New Memoir Recalls Conciliar Turmoil in Parishes and Families

Downside Abbey, where many events narrated in Two Families took place

Those who move in traditional circles in the UK tell me that “everyone has heard of the Bevans.” They are a large and highly musical clan whose members have been singing for decades in liturgies and concerts. Os Justi Press is proud to have just released Joseph Bevan’s book Two Families: A Memoir of English Life During and After the Council.

In running through his eventful life, Bevan vividly describes what the practice of Catholicism was like before, during, and after the Council: he shows the strengths and weaknesses of the preconciliar routine, the confusion unleashed in the 1960s, the collapse of the liturgy and especially of sacred music “in real time,” as it was unfolding.

Eyewitness accounts are extremely important for the history of the traditionalist movement, as they flesh out our more abstract claims with concrete examples, and help fend off accusations that we are inventing or exaggerating the problems. Those who are interested in Benedictine monasticism will learn a lot of intriguing (and sometimes disturbing) things about Downside Abbey in this book, including the time when some students got themselves involved with demons, and one of them died on account of it.

Two Families is all the more interesting and useful in that it takes the form of contrasting the family into which Bevan was born with the family that he himself established later on. His family of origin was largely swept along with the tide of the times, and, as a kind of conscientious objector, Joseph Bevan and his wife decided to pursue the opposite course as they rediscovered tradition through the Society of St. Pius X and turned their lives upside-down to ensure a proper upbringing for their own large family of ten children. At a time when it was not fashionable to homeschool, they homeschooled, and later on moved to a town from which their older children could more easily get to traditional schools in France; at a time when priests were being persecuted for fidelity to tradition, they welcomed into their home an old and faithful priest. God has blessed them with two priest-sons and a daughter who is a nun (and, in fact, just made her solemn vows).

The memoir is filled with all kinds of good, honest self-assessment of failings and opportunities, falls taken and graces received; it contains, I would say, some excellent advice for parents. Kennedy Hall contributes an entertaining Foreword.

Now for some excerpts.

A view of Somerset, the county where Joseph Bevan lived for much of his life

Wise words, to which we can all relate:

Although this book contains some stern criticisms of monks and priests who have crossed my path, I still regard them as belonging to my Church, and the wholesale collapse of the clergy is something I mourn. I have no idea how God is going to put things right, but I am sure that, sooner or later, he will, and it might take 100 years. In the meantime, I just carry on in my own quiet way, trying to save my soul and the souls of my nearest and dearest. (xix)

 

Setting the stage, with abundant good humor:

 

The era of my arrival into this world on the seventh of June 1957 represented an interregnum between the austerities and deprivations of the Second World War and the forthcoming throwing off of inhibitions of all kinds which commenced in the 1960s. The occasion of my birth coincided with our goat getting into difficulties and my poor mother, with labour pains, having to go into the garden to disentangle the animal from its chain. The family doctor was summoned at about 3 p.m. and, as he lived across the road, was conveniently on hand to deliver me. Doctor Carter was the father of a large Catholic family and was not only the local general practitioner but also the doctor for Downside Benedictine monastery and school, which was about fifteen minutes’ walk away. Dr Carter’s appearances at our house over the next few years precipitated a general panic amongst us younger children; we used to run and hide, having visions of injections with large rusty needles. No matter how ill we were, his advice was always, “Don’t worry, it’ll get better by itself.”
            Downside Lodge, our home, was rented from Downside School by my father, who taught music there. It was a dilapidated old wreck but was sufficiently large to accommodate all of us thirteen children. It was surrounded by a large garden and lawns. I was too young for the house to make a lasting impression on me, as we moved elsewhere when I was aged seven, although I do remember the hide-and-seek games in the grounds and the gang warfare. My younger brother Jeremy was paired up with me, as we were closest in age, and my parents regarded us as inseparable. Why they should have assumed this is a complete mystery, as he was one of my most malevolent and resourceful adversaries. (1–2)

 

Bevan helps us to see the connection between the prevailing “permissive” culture and the self-doubting Church:

 

