloo it's much the same language and I happen to be the only one who knows it. The language will be necessary for at least two more generations. Here I am the only White, so the White population always sees eye to eye in Religion, recreation, politics and is a staunch follower of De Valera.
I have a Radio and get good reception on an average of once a week, so I don't know much about the outside. The programme except for the excellent News broadcasts are poor. The only station I can hear is an Army station at Los Angeles. Even the news, the odd time I hear it, is not very reassuring.
Life here is tranquil. The island is about one mile and a half in circumference, rising abruptly out of the ice. The village is an in credibly steep rocky slope, at least a 60° incline. It is quite an art to manoeuvre around the village. The only way that I can make it when taking Holy Communion to the sick on dark mornings is to tie a rope. around one of the Church supports and hang on. The Eskimos pick out the darndest places to live.
The living is made entirely off the ice and it takes rugged characters to survive. The weather is not too severe. Our coldest day so far was 44 degrees below zero, with a wind of 45 miles per hour.
My day starts at 5 am. and goes on till 10.30 p.m. There are four Catechism classes per day for the children and one in the evening for adults. On Wednesday and Saturday, I hunt in the afternoons, as I. need to eat too. All hunting is done on moving ice and it is sometimes dangerous and always cold and miserable. I take care of my own cooking, washing and house-keeping, so I really have not time to feel sorry for myself. Still, the hardest chore for me is making altar-breads. The iron must be hot, but not too hot and not too cold, and the dough not too thick and not too thin. A sort of equation with four unknowns. All in all it's a busy and I hope, a useful life.
St. Patrick's Day is coming and I have a sermon all ready for Benediction on Wednesday night. Can't help thinking of the days at Eegenhoven when March 17th was the big day and the Belgians and the Englishmen envied us. I understand our old home was pretty well blown up. I wonder what happened to all the friends we had there.
While in Korea, I had hopes of going as far as Hong Kong but I didn't get beyond Shanghai and I was there for only one night. There was an Irish Sister from Roscommon in Seoul, Korea in charge of an Orphanage and every other American soldier was helping her with stuff for her fold. While in Tokyo I heard that Fr. M. Bodkin was chaplain on a British aircraft carrier but I just couldn't visit him.....”

Irish Province News 35th Year No 1 1960
Obituary :
Fr Thomas Cunningham (1906-1959)
(From the Oregon- Jesuit, October 1959)

The frozen frontier of the Alaska Mission lost its restless “Father Tom” on 3rd September, 1959, when Rev. Thomas Patrick Cunningham, S.J. died of a heart attack in his rectory cabin at Point Barrow, Alaska.
His parish had been the 150,000 cold square miles of Alaska that lie above the Arctic Circle. His parishioners were anyone he met.
For a quarter of a century Fr. Tom had laughed at Arctic dangers. He had survived pneumonia, caught while cruising the icy Bering Sea in a leaky sealskin boat. He had leaped down an icy cliff and jumped to safety from ice cake to floating ice cake, as Soviet officials sought to take him captive, when his boat had been blown in to Big Diomede Island during an Arctic storm. He had mushed safely through winter blizzards that had kept even the Eskimos indoors, travelling on one missionary journey 2,500 miles behind his dogs. His deeds in the Arctic had become legend and were told and retold wherever Eskimo or white man gathered along the Arctic coast or north of the glacier-packed Brooks mountain range. His death was as Fr. Tom would have chosen, a quiet going to eternal sleep as he began another exhausting day.
When Fr. Thomas P. Cunningham joined our philosophy classes at Mount St. Michael's, Spokane, WA., in 1929, we knew him as a quiet, hard-working student with a brilliant mind, who never seemed to get tired. He was fiercely competitive in sports and the best soccer player any of us had ever faced. He had grown up in New Zealand where, on 24th February, 1906, he had been born on a farm near Taieri. He talked little of himself, but in defending some political figure in Ireland, he once said that his grandfather had been deported by England to Australia for some act of Irish patriotism.
Fr. Cunningham travelled a roundabout route to his Alaska mission, High school was spent with the Christian Brothers at Dunedin, New Zealand. He entered the Irish Province of the Society of Jesus at Sydney, Australia, 24th March, 1924. He spent his Juniorate at Rathfarnham, Ireland, his philosophy years at Louvain, Belgium, and Mt. St. Michael's, Spokane. He taught school at Holy Cross, Alaska, 1930-31, before entering theology studies at Montreal, Canada. He was ordained 12th August, 1934, at Loyola College, Montreal, and made his tertianship at Mount Laurier, Quebec, Canada. In 1935 he began his missionary work at Nome, Alaska, and the following year went to Diomede Island for a three-year stay.
Giving a chronological account of Fr. Cunningham's work in Alaska tells so little of what he did. Except for his year out for tertianship, he was at Diomede Island from 1936-44. From 1944-46 he was chaplain with the U.S. army. After another year at Diomede Island, he spent three years as missioner to the Eskimos at King Island. From 1950-52 he was chaplain with the air-force, spending much of his time teaching Arctic survival to service-men. After a year as missionary to Kotzbue, he moved north to Point Barrow, Alaska's northernmost tip and, from there, went on long dog-sled missionary journeys across the world's last frontier, seeking Eskimo souls for Christ.

