Saturday 31 March 2018

I hear you're a racist now, Father Jez {Pt IV}

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The Red Kipper pub was full. Almost all the Jewish people Father Jez had invited to the hastily re-titled "Celebration of Maggie Island's Labour Party Ethnic Diversity Membership" had turned out for the event. To see if Jez really was a big Racist. And the promise of free drink, even if some of it was Jez home brew,  was an incentive.
The chatter in the room became polite applause as Father Jez bounded onto the small stage, with his favourite mini megaphone, to begin the main event.

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"Ladies and gentlemen and erm..other..unspecified non-genders. Jews and |Gentiles. Welcome to this ..exciting look at the great diversity of cultures that exists here on Maggie Island. And within Our Labour party. Specifically, here today..Jews. ..And the rest of us.. I have prepared a short slide show to explore the great multi-cultural mix that is here today..So let's start the presentation."

Jez pulled up the first slide of his presentation.

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Some Kind of Rabbi.

"This is me with a man who he and I had a mix up over a red suitcase at Gatwick. We both thought it was ours. But it turned out the suitcase was actually his.
  I forget his name now, but he had his initials CCCP on his red case. Which is why I thought it was mine. 
 I just included this slide in here to point out that the whole incident was settled very amicably and we got on very well."

There was some coughing from the audience who already looked bored. One young Jewish boy asked if there would be anymore free booze. Jez promised there would be a limited supply after the presentation.

He moved on to the next slide.
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Red or Dead ?

The Dead Sea. 

A really great sea. So dense you can float even a Diane Abbott sized person in it. Really great buoyancy. Great for just lounging around in after a hard day at the money lenders or plastic surgery or whatever occupation you have. Top Sea, there.....And I'm sure that it would still be a Top Sea even without the help of Jordan and our Palestinian friends borders for it..."

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A funny girl

Barbra Streisand ! 

One of the biggest stars in the world a while back. And a great singer. Really belts them out, doesn't she? And that's despite having that'Range' ..Yes..That's it....her enourmous musical range...
Now ..On to ...

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Funny Hitler ..We can all laugh about it now.

Mel Brooks!
"Fantastic funnyman. Here he is in one of his best known productions, "The Producers."
A comedy about evil Jewish capitalists conspiring to defraud the exchequer of valuable tax revenues..erm..I mean..A fantastic musical comedy featuring the classic, politically incorrect song "Springtime for Hitler." 
A masterpiece and I say that meaning its a masterpiece because of Mel Brooks. And not because its about Hitler and all his Nazis and that.
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The Chinese! 
"I know there are no Jewish, Labour, Chinese people here tonight on Maggie Island. But we do like to continually create smaller and smaller sub-groups of minorities within our organisation..So .I put this slide in..For the Labour party Chinese. A great bunch of lads! "

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The Uzi Sub-machine-gun!
Ubiquitous Israeli designed rapid fire, mini machine-gun. Favourite of security details and drug cartels the world over. Small, secretive yet highly effective and deadly. Much like Israel itself...
Ok..Moving on...Next is..

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Great for old man vests
Marks and Spencer!
"The undergarment retailer of choice for discerning pensioners like me. You know, they are home to  Ireland's biggest lingerie section, I understand .. And they have my favourite name, "Marx" in the title!
Fagin - Not all bad.

"Ok ..So..not technically a goody..but certainly not a total baddie. That was Bill Sykes. 
 Fagin, though a thieving, grubby, purse stealing, criminal fencer of stolen goods, still had the heart of gold to help poor gentile, Oliver Twist.
And all those other urchins who had no place to go because of the bedroom tax and harsh Tory cuts to libraries. Sure Start. And their draconian union rules that prevented flying pickets closing down the spinning jenny that deprived the hardworkingpoor of get the picture..I was drifting off topic a bit, there..

And finally ...