Religion was not the only thing being questioned in those days. Almost everything was. I am referring particularly to the emerging restlessness and impatience with wartime values as the whole world seemed to be on the verge of moral collapse, largely due to the arrival of efficient artificial contraception. The wholesale shedding of inhibitions was also evidenced by the arrival of industrial popular music as performed by The Beatles and others. Nothing was spared. In fact, even the Catholic Church was going through an ordeal of self-criticism and identity crisis at the Second Vatican Council, which started in 1962. In my little world, however, I was content to listen to The Beatles and chew my gum, although the prevalence of pop music in our home — an utter novelty — must have upset the tranquillity normally prevalent in a Catholic family. I think our parents tolerated the noise, but they must have wondered where their subtle loss of control would lead. There is no doubt that many Catholic families in the world were going through the same experience. I was not really aware of the so-called “permissive society” until I travelled to London for my schooling and observed public “snogging” for the first time in the streets of the capital, but I suppose the experience during my first Confession, which is described later, gave me the first clue that something wasn’t quite right. (12–13)

 

Childhood as it used to be (and maybe still is, among those who know what it should be…):

 

So much happened in my formative years, and life was so busy. I was never bored—unlike modern children—because all our entertainment was homemade. We had no television, and in any case, Ma, always frantically busy, was extremely intolerant of idleness. If I was ever caught sitting around, she would set me a string of jobs. From morning to night, I was gainfully occupied in my make-believe kingdom outside, and during the winter months I would be happily playing with my brothers and sisters in the maze of passages and cellars that were a feature of our house. (17–18)

 

Speaking at one point of Westminster Choir School where he attended for a short time, Bevan describes the daily routine of the choristers. This is a great passage for giving the lie to the idea that the artistic standards were not high prior to the Council. In fact, they were much, much higher than they would ever be afterwards. Even now, we have not quite caught up to “the way things were,” and I doubt we ever shall until there is a complete restoration of tradition.

 

The choir school supplied the sopranos and altos for the cathedral choir. Even in the 1960s it was being proclaimed as one of the best choirs in Europe, and its schedule was punishing. There was a Sung Mass every morning, and new music had to be prepared to a professional standard. We would rise early and have a school Low Mass in the crypt of the cathedral. After breakfast there would be lessons followed by sung Mass but, as a probationer, I was too young to sing in the choir, so we juniors sat in the front two rows in the nave….
          The cathedral choir sound was utterly unique and a total contrast to the politeness of its Anglican cathedral rivals. We had daily High Mass in the cathedral. Even with my disturbed brain, I could see how beautiful and solemn was the drama being played out before my eyes— all accompanied by music which was often sublime. My musical tastes were maturing rapidly, and I was transported by Victoria and Palestrina….
          It was a rare privilege as a youngster to witness daily the dignity and the beauty of the liturgy at the cathedral, which managed to cling to the traditional rite of Mass well into the 1970s, until the death of Cardinal Heenan. Once the glories of Catholic worship have been seen at first hand, one cannot fail to be unimpressed by the sterile and turgid offerings of the reformed liturgies in the Catholic Church following on from the Second Vatican Council, known as Vatican II. I happen to know that anyone who sang in that choir was probably marked for life, as I was, and many ex-choristers still keep in touch with each other and often meet up to sing. The old cathedral is affectionately referred to as “the drome,” but nowadays the previously grand liturgy has degenerated into a patchy concert of words and music. My three elder brothers, who attended the school at Westminster, spent their lives campaigning for proper music to be incorporated into the New Mass and have found the going extremely bumpy in the face of reluctant clergy up and down the country….
          The lasting benefits of the choir school on my life were a love of the liturgy and a love of prayer. I learned to pray, and this stayed with me even during my non-churchgoing period. I never completely lost touch with Our Lady and the Saints, and this saved me from disaster, I think. (24–27)

 

There was a lot of confusion, silliness, and Pelagianism in the shift from the old rite to the new rite:

 