Many Acts of Heroism
Fr. Cunningham's life in Alaska was a saga of heroic deeds. He once saved a village from starving by personally conducting a hunt on the Arctic Ocean during very severe weather. His trained eye picked out the ice floe which was to be the home of scientists and airmen for 18 months during the Geophysical Year. The project, known as “Operation Ice Skate”, was completed under his guidance. He was first ashore on the ice island and last to leave when it broke up. He foretold that the ice island would break twice during their stay and guessed within a week of when each break-up would occur. No life was ever lost in any of the air-force or scientific operations which he supervised.

A Skilled Scientist
Fr. Cunningham learned the Eskimo language in his early Alaskan years and spoke it with a fluency that amazed the natives. He was a scholar who compiled an Eskimo dictionary of over 7,000 words and their English equivalents. He could look at an ice floe and tell the age of the ice and accurately guess its depth and longevity. He knew more of the traditions, legends and anthropological lore of the Eskimo than anyone else in the north. He held a Major's Commission in the Air Force Reserve and had received a commendation-of-merit from the Secretary of the U.S. Air Force.
Fr. Cunningham's body was flown by the U.S. Air Force from Point Barrow to Fairbanks and buried there on 8th September with full military honours and a fifteen-gun salute by the Air Force of Ladd Field. Bishop Francis D. Gleeson, S.J. said the Mass in the presence of twenty missionaries from all over Alaska and innumerable friends from the military, civilians and Fr. Tom's beloved Eskimos.
Erwin J. Toner, S.J.

Born: 09 January 1908, Sheffield, Yorkshire, England
Entered: 07 September 1927 - Angliae Province (ANG)
Ordained: 1947, Rome, Italy
Final Vows: 05 May 1944
Died: 30 May 1951, St Vincent's Hospital, Dublin, Ireland - Angliae Province (ANG)

Part of the Rathfarnham Castle, Dublin community at the time of death

◆ Irish Province News

Irish Province News 26th Year No 3 1951

Obituary :