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JESUS - Top bloke
Jesus ! 
"One of those early Jews. A great fellah. Spreading not just the Jewish faith but also the Christian faith too. So a really ethnically diverse person. Fitting for our look today at  all the different religions and cultures on Maggie island and in OUR Labour Party."

Father Jez began activating the slide show as he summed up the evening's experience.
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"I think I've touched today on all aspects of Jewish culture and I'd like to thank you all for coming here tonight ..
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Father Jez. Not Antisemitic. help us better integrate our  own aestheticism with each other. And to cradle our love of socialism, within our own differences.  
Differences that unite, rather than divide us...
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....Thank you for coming and let us remember. 
We are all united in one struggle to overthrow capitalism and democracy...
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Father Jez. Not Antisemitic.

Father Jez thought it had gone splendidly. 
Until the elder 'Jews for Labour' spokesperson said he thought the slide show had been 
"a great pile of old crap."
However he added that the free drink was very much appreciated. 
"Thank you Father Cilly. For this free drink."

Jez put on his sincere face, The one he used when reading out fake emails from imaginary constituents.
"I just wanted to clear things up. I'm not a fascist. I'm the labour leader. Fascists go around banning things. Forbidding free speech and imposing their intolerant views on others. While I go about ..erm..well..anyway..erm...More drink!" he bellowed as he sought to extricate from the hole he had just dug himself. 
But the Landlord said the pub was closing. The fascist! And so to a mighty cheer, Jez invited the Labour Jews gang back to his place for a booze up.


The contingent arrived back at Jez's home. All were in fine spirits. The crappy slide show hadn't dampened the good from all the drinking. Jez himself was feeling the glow. He usually only drank actual alcohol in dingy pubs in provo areas in the company of hardened IRA terrorists. So he didn't look a softy, colonial wimp.
 But tonight he'd drank a few and so was splendidly merry as Mrs Chakribarti, opened the front door with a worried expression.

"Hullo Mrs Chaarkkribubbly..Great to see you..I've brought some chur..chums round. Everyone into the living room," he bellowed to the others. As they filed past the Housekeeper tried to tell him something.

"Oh, Father Jez. That message from Old Father MaoDonnell. Well..the crates did arrive.."

"Crates? What crates, Mrs Chuck-yur-burito ?"

"Father Ken's, Father. His packing crates."

"What? Is Father Mao really going? He really was happy to be leaving soon?"

"No Father. The message Father Mao had, wasn't about him. He actually said "Father Ken Livingstone. Not 'keen to be leaving soon'."

"Oh..I what's the packing crate business?"

"Well..Father Ken Livingstone has recently had a spot of bother with Bishops on the NEC. He was suspended for know what..the whole Hitler was a Zionist, thing. So..he had to move his possessions while they carried out a phony 'reeducation journey' for him. And he asked Father MaoDonell if he could send his prized memorabilia to us here at labour HQ..And...So..Father Mao said yes..And ..well..he was curious..and unpacked a few of Father Ken's things ..."

"Oohhhh...My ...God!" Cried Father Jez as he rushed in to the sitting room to try to hide the sort of Nazi items he feared Father Ken might have shipped over to them..

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Too Late !

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Father MaoDonnell tries on one of Ken's suits.

I hear you're a racist now, Father Jez {Pt III}

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Father Jez was being branded an Antisemite in all the local Maggie Island newspapers. Even the normally loyal "Maggie Island Mirror" was suggesting Father Jez had a problem with Zionists.
And suddenly there seemed to be Jews everywhere on Maggie Island. 
 Before this incident father Jez had never noticed how many there were. But now they were chanting about him and throwing eggs at him, he couldn't but help to notice. Synagogues. Jewish Schools. Jewish Cemeteries.he began counting how many there were.

And then there were all the Banks. And the Newspapers. The media. The film industry. 
And he knew several Doctors and Dentists. These people were absolubtely everywhere, he thought.

