In the last episode, the missionary found himself drawn back into old memories when an eccentric priest from his Mill Hill days suddenly reappeared, leading him on an unexpected trip to Labuan. What began years earlier as a chaotic favour—hauling luggage, a giant statue, and chasing a train across London—now resurfaced in Borneo as the same forgetful, good‑natured character invited him to see the quiet island that had once been the centre of British power. There were shabby mission houses, a loyal shaggy dog under the table, stories of wartime fleets, and a rough sea journey back through Brunei Bay, ending with the striking sight of a golden mosque rising above the water village. It was a chapter full of odd coincidences, humour, old friendships, and the feeling that the missionary’s path was being shaped as much by chance encounters as by any grand plan, each adventure preparing him for the next step of his life in the Tropics.
There was at this time living in the town a teacher employed by government. He was truly “a chiel amang us takin’ notes”. He describes the adventures of the Italian father and son team who did the stone masonry work for the mosque in a novel “The Devil of a State” under the pseudonym, Anthony Burgess. I met one of his pupils once, the District Officer of Kuala Belait, who loved all his eccentricities and strange mannerisms. From his other novels, grouped together in “Malayan Trilogy”, it is obvious that he was anti-establishment and a friend of the underdog. The Malays always feel a certain inferiority towards the Chinese, whom they regard as richer, more clever, more blessed with this world’s good things. The fact that the Malays have their hands firmly on political power both in Brunei and Malaysia does not seem to lessen their gripes.
It is not often that a reader of a book has the opportunity to check up on its realism; several people were still there who were depicted in the novel and they were absolutely true to life. I always felt some kinship with him and often wanted to drop him a note, just to say hello and such like in Malay. But I delayed and was consequently very saddened last year to hear of his death. I think for some reason he was never fully appreciated in his native land. He was a Catholic from Manchester; the parish priest at that time was also from there, but strangely Tom Delaney never made it into the novel. He would have added considerably to its richness, with his ear trumpet in the confessional. There was a little postscript to this when I had to leave Brunei finally. Some mention of my departure was made in the Catholic press. “The Irish Catholic” subsequently received a letter from the architect of the mosque, protesting about my having to leave; he mentioned his interest and wrote about the people of various races and religions who had contributed to its construction. He thought of it as a witness to tolerance among peoples and how displeased the old sultan would have been at this turn of events. Indeed, it was the story again of the ” Pharaoh who knew not Joseph”; all the old social contacts were destroyed by the new generation; the old retainers, friends and confidants of the old man were demoted and, if they were foreigners, harried out of the state, even though possessing permanent resident qualifications.
It seems as though I was going to become a roving missionary for no sooner was I back in Kuala Belait than an old friend, Frank Cowan arrived from his home leave and wanted me to go with him to Miri. I had not seen him for years since his appointment to North Borneo. This time the road was a quagmire but a bus could stagger through somehow. We arrived in a downpour in Miri and sloshed our way up to the mission drenched. It was one thing to hear the monsoon rains thundering on the mission roof and to peer at it through the window, but this was my first experience of being exposed to it. It was a numbing sensation. Bishop Galvin was planning a pastoral visit to Brunei and, as drivers did not like to tackle the road solo, we were welcome to accompany him in his jeep. We called in at Kuala Belait, this time for me to say farewell to Jan and thank him for all his kindness. This was it. I was finally going to take up my appointment at St Michael’s School, Seria.
For me it was the moment that every theatre-goer relishes -the arrival of the hero on the stage. I met Fr Leo Barry for the first time. We drove into the Seria compound beautifully clean, well laid out with flame of the forest, hibiscus, orchids, banyan and rain tree making it a floral garden. Leo came down to meet us. Tall, dressed all in white-the old Borneo style-his face tanned by many years in the Tropics, he stood before us and greeted us, for want of a better word, graciously. He was truly the monarch of all he surveyed, the builder of the house, the church and co-founder of the big school that lay alongside. Seria was until 10 years previously non-existent. Although the oil was discovered in 1929, the work was concentrated in Kuala Belait and, for all practical purposes what with war damage, Seria came alive only in the post-war years .In that time he had established a very thriving parish community and school, the only private Form 5 secondary school in the State; there was only one other such, run by government in the capital. Leo had served many years in the big Iban station of Kanowit on the Rejang river in Sarawak, had been elected twice as local superior of the Mill Hill priests -this office was distinct from bishop. In mission territories, Rome appoints the ecclesiatical superior, but the foreign missionaries have their own society or congregation superior. In Borneo the missionaries were all Mill Hill, naturally including the bishop. This situation had only limited value in the pioneering days but when the church advanced and local priests were made bishops, then the society superior was there to protect the rights of his own men.
Leo was a close friend of both his own bishop, Mgr John Vos of Kuching and of Mgr Buis of North Borneo. He was well known to Sir Denis White, the British High Commissioner of Brunei, a former officer of the Brooke administration. When the talk began of cutting off from the Kuching Vicariate the 4th and 5th Divisions of Sarawak and Brunei and to make this a new one, it was presumed that Leo would be the first bishop. Great was the surprise when it was announced that Anthony Galvin the rector of the seminary of Mill Hill had been appointed. Tony had of course served in Kuching and before that in North Borneo, but mainly in teaching work. Here he was at the age of 40 with some of the most senior missionaries in all Borneo under him. He found his way eventually, became an acknowledged expert in native culture and steered his vicariate skilfully through the transition period of leaving colonial Sarawak to become part of the Moslem-dominated new state of Malaysia. When one considers how much Leo did for the building up of the church among the Ibans and now in Brunei, it would be only natural if he felt some disappointment. I could see that he was never at ease in the bishop’s company. Thus it came about that day, as we stood before Leo, that I and, probably the bishop, hopped from one foot to the other.
In the next episode, something begins to shift beneath the quiet rhythm of mission life, as small, unsettling signs creep into the edges of the missionary’s days—strange stories whispered in the heat, shadows moving where they shouldn’t, and a sense that old tensions in the oil‑field are stirring again. People seem watchful, rumours travel faster than the monsoon wind, and even familiar faces carry secrets behind their smiles. Whatever is coming feels close now—close enough to unsettle the heart, and close enough to change the journey in ways the missionary never expected.