Died May 30th, 1951 of heart trouble in the Leeson Hospital in Dublin.
Fr. Henry Milner, or Fr. John as the Russians called him, was the youngest son of a big Yorkshire Catholic family. One of his brothers entered the Vincentians and went to China, where he was accidentally drowned near Peking just before the war. Henry and his brother Edward studied at Osterley and entered the Society, but Edward had to leave during Philosophy for reasons of health. Fr. Henry entered the novitiate at Roehampton on September 7th, 1927. Previous to going to Osterley he had earned his living as a carpenter and packer, and both these acquisitions proved most useful to him in later life. His third year of Philosophy was spent at Jersey, and it was during this time that he was accepted for the Russian Mission. In 1934 he went to Rome for Theology with a group of others from various Provinces studying for that Mission. Of those who were with him four are now dead, but Fr, Milner is the only one who died in more or less normal circumstances. His great friend Fr. Walter Ciszek of the Maryland Province died heroically on his way back from Siberia with a group of his parishioners at the end of the war. Another was gassed in Buchenwald. A third was killed on the Soviet frontier. The fourth is presumed dead in Russia. Another companion is probably still alive in a Soviet prison camp.
After his Theology in 1938 he spent a year doing special studies at the Russian College in Rome, and then was sent to a Russian parish at Esna in Estonia. He had not been there long when the Soviet troops entered the country and the British consul ordered all Britishers to leave the country. The only possible route was through Russia, so he joined a group which went to Moscow and down to the Black Sea and eventually to Palestine. Here he stopped to find out the wishes of superiors, suggesting that he might enlist as an army chaplain. Orders came from Rome that he should make his way to Shanghai and join Fr. Wilcock and make his Tertianship. After many adventures he managed to get to Bombay and board a Japanese ship which took him to Shanghai.
Although it was already January, 1941, and the Tertians had long ago finished the Long Retreat, superiors decided he should join them at Wubu and make his Long Retreat alone. When he returned to Shanghai in July, the building of St. Michael's College was well under way, and his experience as a carpenter and general constructor proved most valuable. He kept a vigilant eye on the contractor and his work men, who were amazed (and dismayed) to find that the Padre knew more about their jobs than they did. He would not allow any slipshod work. He himself made the altar and other things for the oriental rite chapel. There seemed to be nothing that he could not make or repair. His room was always like a workshop. Things awaiting repair were piled up everywhere which made it look rather untidy. Once when Admiral Boyd visited him he burst out laughing at the sight of the room and said he would like to get Fr. Milner for a time on board a navy ship to train him how to keep things stored tidily in a minimum of space.
When the College opened in January, 1942, there were only three Fathers, so Fr. Milner was Prefect of Studies, Minister, Procurator, full time teacher, Infirmarian, Chaplain of the nuns and doing a hundred other jobs. I have never met a man who could do so much work and seem to enjoy every moment of it. He was always cheerful and cheering up others. He had an inexhaustible fund of jokes and anecdotes, and certainly knew how to tell a good story. Often visitors would come to the College in a hurry on business, intending to stay just a few minutes, but once they got talking to him they simply could not tear themselves away. Up to five minutes before his death he was amusing the nurses with some of his wonderful stories about China.
In 1943 the Japanese put all our community into concentration camps, so Fr. Milner was sent first to Yanchow and then later to Ash camp in Shanghai. Those who were with him tell how he was the most popular man in the camps. They tried to get him to become the official representative of the camps to the Japanese, but he wisely refused. It was the strain of these two and a half years in camps which presumably caused the heart trouble which resulted in his death.
At the end of the war he took up again his old work at the College. He noticed that he had frequent light pains in his chest, but the doctors thought it was caused by stomach trouble. He took some stomach pills and carried on hiş heavy programme of work, always cheerful and never complaining. It was only in 1948, when he went to hospital on account of his pains, that the heart trouble was recognised. He was still there under treatment when the communist troops approached Shanghai. In May, 1949 superiors decided that he had better be evacuated, so he was sent with Fr. Brannigan on one of the last planes to Hong Kong. He was in hospital there for three weeks and then went by ship to England and eventually to Rathfarnham Castle in Dublin. The Columban Sisters in Ireland were training some of their Sisters for Russian work, and they had asked to have Fr. Milner near to advise them. Apart from that he was supposed to rest and recuperate, ready to join the other Fathers in the new work in America. Typical of him was that he could not just sit in his room and rest. He decided to print some badly needed music of the Russian rite, so he copied out about 600 pages by hand and had them lithographed. As a relaxation from writing music he translated from the Italian the latest book on the oriental rites, over 800 pages, helped some Russian D.P.s and did many other things for the Russian work. In his last letter to me he wrote that the music and the book were nearly finished and he could not bear the thought of having nothing to do. He had hopes that he would soon be well enough to travel to New York and help in the new Russian Centre. His health seemed to be improving, but suddenly on May 30th he had a sudden severe attack and died within five minutes.
The character of Fr. Milner is best summed up by the following incident. When plans were made for our Russian Centre in New York, Fr. General decided to put off Fr. Milner's appointment to it, for reasons of health. I consulted the other Fathers of the community and they all agreed that we should propose to Fr. General that we wanted to have Fr. Milner with us even though he were to spend the rest of his life in bed. His mere presence in the house would greatly help the morale of the community. It had become natural to us to take our problems to Fr. Milner and his solid Yorkshire common sense and good judgment usually solved them. His cheerfulness, piety, humility, devotion to the Russian work and simple obedience made his presence invaluable. He was one of the first to enter the Russian rite, at a time when it was all new and there were many serious questions as to how far we Jesuits. could adapt themselves to such a big change. We were required to drop all the customary devotional practices of the Society and take on new ones without changing our spirit. It required great adaptability and sound judgment concerning what are accidentals and what essentials, and a genuine indifference even in the intimate expressions of one's spiritual life. It was here that Fr. Milner excelled. He took no half measures and really adapted himself to the Russian customs. It is not surprising that all the Russians loved him and considered him one of themselves. One of his Shanghai companions writes: “His death is a grave loss. Fr. John was one of the most universally liked men I have ever known a wonderful personality.an endless store of energy and a tireless worker”. The Sisters of St. Columban write : “He was a model of cheerfulness. The two and a half years of invalid life must have been very trying, but he never complained. He was entirely given to souls, and his generosity combined with humility and true priestliness will always be an enduring inspiration to us”.
F Wilcock SJ, 12th June 1950

