This Turbulent Priest: The Life of Cardinal Winning

Winning and his colleagues departed the ceremony at around five o’clock and spotted seminarians in the scarlet cassock of the German College. Winning took the lead in approaching them in a gesture of peace, but his noble effort was unnecessary; each student was from Hungary, though based at the German-Hungarian college. As Latin was the only common tongue they began to quiz each other as they walked home. Josef Bistyo, one of the Hungarian students, explained how he had deserted from the army and walked for weeks until he reached Rome. Unable to speak the language he would rub his stomach when hungry. Winning and Bistyo became friends and for the duration of their university years they spent each morning break talking in Latin, so that they would become fluent in the language of the classroom and their textbooks.

If Winning’s devotion to the papacy was fuelled by his first sight of Pius XII, his template for the priesthood was formed by the lecturers at the Gregorian University, the West Point of the Catholic Church. If Oxford University in England had a propensity to produce prime ministers, the Pontificia Universita Gregoriana produced popes; ten during the previous four hundred years, including Pius XII. Originally founded as the Collegio Romano by Ignatius of Loyola, it was upgraded to a university by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582 and became an incubator for the Church’s elite. The original building, constructed from a handsome honeyed stone, and situated in the old town, was confiscated during the Reunification of Italy in the 1880s. Mussolini granted permission for a new building to be built in 1929, a feat completed with Fascist punctuality in 1931. So it was to the Piazza della Pilota, a ten-minute walk from the Scots College along the Via Rasella, that Winning arrived in November 1946. The Scots College was comparable to a contemporary hall of residence, with Winning’s actual education taking place at the university under the tutelage of the Jesuits.

The first day brought a problem. After examining the Scots students’ previous course of study, the authorities decided that it was necessary for Winning to repeat a year of theology. It was a decision which meant the misery of Mill Hill was compounded by being regarded by Rome as a waste of time. He was initially disappointed, but grew to be grateful for the extra time, relishing the dynamism within the university. Each day, 2,500 students drawn from over 200 colleges and religious orders or communities gathered at the ‘Greg’ to learn from 110 professors. The lecture theatres had raised banks of seats, each with a hinged desktop, and on the ground floor stood the professors who led them through dogmatic theology, fundamental theology and moral theology. A German student who sat in front of Winning in a number of classes was so enamoured with particular lecturers that he would sneak a camera from his leather satchel and take their picture. Winning said: ‘He never bothered with the boring ones. Rome and the Greg were so full of great people he did not need to.’

Their teachers were contemporary stars such as Heinrich Lennerts, a German who taught dogmatic theology and explained to Winning the nature of the Trinity, the power of grace and the workings of the Holy Spirit, while also writing speeches for Pius XII. Maurizio Flick was an Italian Jesuit who taught moral theology and focused on the theology of the cross, a subject on which he would later write a celebrated book. Winning’s personal favourite was Sebastian Tromp, a Dutch Jesuit who was the principal author of Pius XII’s encyclical, ‘Mystici Corporis’, issued in June 1943. During classes Tromp would joke, ‘As we said in our encyclical … excuse me, as the Holy Father said in his encyclical.’ Winning was inspired by their quiet and usually humble nature, unexpected from men of such intelligence and achievement. On one occasion, he bumped into Charles Voyers, the French Jesuit who was an acclaimed humanist and pioneer of the ecumenical movement. Winning was able to give him a spare ticket for a papal event. ‘He thanked me profusely and I would think these are the kinds of guys I want to be. He was a world-famous theologian, but very humble.’

Winning’s attempts to become such a ‘guy’ were aided by his tremendous stamina for work, combined with a comprehensive style of study. He would never use three textbooks, where a fourth might offer a more illuminating passage. At the college he would consistently study past midnight, despite the threat of a five o’clock rise. Eugene Matthews, a postgraduate student of canon law, said: ‘I thought he was very unwise and pushed himself much too hard.’ Since Rome was regularly bedevilled by power-cuts, this meant most of Winning’s studies were conducted by candlelight. Commenting on his study methods, Charles Renfrew said: ‘He read a lot in bed at night. The rest of us would have one or two books … Tom would have fourteen books and they’d all have markers sticking in them. I used to say: “Can I take away thirteen of those and let you finish one?”’3