 Which was surprising, considering how few there were supposed to be. 
Under 300,000 on Maggie Island was the 'official' figure.

How could so few, be so prominent?  Unless, he thought, they hadn't all been killed in the Holocaust after all. Like he'd read on the facebook groups he'd friended. The ones that explained how the Jews controlled all the world's supply of flouride. And the Catholic Church. And how it was them that made Superman III and Superman IV so awful after two really good first films.
And they controlled all the investment banks in America and China and Greenland..

..Wait! Wait! ..Stop this! This sort of silly thinking was what had got him into this mess in the first place. Stop pandering to all this rubbish, he told himself.

"I have to find a solution to this Antisemitism issue. Show I'm not a racist. Sort this embarrassing Jewish issue once and for all. Do you hear me Kevin?" 
He asked the novice priest sat opposite of him at the breakfast table and who was reading all the bad news in the morning papers.

"I hear you Jez," Kevin answered absently. Still reading.
 "You need to devise a Final Solution for the Jewish problem."

"Quite so..You see.. NO!. ..Wait! No..Not a Final Solution for Goodness sake. Just a solution so that everyone will stop thinking I'm some kind of big racist."

"Are you not a racist now, then?" Asked Kevin innocently. "Only The Maggie Mail says you're the most racist leader of any political party, anywhere in the world. And they even include Father Trump over on StormyDaniels Island."

"No. I'm not a racist! Its all just a misunderstanding. I need some way to make people see that."

"I've an idea Jez. A real inclusive-embracing-rainbow type of progressive idea. So its probably a load of old nonsense like they always are. Tap-Dance-for-Gaza and that kind of rubbish thing. But anyway here it is. 
Why don't you organise something our supporters really enjoy. Something like an all faiths special event?

 Celebrating all the different cultures and religions and genders and bio-genders and whatnot on Maggie Island. 
 A really inclusive, pink frizzy hair - pierced face - dress as your genitals, mad fringe, looney left, public sector day out,  style event. Placards and banners and lots of long and dreary talk about inclusive socialism ..and ..I dunno..Stalinism for Millennials and that type of thing. . 
With some of your home made nettle wine and some pineapple and cheese cocktail sticks. 
 Then people would think you were once again the 'Absolubte Boy.'
Instead of a great big, hairy-faced Jew-Hater."

Father Jez looked at Father Maguire in amazement. This was, incredibly... a really good idea. This could get the activists and voters and even the BBc, back on side. A really informative and boring, completely pointless, yet all embracing, umbrella encompassing, unity, snorefest. 
The left loves a tedious, soporific, introspection that shows how virtuous they all were.
  It was brilliant. All he had to do now was plan his speech. And if there was one thing Father Jez liked more than a two hour talk on Marxist theory,  it was a Castro length six-hour speech from himself.


The next day Father Jez and Father Kevin were preparing to leave the house. Jez had organised a corker of an ethnic diversity power-point to show that he wasn't a racist antisemite. This would surely be well received. He was very pleased with himself when Mrs Chakribarti worriedly stopped him at the doorway to ask about Father MaoDonnell. Who she said was waiting for the arrival of packing boxes. As he was..

"Keen to be Leaving Soon."

"What? He's not leaving, is he? What's the old fool on about, Mrs Chakribarti? Is he drunk again?"

"Oh yes indeed,  Father," she replied.  "Drunk on power. And the 75% proof spirits of pure socialism."

"Well I can't be dealing with this now, Mrs Chakribarti. If any boxes do come, just sign for them and put them out the way. I'll sort it all out after "Expo-Jewism 2018"
Mrs Chakribarti frowned.

"No. I'm not keen on that name myself. I'll have to come up with something better on the way. Anyway, you take care, Mrs Chakribarti. Cheerio."

And the High Priests of the Labour Party religion set off for the diversity event.[To be continued...]