Born: 28 January 1845, Königssteele (Steele), Westfalen, Germany
Entered: 28 September 1862, Friedrichsburg Germany - Germaniae Inferioris Province (GER I)
Ordained: 1877
Final Vows: 02 February 1879
Died 31 October 1937, Marienhospital, Aachen, Germany - Germaniae Inferioris Province (GER I)

part of the Valkenburg, Netherlands community at the time of death

Came to HIB to teach at Tullabeg 1877-1889

◆ Irish Province News
Irish Province News 13th Year No 1 1938
Father Charles Wisthoff :
A few members of the Irish Province are still alive who remember Father Wisthoff and the excellent work he did in Ireland from 1877 to 1888. They will be glad to hear that on the 28th of last September he celebrated the 75th anniversary of his entrance into the Society.
Unfortunately the celebration had to take place in the hospital at Aachen, where he could get the care necessary for his age. Still his joy and gratitude were so great that he forgot the age. It was his greatest pleasure to go to the Altar as an act of thanksgiving. On the previous day he frequently held up his hands and sang a Gloria in Excelsis.
The Ordinary of Aachen had given leave for Mass to be celebrated in his room, so the Sisters had decorated a large room, and there our Fathers assembled in the early morning. During the Mass the Sisters sang beautifully. After the Holy Sacrifice, all, both Ours and the Nuns, gathered round the bed of the jubilarian. Rev Father Superior congratulated him in the name of the Society, and a theologian in the name of Valkenburg, to which House Father Wisthoff belonged. Very Rev. Father Assistant had written his congratulations, and Very Rev Father General had sent to the Jubilarian 75 Masses. The old man of 93 expressed his gratitude and then gave his blessing to all present.
Meantime the Nuns had prepared a table in the background, the bed was moved over to it, and Father Wisthoff and his guests celebrated the jubilee. He was very lively and cheerful, relating many anecdotes full of joke and humour.
In the course of the morning, a Father came from St, Ignatius College with special congratulations, and about midday a messenger brought a telegram from His Eminence, the Cardinal Secretary of State, announcing the special blessing of the Holy Father.

Since the above was written, the sad news has come of Father Wisthoff's death at Valkenburg. He was born on 28th January, 1845, entered the Society 28th September, 1862 , died 3Ist October 1937. RIP

◆ The Clongownian, 1920

The Laying Down of the Higher Line Cricket Ground

An Account by Father Karl Wisthoff SJ

Father H Fegan Higher Line Prefect at Clongowes after the Amalgamation, found it desirable to enlarge the cricket field. As there were no men amongst the labourers at Clongowes who could carry out this work, he summoned from Tullabeg the famous Brian Spollen,

Before the Amalgamation there were only a few plots laid out for matches, the rest of the lawn having a rough surface. That part of the lawn where the old elm stands* was higher than the rest, its elevation being indicated by the grass bank that surrounds the elm. The higher ground extended about eight or ten yards towards the middle of the lawn sloping down to it along the entire length of the field.

Work was commenced near the tree. From there towards the middle and down to the end of the present cricket ground, the sods were cut in sizes of one to two feet. They were then raised and carted to the grass-land outside the cricket ground. This done, the soil was taken out and heaped before the pile of sods. When the bed of gravel was thus laid bare it was picked loose and wheeled to the lower ground. When at last the two portions had been made level, fresh earth was spread evenly over the newly made gravel bed. The sods were next laid down; well-sifted earth was spread over them and harrowed backwards and forwards to get the earth well into the divisions between the sods, facilitating thereby their knitting into one unbroken surface.
As soon as the grounds were dry, Fr. Fegan saw to the rolling and cutting of the grass. To his ceaseless care it is due that the grounds improved every day, and were in tip-top order when the first eleven of the amalgamated Colleges came to play their first outmatch.

C Wisthoff SJ

*The elm referred to stood near the track between the Third Line Cricket pitch (as it is now) and the Third Line Rugby posts. The green box in which the gamekeepers keep their gear is practically on the site of the old tree. There was a mound about three leet high around the elm; but · this mound was removed when the tree was blown down in the great storm of 1903.

-oOo-

“The Boss”

by Jack Meldon

It is a long span since I said good-bye in the wooden gallery to Fr Wisthoff when starting for the Summer holidays from Tullabeg in 1886. The last conversation I had with him was about the new Cricket ground which he expected, and I agreed, would produce the best wicket in the British Isles.

He had helped me to organise a holiday cricket team styled “Tullabeg and Clongowes United” (note precedence of Tullabeg). I was to obtain fixtures with Co Westmeath CC at Mullingar en route, Phoeix CC, Leinster CC, and Dublin University Long Vacation CC; and we played all these Clubs in Dublin during the following week.

It was the first time the two Colleges had combined in anything, and I mention it as a curious coincidence that Fr Wisthoff and I who engineered this first amalgamation were, perhaps, the two people in the world to whom the real amalgamation, a few weeks later, came as the greatest trial and disappointment.

I am looking at the photograph of the team hanging on my study wall as I write. One or two are missing from the group, but the names of the full team were - Hugh Kennedy, Jack Maunsell, Alfred Kelly, Peter Carthy, Joe Gaffney, Bob Cruise, Dan Molony, and myself (Tullabeg); Finn Meldon, Peter Touhy, D Fitzpatrick, Julius Ferguson (Clongowes).

