Most of our daily school life started first with a walk down Coehoorn Street to church to attend the 8.00 o’clock Mass. Pastor Mocking was the old parish priest at St. Eusebius, slow and soft spoken. He had three assistant priests: Verhoeven, Pierik and Rolf. Kapelaan Pierik must have been impressed with my regular appearance at daily mass, so one day he approached me to become an altar boy. Mastering the Latin didn’t take too long, I realy felt very important to be able to assist the man of God at the altar. However I dreaded when ‘kapelaan’ curate Verhoeven officiated, as the rumour went around that he had the tendency to faint.
Blow behold, one morning just after the Offertory, when he turned to face the faithful with his outstretched arms and mumbled his ’Orate frates’ (Pray brethren) and while we responded full chested with ‘Suscipiat Dominus sacrificium de manibus tuis ad laudem’…BANG he went down in a heap in front of the altar.
Visualize the situation, two altar boys first stunned and fixed on the bottom steps, than running like startled rabbits to the fallen priest, tripping over their cassocks and knocking over the bells.
Maybe it made a High Mass for some, but a low one for us. Thank goodness help was forthcoming from the congegration and with the assistance of a generous sprinkle of Eau de Cologne under his nose, conjured from a lady’s handbag, the priest was soon on his legs again to continue the service. Back in the vestry with the swishing sounds of robes and whispered tones, the whiff of candles and incence we were made aware that only priest’s hands were allowed to touch the host and chalice that held the blood of Christ. I promised myself, next time I must make sure to pick the right size cassock, a size smaller should still cover my socks and shoes.