Friday 30 March 2018

I hear you're a racist now Father Jez {pt II}

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It was another day before Father Jez felt recovered enough to go back on his rounds. His nose was back to its normal size and his head wound was just a small scab. He felt much, much better as he stepped outside the labour parochial house on a cold, but clear morning.

"Morning Father." 
He looked towards the voice and saw Alan Bennett. A loyal parishioner. 
"Hullo Alan," he called cordially.

"I hear you're a racist now Father Jez." Said Alan.

Jez was so startled he almost dropped his gloves.

 "Wh..What?" He spluttered.

Alan continued "How did you get interested in that whole Antisemitism affair, then Father? Was it to do with Israel and Hamas and that sort of thing?"

Jez was shocked. "Who said I'm a racist?" He demanded.

"Sure, everyone is saying it Father," said Mr Bennett. And added with genuine curiosity "Should all Labour supporters be antisemitic racists now Father? ... What's the official line the Labour Party is taking ?  Is it all Jews out of the party or is that just your own personal opinion, now?"

"No..No..I'm" struggled Jez as Alan explained the difficulty Antisemitism would cause for him personally.

"I still do a lot of the old play writing, see Father. So I might not be able to devote meself to the whole racism thing full time. Just in the evenings and weekends, like ?"

Before Father Jez could respond to this insanity a woman across the way called out to him.
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"Good for you Father!" It was another parishoner. One of his loyal MPs. Naz Shah. 

"Oh..Its yourself," smiled Father Jez to her. Relieved not to have to talk to Alan for a moment.
 "How are you Naz-i ..I'm sorry..I mean ..Naz..sorry....How are you Naz.?"

"Good for you Father!" She called to him again. "Its about time someone stood up to them! Coming over here and taking our third sector charity jobs and our Mayoral, gold plated, cushy jobs and our money. Acting like they own the feckin' place." 

She was so enraged she was skidding on the muddy path. He whole body shaking with emotion. "Good for you Father! You get rid of those feckin' Blairites!"

Jez looked even more surprised than ever. Just what WAS going on?

"Its not the Blairites this time. Its the Jews he's after now," called over Alan Bennett to her helpfully.

"I'm not after the Jews!" Exclaimed Jez.

"I don't care who he gets!" yelled back Naz. " So long as I can have a go at the Blairites! Good for you Father. We Working Class Labour voted Brexit by the million. And who stands up for us. No one! Kick them out Father. Blairite scum. They invented crony capitalism! The racists!"

Angrily Father Jez tells both them. "Look. I'm not having a go at anybody!  I am not Antisemitic alright! Ok! Good grief." And he stormed off and left them to it.

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I am not Antisemitic, alright!

{To be continued.}

I hear you're a racist now, Father Jez...

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Father Jez Cilly and his loyal, but simple, young priest, Father Kevin Maguire, were contemplating the utter mess that covered the sitting room of their Old Labour Party parochial house headquarters, on Maggie Island. There were bits and pieces of litter and rubbish everywhere.
  Father Jez's rickety old 1970's desk, that Old Father MaoDonnell had cheerfully signed Gulag expulsion orders on, back in his GLC days when he was purging 'counter-revolutionaries' with Father Livingstone, was almost buried under paperwork.
It was swamped with flyers for Owen Jones' endless pop-up protests. Invitations to visit tyrannical, socialist despots around the globe.  Long passed Klaus Fuchs Islington Allotment Tenants Association schedules.
Faded posters depicting soviet iconography of strong and determined agricultural and industrial peasants, uniting in service to the Motherland and World Communism, had peeled from the Beer and Sandwiches stained, grubby walls. And fallen unto the unfashionable and dated 1970's 'Austin Maxi beige' carpet.
  Mrs Chakrabarti, the housekeeper, usually tried to straighten and tidy the considerable mess the socialist priests were always making of things. But she had recently injured her back whilst trying to apply several coats of whitewash to the entire Labour Party.
 The clutter wasn't going to clean itself, thought Father Jez...Or maybe it was?..Old Father MaoDonnell was always saying things would pay for themselves. Maybe they would tidy themselves too?
But then again he had waited ten weeks already and there was still no sign of the 
self-cleaning-miracale-of-public-ownership happening with the wastepaper bin.
No. They were just going to have to clean up themselves.