To say that the new cricket ground at Tullabeg was the Boss's hobby does not describe the situation - he was wrapped-up in it. He spent every moment of his leisure time at it, and one could tell at once by his mien if Brian Spollen, the one-eyed donkey man, had been “playing the ass” and mixing up the levels, as he was apt to do after a pay day carouse in the Rahan village “pub”.

But the earnestness and determination of “The Boss” was such that no failure or opposition could prevent him making a thorough success of what he had set out to do, and certainly no other sobriquet could have so aptly described the famous Tullabeg Prefect.

A German! yes, I believe he was, but a snow white one - I can answer for that, and I am confident that those who knew himn and had intimate dealings with him, and those who were, so to speak, on his staff in the Higher Line at Tullabeg, will endorse this to a man.

My reading of him came to be - that in dealing with you as a boy he took nothing for granted. He possessed himself (by hook or crook, I admit) of your inmost character; but having once satisfied himself that you were on the square and loyal to him and to the school, he trusted you blindly from that moment, and nothing and nobody thereafter could shake his faith in your honesty of purpose.

He was his own intelligence officer - he required no other; and while you were on trial, or, worse still, under suspicion, he was an awkward customer.

My first acquaintance with him was on the evening of my first day at Tullabeg. I was fourteen years old, and had just been transferred from Beaumont without being personally consulted, by an arrangement between Fr Delany and my father, after four years at Beaumont, during the last term of which I had won the presentation bat for the Lower Line batting average at cricket.

Judge of my chagrin when I found myseli placed in the Third Line at Tullabeg, I was somewhat crest-fallen (very good for me, doubtless), felt like shooting Fr Delany, whom I had never seen, and being very black inside, I probably looked the part as I stood at the door of the Third Line playroom. Then I became conscious of being focussed by a pair of enormous round spectacles blazing out of the dust in the gallery twenty yards I away. The owner of the specs was tall elderly, spare, and very distinguished looking. Many of my readers will remember those wonderful specs through which the Boss could transfix one victim out of a group at the end of a cricket pitch. It was useless to pretend you did not notice: of no avail to stoop and tie your shoelace, use your handkerchief, or suddenly remember you mislaid something and walk round a corner out of sight. No! When eventually you looked up again you would find yourself “set” by the same orbs at about the same distance - your inmost soul being read like a book and the message a definite as if formulated in the words, “Young man! you are thinking treason. Beware you have me to deal with”.

I was in reckless humour that evening and stuck it out for what seemed an age, when at last the inquisitor turned his back and appeared to be interested in something at the other end of the gallery. I turned for information to a boy standing near. He was very small, and yet seemed to know everyone and to be liked by all. He was not a new boy, on the contrary, he gave one the idea of having been always there - part of the establishment in fact. It is hard to be certain at this length of time, but I am nearly sure the boy was Paddy Rath. “Who is that gent?” I asked. “Hsh ! that's the Boss, he'll see you”, said he. “Well, he's no gent to stare at a new boy like that. But how can he see me anyway - his back is turned?” I inquired. “Ah! God help you”, muttered my informant through the side of his mouth, without turning his face towards me, as he retired into the playroom. At that moment the wonderful specs man spun round suddenly, and in a loud, foreign accent, for everyone in the gallery to hear, said, “When a boy comes here from another school he will be expected to observe the customs of the place, and to behave in a proper and respectful manner, and no other attitude will be accepted. Let this be understood”. I shrivelled up and the episode ended. Many a time in future years have I seen absolute proof that those marvellous specs were equally efficient as mirrors, periscopes, or X-Ray machines. I may mention that next day my bat with the silver shield engraved, “Beaumont College, Lower Line batting average”, was carelessly (?) left lying about by me, and being spotted by Paddy Rath or someone in charge of the games, I was promptly “shunted” out of the Third Line into the Lower Line.
If Fr. Wisthoff was a King among Prefects, Fr Henry Lynch was a Prince. He was Second Line Prefect, and I could write plenty, if I had the space, about happenings during that year, during which I never regretted for a moment having migrated from Beaumont.

I did not come much into contact with Fr Wisthoff until the following year, though he seemed interested in me; and more than once, if he noticed me with a trailing boot lace or a crooked tie he said, half jestingly, “Is that how they dress at Beaumont College?”