We [the Bevans] were the official choir at St Michael’s Church in Shepton Mallet, and every Sunday in the holidays we sang the Mass. My father was the conductor and organist, and he laid out treats for the congregation in the form of plainchant and polyphony. With the closing of the old Catholic church in Shepton we moved to a spick-and-span affair of concrete and glass, which had been built by the diocese to accommodate the new springtime in the Church anticipated by the recent Second Vatican Council. With the new building came the New Mass. I was first made aware that something wasn’t right when, during the Canon, I received a dig in the back from Neville Dyke, who was sitting just behind me. I turned round in surprise and said, “Hello, Neville!” I received the reply, “Peace be with you!” I answered, “Talk to you later.” I can still see the Catholic families of Shepton Mallet sitting in their habitual pews: the Tullys, the Dykes, the Quins, the Dampiers, the Todds, and many others with lots of young children. With the advent of the New Mass in December 1969, the services became chaotic. The parish priest, Father Carol, wrestled with the new liturgy; he would suddenly break into Latin and correct himself.
          The music we sang as a family in church was becoming irrelevant to the goings-on at the altar, and the congregation became restless for more change. Mrs Todd, the wife of the owner of Darton, Longman & Todd, which was a leading Catholic publisher, became an agitator for change in the music. One Sunday, as we struck up with some William Byrd, she simply marched out of Mass in full view of the whole congregation.
          Pa, like the Elizabethan composers before him, adapted to the demand for change and started writing “congregational Masses” to be sung by everybody at Mass. I have to say that these compositions were so trite and turgid that we got thoroughly bored with them. In actual fact, Mass on Sunday became a frightful bore with its “sweet nothings” prayers, “hello children everywhere” readings, and faulty microphones. It took a great personal effort to rise on Sunday morning and go to church. As it dawned on our new parish priest, Father Meehan, that the reformed liturgy was turning out to be a bit of a flop, he decided upon a more “energetic” approach to the liturgy. As a result, we were made to endure all kinds of humiliating displays, such as parading the children in the sanctuary and the priest quizzing them over the microphone.
          We all hated it, but Pa said, “If you live at home you go to church!” I think Pa liked the changes. In fact, he did say in an unguarded moment— following a session with the gin and martini bottles— that it was like coming home to his Church of England past. Ma endured the revolution patiently and, much later, embraced Catholic Tradition again.
          In those days we were witnessing the changes in the Mass, which were bad enough. Little did we know that there was a wholesale offensive against the Catholic faith going on at the highest levels, and the New Mass was just a symptom of this attack. My mother has testified to the gradual meltdown in Catholic moral theology amongst her own teenage daughters, who were only following the example of their friends. (33–35)

 

I could keep quoting Bevan, but that would spoil the pleasure of discovering the twists and turns for yourself! So I’ll stop here, but do consider reading this meaty but still compact (under 200 pages) memoir of a Catholic caught between a false modernization that failed to fulfill its promises and a return to tradition that actually delivers the goods—the interesting story of a man, typical of his era in many ways, who was led by grace from lazy lapsation to burning zeal for the Faith.

The author (far left) with his family

Two Families has received glowing endorsements from an impressive array of readers:

The Right Reverend Dom Cuthbert Brogan, OSB, Abbot of St. Michael’s Abbey, Farnborough: “Joseph Bevan traces this family’s voyage through the choppy waters of Church life in England in the last decades. In recalling these years, the author chronicles the collapse of the liturgy and of religious life, and gives examples of decadence in Church music and the effect this had on the practice of the Faith for himself and his family. Frank about his own shortcomings and realistic about the current crises in the Church, Joseph seeks a solution to modern ills. He finds this in a renewed immersion in Catholic tradition, doctrine, and practice. Two Families is an engaging and honest work.”

Dom Alcuin Reid, OSB, Prior of Monastère Saint-Benoît, Fréjus-Toulon: “This is an inspiring book that grittily teaches a perennial truth which we ignore at our peril: genuine charity is ‘the only defence’ against all that assails us. Whatever our state in life, Two Families challenges us to return to its daily practice whilst there is still time.”

Edward Pentin, Senior Contributor, National Catholic Register: “Wise, amusing, and beautifully written, Bevan shares not only the secrets to a well-lived Catholic life that has borne abundant good fruit, but also invaluable insights into the extent of the crisis facing the Church. Recalling the ups and downs he and his wife Clare faced in raising ten children as the post-conciliar Church steadily imploded, Bevan is candid and incisive in his analysis, offering much-needed hope and guidance not only to Catholic families but to all Catholics serious about their faith.”

James Bogle, barrister, retired army officer, former President of the Una Voce Federation: “The Bevan family are well known throughout his native Somerset and, indeed, in England and internationally, for their musical talent as a family choir. Joseph’s lifelong career in church music has given him an insider’s perspective on the liturgical revolution that took place after the Second Vatican Council. A mixture of nostalgia and realism, historical charm and contemporary comment, the story carries the reader along whilst providing insight into a most unusual time in the history of two families, a country, a Church, and a world.”

Anthony P. Stine, Return to Tradition Podcast: “These memoirs by Mr Joseph Bevan remind faithful Catholics that the only certain means of preserving the faith today is to follow what we must unfortunately call ‘Traditional Catholicism’ (as if any other kind should exist!), which begins with the traditional family.”

Two Families is available directly from the publisher in paperback, hardcover, or ebook, as well as from Amazon.