"Come on now, Father Maguire. Help me tidy this room. Mrs Chakribarti is too poorly to do it."
"Ok so, Father Jez. do we do that? Do we renationalise the Hoover or something?"
"I don't think that will work."
"I know. Give Mrs Chakribarti a payrise then..£10 an hour !? She does like a bribe, doesn't she, Jez?"
"£20 then..That's a living wage in anybodies book. Why, Jez..I'd be happy to get £20 an hour just for making a a high pitched whiney noise, eh?"
"You already do. No. A payrise won't help us here."

A spluttering, and groaning came from the foul smelling chair at the back of the room. Father MaoDonnell opened his cold, bleary eyes and shouted "Shoot the Cleaner!"
and then slumped back into his stupour.

"Ahh..shooting people is his answer to everything. That's the old, old, old socialist way, Father MaoDonnell. We don't do that sort of thing in the New, Old, Old-Labour Party. We just deselect them. But that won't work either. .."

"Its a tricky one," said Kevin thoughtfully. "What would Lenin do?"
"He'd probably just shut the door and tell everyone it was fabulously clean inside.
But no. We are going to do this. I mean it can't be that hard. Not if a woman can do it, eh?"
"Too right, Jez," chuckled Kevin Maguire. Who had self-identified as Male-Female-TransQ and been on labour candidates 'All Female-but Some-Males-if they are union faithfuls looking for a cushy number '  shortlists so many times, Father Jez no longer really knew what sex he/she really was.

"Right, let's start," said Father Jez as he stood up from his armchair. He was still wearing his stripey pajamas and wanted to get this done before he had to change for the evening 'appeal to the Mass.'

He surveyed the room. Where to start?

 He spied a piece of a christmas costume that had been left on the floor since December.

A Father Christmas beard. Jez had been persuaded to go to a children's hospital at Christmas. He'd dressed as Santa. Only with an empty present sack. To show that even sickly kids suffered Tory Austerity. The costume had hung in the corner. Jez had briefly considered sewing a hammer and sickle to the outfit and insisting Tom Watson wear it as part of his ongoing humiliation.
But in the end the oversize clothing had been too tight for Tom. So it languished on a coat stand. And the beard had fallen to the floor.

Father Jez picked it up. Both the priests smiled. This wasn't going to be so bad. in fact. It was going to be easy. Another triumph in the march of socialism.

Jez looked at the long white beard in his hand. He smiled as he had an idea.

"Hey, Kevin. Look at this." He attached the beard. "Guess which revolutionary leader I am." He puffed out his chest and stroked his long white beard with a reflective, deep in thought expression on his face. "Come on..guess.."

Father Maguire looked puzzled. Then finally asked, "Is it Demis Roussos?"
"No! I said revolutionary leader. Father of the struggle." And he stroked his beard more.
"Are you Sting? No? .. Pudsey..are you Pudsey Bear?"
Kevin Maguire, what's the matter with you?" Asked an exasperated Jez. His foolish and dim-witted associate was ruining this. "Why..How..and ..I mean..for heaven's sake..Why would I be Pudsey?"
"Ohh, yes right. Of course. Not Pudsey. You wouldn't impersonate him. He's BBc. And not with them photoshopping your whole hat and everything...Soo..Socialist revolutionary icon..Ohh..ohh..Salvador Allende!"
"No..he didn't even have a beard. I'm Karl Marx..Look..Karl Marx! "
"Ah right, so. ..Which one is he again?"

"You really must try and learn these things. Its very important to know," Jez told him mildly. He knew from experience that simple Kevin Maguire wouldn't remember anything.