It was next year when I was in the Higher Line as a “Lower Line Up” that the real war between me and the “Boss” commenced. My greatest friend at Tullabeg (he is to this day) was a six foot dunce named Edward Magawly Banon, who lived about eight miles from Tullabeg at Broughall Castle, an ancient edifice with walls eight feet thick, built in the far back ages, with slits for windows, and ghosts and ivy and legends to match. He was dark and mysterious, not a flier at games, hopeless at lessons, but hard to beat over a country, a conjurer with a fishing rod, knowledgeable with a gun, and better versed in the language of nature than most game keepers. These things fascinated me, and we became fast friends.

He went by the name of Abb Banon, and was generally alluded to as “The Abb”, having obtained the nickname on one occasion when in communicative mood he had informed the assembled multitude that he and his forefathers, in unbroken line, had lived in Broughall Castle since the time of Noah or some such period, whereupon the wit of the party christened him “The Aboriginal”, which had been conveniently shortened to “The Abb”. The masters never seemed to expect any work from him, and not fancying himself at games, he was generally to be seen on the playground surrounded by an admiring crowd drawing “some poor" gom” or propounding some original theory and producing tears of laughter in which “The Abb” himself never joined. Owing to his love of secrecy and mystery he would stop in the middle of a sentence if the “Boss” happened to pass by, and would not continue until he was out of earshot.

Nothing was so calculated to raise suspicion and exasperate Fr Wisthoff as this, and soon he plainly showed Edward Banon that he had no use for him, and was fully persuaded that both he and I (for we were inseparable) were plotting against his authority. We, on the other hand, considered ourselves within our rights, ill-used, and unfairly blamed, and altogether we had a thin time of it, as any “Lower Line Up” boy would be likely to have who claimed any rights or tried to ignore Fr Wisthoff.

Curiously enough this dark, self-contained trait in “The Abb's” character, which got him into such trouble at school was, he has told me, one of the things which helped him to success afterwards as a mining expert and consulting engineer. He is now a millionaire with offices in New York and Chicago, and goes by the name of “Silent Mike” in the financial world. But “The Abb” would require an article to himself and I am supposed to be writing about “The Boss”. He gave neither of us any peace - stormed at us in public and private, refused to sell us sweets, etc., in the shop, and boycotted us generally.

I can't quite remember how it came about or who proposed it, but during next Summer holidays "The Abb" and I got it well into our heads that we were not playing the garne and that it was our duty to capitulate. It is was a hard thing, but being two of us made it casier. We wrote a joint letter to Fr Wisthoff and also called and left cards on him at Gardiner Street.

We did not much relish going back after the holidays. I suppose we did not quite know how our request for an armistice would be received and we funked “reparations”.

The day came. I had just deposited my small things in my partition in the dormitory and returned to the gallery when the “Boss” called me into the shop. Now for it, thought I. I stood before him while he tapped his enormous snuff-box, opened it, balanced a half inch pyramid of snuff - the colour and consistency of damp peat and as strong as gelignite - on his thumb, whence it was received into his right nostril without wasting a grain (he was the cleanest and most fascinating snuff taker I have ever seen). At last, he put out his hand, took mine in his and said,

“Jack Meldon, is it peace or war?”
“Peace, Father”.
“You will be loyal?”
“Yes, Father”.
“You are this year to be Captain of the Higher Line ....”

I suppose he saw my eyes glisten. The reaction was nearly being too much for me. “Go”, said he, “and tell Edward Banon to come to me”. I staggered out of the shop with my heart in my mouth, and a box of Callard & Bowser's Nougat in the hand which had held his.

“The Abb” had his interview, and when he came out his pimply old face was shiny with perspiration, and his mouth was so dry I had to give him a cube of nougat before he could tell me that he and I had been appointed gamekeepers. This was a topping post under the “Boss's” régime, as we had not to clear out of the playroom into the gallery at the end of play hours as the others had, nor had we to go to the library unless we liked. We had the giving out of all the games and the arranging of who was to play billiards and handball. The boxing gloves, foils and single sticks could not be used unless we were actually present and in charge. The patronage belonging to the Attorney-Generalship was nothing to what was attached to a Tullabeg “gamekeeper”.

Gerald Kelly and Tom Considine were appointed “shopkeepers”, while Denis Kane, Tom Considine and I were “net makers”, another much sought after post reflecting the economic genius of the “Boss”. The “net makers” were privileged to sit in the shop breathing the mixed aroma of Callard and Bowser, Cadbury, Jacob, oranges, apples, tar-twine and machine oil, and spent their play hours on wet days making cricket nets for the school. It may seem rather a mixed blessing, but we loved it. And when Brian Spollen had been behaving himself, and the sods on the new ground were knitting satisfactorily, we often had a little feast to help us along. We were a happy family and the time passed merrily. “The Boss” shed his reserve to a great extent behind the closed doors of the shop, and nothing was too good for us once we had passed into his confidence.

