He was our last teacher of Greek. He introduced us to that strange language, all the way from alpha to omega.
Through Fr Tom Flynn we met Thucydides, Xenophon, the seemingly endless Peloponnesian War, Euripides, Homer, Sophocles, Socrates, Herodotus, Xerxes, Darius, Alexander, Plato, Aristotle, Athens, Sparta, all that awful grammar. And Heraclitus.
Ah, yes, Heraclitus! That day Fr Tom came into our classroom, he was animated about Heraclitus. “Lads,” he began, “the philosopher Heraclitus said ‘no man steps in the same river twice’, but . . . ”
He paused to allow Heraclitus to sink in, then went further. “But,” he repeated “no one steps in the same river even once.” He pronounced “even once” with emphasis, and waited.
Fr Tom’s habit was to pace up and down the centre of the classroom, his soutane swishing at a steady rhythm. He’d genuflect the right knee slightly when he reached the back of the room, before turning to journey back again.
Clever observation
When Fr Tom cracked a joke or made a clever observation, as then, he literally pressed his tongue hard into his cheek as he waited for the penny to drop.
It frequently didn’t.
And so it was now, as he and Heraclitus puzzled us and he waited for a spark of enlightenment to fire even one head before him and realise how it was possible not to step into a river even once.
Eventually he repeated the phrase. “No one steps in the same river once . . . ”He paused for dramatic effect. “ . . . because, lads, it is never the same river.”
Our collective response was on the lines of a more polite “ah Jaysus, Father”. He delighted in such cleverness.
He was a generous teacher of a difficult subject, which for many of us was met with deep emotional resistance. We couldn’t see the point of it. But Fr Tom was patient and kind and arranged extra tuition in his own free time for those of us who found Greek a bridge too far.
He later became president at St Nathy’s and then Catholic bishop of Achonry. Very few, in any walk of life, reach such heights without leaving their own parish. As he did. Fr Tom died last Wednesday, aged 84.
If his pupils were fond of him, so too were people in Ballaghaderreen, as he never lost the common touch. Or, as in his case, the Roscommon touch. (I have no doubt he was pleased at his native county’s distinguishing performance in the recent same sex referendum).
Even my late father, who was programmed to disrespect all authority, liked him. This was greatly enhanced when one day Bishop Flynn got out of his car to help him herd our wandering cattle into a field.
Our cattle had a well-deserved reputation for wandering. A neighbour once told us he met them at Maynooth hitching to Dublin. It wasn’t true.
Tom Flynn was bishop of Achonry for 31 years, until 2007, and spokesman for the Catholic bishops until 1997, the same year I became Religious Affairs Correspondent at this newspaper.
I was always glad we escaped being pitted against one another. When I was appointed to the job, he presented me with two books – The Catechism of the Catholic Church and The New Dictionary of Theology – as gifts. I still have them.
Our paths crossed regularly at home, mainly during St Patrick’s Day parades. But even during the torrid years of emerging scandals and statutory reports, he was never uneasy or unpleasant. Even when he was himself challenged on the handling of an abuse case locally.
He was a good man. So was another priest who died last week and who had also been president at St Nathy's. I benefited from his personal kindness as well. Fr Andy Johnston had been ill for many years.
As a young priest at St Nathy’s, he taught us Christian doctrine. I remember his reaction one day when I asked “Father, how do we know that there is a God?” It was as if I’d asked him how we knew there was air. He was incredulous. He thought I was being mischievous.
God was the air that he breathed, as it was with Bishop Tom Flynn.
May both decent men rest in peace.
Patsy McGarry is Religious Affairs Correspondent