"Nah. not really. Just Marx and Lenin. You can blag the rest by mashing any German and Russian names. And randomly 'ism' a word. 
'The theory of Actualism-Emperio-Suspicionism by Hans Kuriyakin.'
 See..its easy. I once gave a lecture on 'Upsydownism in the socio-state-mannerism.' No one noticed it was all bollox. Anyway......Now we have the hang of this cleaning business..Let's crack on." said Father Jez enthusiastically.

And as he bent down to retrieve a discarded bathroom hand towel from the floor, promptly smacked himself in the face with the edge of the bookshelf. 

He clutched his swelling nose, bent double in pain. A copy of The Communist Manifesto wobbled on the very top shelf. It was a particularly heavy version of the voluminous tome. It had lots of pictures in it too. Karl at the beach at Brighton. 1878. Karl and Engels laughing with ice creams on the pier and taking a rowing boat out.
 The swaying book finally lost the battle with gravity and plunged onto Father Jez's head. Adding considerably to his pain.

Father Maguire scooped up the towel and placed it across Father Jez's shoulders. As some blood flowed from a cut on Jez's head he thought Jez could use the towel to mop at it. 
 Kevin then spied an old black, knitted Balaclava that had been a gift from Gerry Adams. It had a smiley face logo on the back. With the inscription 'Provo's do it with Semtex.' Father Kevin  picked it up and placed it over the swelling bump on Father Jez's head. He helped him to the chair at the desk. At that moment, as Jez moaned in discomfort, there was a knock at the door.

"Who can that be," asked Father Jez, weakly.

"Oh that will be the Jews for Labour contingent, " said the younger priest.

"What? Jews for Labour? I didn't know there were any Jews in the Labour party?"

"Oh yes. Hampstead Heath has long been popular with Jewish Labour supporters. Do you not remember Father Ed Miliband ? He met a fellow up there. Said he was going to buy a cottage or rent a badger off him..Gareth his name was..Miliband told the media. For some reason.."

"Kevin, I can't see them now. I've been whacked on the bonce. My nose is swelling up enourmously. It hurts an awful lot even to breath. I just want to sit quietly and read some Das Kapital to get over the shock. 
 Can you ask them to maybe come back later? Make up some excuse, now. Don't say I've been injured in a tidying up accident. Or I'll look a complete ejiit. And see if you can find some Dettol for this cut. I'm definitely going to need antiseptic. Look in the medicine cabinet. And see if there's some asprin for my head. And a glass of water, please. Water. Not juice. That orange juice in the fridge has gone off.  "

"Right-ho Jez. Count on me." Father Kevin Maguire left the older priest at his desk by the window. Whimpering softly to himself.


Father Maguire knew just what to say. That Jez was unwell. And that he would reschedule the appointment. But as he walked the short distance to the front door, he confused himself with the ringing words of Father Jez. 
Appointment and then the Ointment.

Ointment  was a word Father Maguire had always found funny. When he was a little boy his mother had always called it 'Oinkment.' The memory of it made him smile. He was still smiling as he opened the door to the group from Jews For Labour. 
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"Hello," said the leader of the Labour Jewish committe. An elder man who had long been in the Labour party. And was used to its peaks and troughs and radical changes. "We are here to see Father Jez about a little problem."
He smiled kindly at Father Maguire.

Kevin smiled back. Though more dumbly, than kindly He wasn't expecting to see so many from Labour's Jewish community at his door. And he was still thinking about 'Oinkment,'.

There was a silence.

A younger, more angry looking member pointed at Kevin. "We're here to see Jez. About him facebooking Zionist conspiracy groups. Is he here? We need to speak with him urgently!"

"Allegedly face time-link-blog.tweet.snapchoppy. Or whatever it is called." said the elder man. "I'm sure its all just a misunderstanding and Father Jez can explain what happened.