"The Abb” was changed to the partition next mine in the dormitory, and we were allowed to keep our pipes and tobacco in our boxes there. Smoking was only allowed to the XI, including umpires, markers, etc., on evenings of “out match” days, but I had many a cigar given me by the “Boss” and smoked it in his room while we discussed important affairs of state.

Clongownians of that date will be surprised to note that “The Boss”, who never took any chances, always appointed the Captain of the House himself, instead of the appointment by ballot as at Clongowes.

Considering he was a foreigner to our games Fr Wisthoff was wonderful at mastering them and at knowing how they should be played. He started us playing Association Football or “Grass” as it was called in contradistinction to “Gravel”, the ordinary school game. How he got it into his head, I dont know, but he thought it would improve the dribbling game if played with a thin leather ball of nearly two feet diameter and as light as a feather, instead of the standard ball. He did not often do a really foolish thing, but when he produced this balloon which cost fabulous moneys we felt inclined to explode. We knew better, however, and really it was a good game, though of course it was not quite “Soccer”.

Some of the “gravel” devotees whose metier was bombarding high goalposts with shots from a distance saw no merit in “grass”. Harry O'Brien and “Coddie” Lyne (what extraordinary names boys do get) were two of these, and when the ball came to Harry and he was tackled for possession by the charging “Codfish”, Harry would take a flying kick in the hopes of “outing” him with the impact, and the delicate leather would go off sailing on the wind and bouncing over the sharp gravel, every bounce adding to the “Boss's” agony as he called out, “Ach, Hahrie! Hahrie! You should dreeble, dreeble - do not kick! You break the ball ! It is not made for kicking!”

Of course, being Captain, I saw a great deal of Fr Wisthoff, as he consulted me about many things. He sometimes gave his Captain rather difficult positions to cope with, but as he always backed him up loyally and held the tiller himself in stormy weather, everything | seemed plain sailing, and we were a very happy Higher Line during that last year at dear old Tullabeg.

The more we saw of the “Boss” the greater our admiration for him grew, and it seems to me, looking back now, that the tone which he moulded and fostered was the right tone, and if there were any of the Higher Line of 1885-1886, who did not “make good” in after life it was not the fault of “The Boss”.

-oOo-

Father Wisthoff is at present stationed at St. Ignatius College, Valkenburg, Holland, where he is Procurator of the House. He is as active and as keen as ever, is always ready to talk of Tullabeg and Clongowes, has not forgotten the slang he picked up in Ireland, and asserts frequently that the happiest days of his life were spent at Tullabeg and Clongowes. To the Irish Jesuits studying in Valkenburg, he invariably extends a hearty welcome; and they all have kindly recollections of the many services he has done them. He remembers, individually, the boys over whom he ruled, and even their nicknames are fresh in his memory.

In the sporting papers of 1886, the matches played by the united Tullabeg and Clongowes team, alluded to at the opening of Mr Meldon's article, are described with relish. “Blindly but aptly”,' writes the sporting journalist (why “blindly”?), the rival houses were “united” in their first match-that against Phoenix, and what was the result? The boys thought they had a holiday, but it was the “Premiers” who enjoyed it. ..... Phoenix put on two slow bowlers, the very ablest move that could be made against a school team who probably never saw a slow bowler before; and the best of the joke was that they had a man at deep long-on, where all the hits should have been made, who could not hold a catch if it was thrown from a yard's distance. He, however, was there, and served his purpose by in timidating the batsman from lashing out..... Touhy and J A Meldon made a long stand, and no wonder ! Balls were pitched up full to leg, and hit away, the most amusing feature being that Meldon was missed twice by his father, uncle or brother of that ilk, who played for Phoenix. This match was lost by an innings and 53 runs.

When describing the match against Trinity, the sporting journalist becomes epic in his indignation. “When a man comes up to you and enquires in a menacing manner whether your opinion of his ability to give you a black eye coincides with his or not, you naturally assume that the wish to do so, on his part, was father to the thought, and then the paternity of the wish exercises your ingenuity. It is almost impossible nowadays to omit a man's name from the list of scorers when he has made “duck”, or fail to praise his bowling when he has been hit all over the field, without being subject to bodily ill usage. Every Pressman in Dublin complains of the same thing, and surely, while it would please us extremely that every batsman should make a hundred runs, and every bowler take ten wickets at a minimum cost, we feel just as free to mention their failures when they are un fortunate.

After this vigorous prelude, the writer goes on: It is unnecessary to say much of the University match, as the Trinitarians had a wretched team, and altogether the affair was a regular farce. Play ceased before six o'clock on each day, because the natives wanted to attend “commons”' an apology which we certainly never heard of before. That the United team would have won the match but for this inexcusable procedure, we have not the slightest doubt; still, they have only themselves to blame for acquiescing in such an arrangement. The match against Leinster
was drawn.