His younger colleague gave a loud snort of derision. He wasn't so sure it was a "misunderstanding." Thirty five years of Father Jez's parliamentary actions in favour of any enemy of Israel made him very cynical. 

The silence continued. A smiling, though simple looking Father Kevin, opening, yet blocking the doorway. 

The group looked puzzled for one to another. The young man snorted his annoyance again.

It was that snort that did it. The snort on top of the 'Oinkment' and the larger than expected crowd with banners and funny hats. It triggered Father Maguire's easily distracted brain to engage his mouth with whatever he was thinking.

"Oink!" he exclaimed.

"Beg your pardon," the group elder asked. Imagining he had misheard.

"Oink!. oink..oink oink oink." Said Kevin. And then added a further 'Oink."

The group were startled. "He's..he's he being a pig ?" Asked one man.
"How offensive" said a young woman, crossly.

Kevin realised what he'd done. He hurriedly tried to correct himself..

"No.erm..sorry about that..I was just thinking about what Jez had just said to me, you see..And I got confused with you and what he wanted me to tell you."

The group looked baffled.
Eventually the leader asked gently, "What did Father Jez ask you tell us?"

But the long silence and the hostile staring had done for the young priest. He really wanted a good look at Father Jez's map of World Communism. The one with 'Reality' and 'Dreams' clearly identified upon it. But all he had at this moment were his own wits. It wasn't much.

"Ahh you see now. Er..Jez wanted you he was in need of erm..what did he say now? Oh yes..I remember now..He said .. "We have to get rid them all. Make them go away."

He smiled broadly as he remembered what he had just been told.

"What" gasped the group." He told you to tell us that? Was there any explanation?"

Father Kevin thought hard. There had been something else.. What was it? Something about metal. Or De-tox? No..Dettol ! He said he needed some ..what was that tricky word he used..A bit like the ointment one, it was..his brow creased in painful thought. And then he remembered it.
And beamed like a child.

"He said, 'Get rid of them. And remove them. And he asked me instead, to get him..
 something. ..Anti-Semitic! ...
And then he said something about "Don't bring me any more Juice. I've gone right off them, or something like that."

The committee stared in silence at the junior priest. No one said a word. Which Father Maguire took as a good sign that they had understood.

"Bye then, " he said.

And he closed the door on the stunned Jews for Labour committee.

He set off for the medicine cabinet for the antiseptic before he realised he'd said 'remove' instead of 'reschedule.'
 Sure, he thought, they probably understood just the same.

The association outside stared at the now closed door. Finally the younger one crossly said, "Come on. let's go. I told you this was a waste of time. He's a racist."

The group turned and began walking back to the gate. The leader couldn't believe it. He was sure there was some mistake. Jews had been prominent in the labour party for decades. He was about to suggest they try knocking at the door again. To see if Father Jez would come to speak in person and explain what had happened. But before he could speak, the party heard a low wail coming from the window they were passing. They peered through.

Inside Father Jez sat at his desk. His bashed nose swollen to a grotesque size. His Santa Claus, slash, Karl Marx beard, still attached, unnoticed by Jez, to his face. 
The bathroom hand-towel still across his shoulders.
His head throbbed in pain so great that he couldn't bring himself to read from his favourite words. So he just moaned to himself a little . And swayed in time to the pounding.
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Father Jez calming his pain

"He's dressed up as a Rabbi?" Said one in surprise.
"Is he pretending he's at the Wailing Wall ?" asked another.
"He's wearing a fake nose. It looks like putty? He's caricaturing us!" Said another.
"He's taking the piss. That's what he's doing. The Antisemitic old racist!"
And he led the group away. Condemning the unknowing Labour party leader all the way.

All Jez knew was when father Kevin brought him some unasked for antihistamine and said that the Jews had gone.
Would they be back today, a weary Jez asked Kevin.
"Oh no. Certainly not today," he told Jez.
And added rather oddly, "And probably not tomorrow or the day after."


[to be continued]