◆ The Clongownian, 1938

Obituary

Father Karl Wisthoff SJ

On the evening of the feast of Christ the King, Father Wisthoff died in the Marien Hospital in Aachen, at the age of nearly 93 years. Some souvenirs of his life will surely interest the many friends he won in Ireland during his years as Prefect at Tuliabeg and Clongowes. He was born near Essen on the 28th of January, 1845 - before the Famine. His father was the founder of the famous Sheeler glass-foundry, He liked to tell of how his father brought him, when thirteen, to Feldkirch College, in Austria; it was still the days of posting. Turn-pikes barred the entrances into the then umerous small German States, and for the journey to Feldkirch one needed a ministerial passport in large Folio!

Father Wisthoff entered the Society of Jesus in 1862, and spent the usual years of study in Mūnster, Maria Laach, Feldkirch, Ditton Hall, and Portico. The first thirty years of his work as priest was mostly devoted to education, and always “abroad”. They began with ten years as Prefect in Tullabeg, one in Clongowes, then came three years in North America and then fifteen in South America.

The last thirty years of his life were spent at Valkenburg, in Holland, where he was busied with the financial administration of the great philosophical and theological Seminary of the German Jesuits, until his 80th year. The last decade he was in charge of the Library and Archives. It is a remarkable proof of the strength and activity of mind and body in this old priest of between 80 and 90, that in the last ten years of his life, he wrote out up to 80,000 index-cards for the catalogue in a clear, legible hand an enormous service to all users of the Archives.

A tiny personal memory perhaps : One autumn evening I found him gazing at the wild vine on the side of the house, richly coloured in the gold of the sunset. “There's God with His paint brush”, said Father Wisthoff to me suddenly, his eyes lighting up with mischief. That was the real Father Wisthoff, the charm that won him so many friends,

To the happiest days of his later life belonged the celebration of the both anniversary of his ordination as priest, in 1936, and, a month before his death, the 75th anniversary of his entrance into the Society of Jesus. Among the many congratulations were letters from former pupils in Ireland and America; one of these, from Chile, only arrived after his death. For it was shortly after his last feast-day that he was called to his High Priest, Jesus Christ, Who for sixty years had come to him at the altar.

A last word from a memorial card : “Remarked for his kindness and delicacy in dealings with others, for breadth of mind in plan and execution, to which were joined strength of will and a tireless eagerness for work, with the best of good sense and good humour, Father Wisthoff was constantly winning new friends all his long life long”.

Paul Bolkovac SJ

-oOo-

Father Wisthoff : “The Boss”

by J Meldon

I was grieved to hear from Father Bolkovac SJ, Valkenburg, that Father Wisthoff's long life on earth had come to an end.

Edward Magawly Banon had written from Florida, and I from England, timing our letters to arrive in Valkenburg on the day he was to celebrate his Jubilee last year and informing him that we intended travelling to Valkenburg this summer specially to visit him. We had both corresponded with him at intervals since the closing of Tullabeg, as a school, 52 years ago (1886). He reigned there as Higher Line Prefect, and we had served him as Higher Line “Games Keepers” - an envied post under the Boss's régime. I mention this as I think it is a tribute to his gifts that two of his boys held himn in such affectionate veneration though so far apart for over half a century.

I never actually knew the origin of Father Wisthoff's soubriquet, “The Boss”. It certainly was apt. He was a Dictator in his own area - sometimes, I believe, a little out side it!

My reading of him came to be that in dealing with you as a boy, he took nothing for granted. He was his own Intelligence Officer, requiring no other, and when you were on trial or, worse still, under suspicion, he was an awkward customer: He possessed himself of your utmost character, but having once satisfied himself that you were on the square and loyal to him and to the School, he trusted you blindly from that moment, and nothing and nobody thereafter could shake his faith in your honesty of purpose.

Besides the post of Games Keeper, I held the much sought after appointment of “Net Maker”, an industry reflecting the economic genius of Father Wisthoff. The other favoured ones were Gerald Hart-Kelly, Denis Kane and Tom Considine. On wet days the Net Makers were '”privileged” to sit in the shop, breathing the mixed aroma of Nougat chocolate, oranges, apples, tar twine, and machine oil. We manufactured all the Cricket and Tennis nets for the School under the technical instruction of “The Boss”.

This may appear a somewhat mixed blessing!, but we loved it - a proof of the magnetism of the famous Prefect - and often we had a little feast to help us along. “The Boss” shed his reserve almost completely behind the closed doors of the Shop, and nothing being too good for us, once we had passed into his confidence, we were a happy family, and time passed merrily.

The more we saw of Father Wisthoff the greater our veneration for him grew, and I love to think back on those happy days, though of course there is always a tinge of loneliness when one hears of another dear friend passing on. RIP