For all the breadth of his study and the depth of influence brought to bear by the current pope and the teachings at the university, Winning was still able to carry his own personal experiences into the classroom. One unmarked exam paper was to have a growing consequence for his concept of social justice, which became more radical as he aged. During Winning’s second term, a lecturer asked the question, was it right to steal if you were starving? Winning drew on the poverty of his childhood and viewed the answer as simple: clearly it was better to save your life than die in obedience to the law. Outside of the class, he discussed his answer with other students and discovered that he was the only one to answer yes. Yet as the papers were never corrected his position was never challenged. ‘I asked the older fellows and they would shake their heads; but I felt they damn well needed to experience it.’

The experience of a Roman education was one of the gifts for which Winning would most often thank God. After the demoralizing drudgery of his British education, his experience in the Italian capital was one of levity and an unexpected liberalism. True, there were strict rules regarding many of the quintessential Italian experiences: the smoky bars of Trastevere, the chic restaurants of the Borgo Pio, the Opera House and theatre were all proscribed under threat of expulsion. But the museums, the churches, the Colosseum and the millennia of culture remained on permanent display and through the mandatory daily walk, designed to ensure the body remained as fit as the mind, Winning witnessed them all.

The Scots College, under the firm reign of Mgr William Clapperton, was reasonably contented. The rector preferred one rule for all, rather than having exceptions, and Winning found the college the most relaxed of all the establishments he had been in. ‘If you were caught smoking in Bearsden, you would be fired. But if you were caught smoking in Rome, the rector would just say: “Don’t put the cigarettes down the washbasin sink.”’

Clapperton could be boorish at times with his own staff, but he was remembered fondly by students for the balance he brought to their education. For instance, students were encouraged to drink wine with their meals; a pleasure denied to Winning who was now nursing the beginnings of a stomach ulcer that would trouble him for the next twenty years. Should a student become ‘puggled’ through drink, it would pass once without comment but a lesson was considered learned. However, as the wine was consistently watered down, such an occasion occurred only rarely.

Winning was called before Clapperton a number of times and reprimanded for his untidy dress and tardy arrival at morning prayer, but he held him in some affection. The rector was at his most unpopular during the monthly film nights, organized by Eugene Matthews with the assistance of Warner Brothers and MGM, who had offices in Rome. As a result of Clapperton’s poor hearing, he would ask for a running commentary. Rome was the type of city that attracted Hollywood stars and on one occasion, shortly after watching a Tyrone Power picture, Winning spotted the actor with Linda Christian, a leading actress of the day, posing for pictures by the Trevi fountain.

Clapperton reserved his most spectacular outbursts for the college football team. Before the war the Scots never lost their annual match against the English college; after the war they never won. Winning was an ineffectual player and rarely strayed on to the pitch; instead he preferred to remain on the sidelines and revelled in the Celtic match reports sent from home. He once took the opportunity to canonize Celtic’s entire first team. Each day at 12.45 p.m., the students filed into the college chapel to perform the Litany of Saints, a prayer in which they petitioned the help of the Church’s saints and martyrs. As Winning was leading the chant, and in the absence of either rector or vice-rector, he substituted the names of the saints for players such as George Hazlett, Konrad Kapler and William Gallacher.

Winning was frequently late. His tardiness provoked the ire of Clapperton, and caused his fellow students to moan with frustration. The amateur dramatics common at Blairs had been revived in Rome. Rehearsals were scheduled between eight o’clock and nine-thirty each evening, and Winning was perpetually late, reluctant to don a frock once again.

During his three years in Rome he would go on to perform as Calpurnia and Lady Macbeth, but he was allowed to retain his own sex in the operas of Gilbert and Sullivan. ‘We all assembled at the right time, but he was always late. He would get impatient and he’d say, “Why the hell do we have to say this?”’ said Charles Renfrew. Roddy Macdonald, another contemporary, said, ‘He wasn’t Laurence Olivier, but he worked hard, he made an effort.’ The productions were performed each Christmas when, for a few nights, the English-speaking colleges in Rome became a cabaret circuit with the students performing one evening, spectating the next. The life of a ‘poor player’ had its downside, when on more than one occasion Winning had to visit a chemist, dressed in his soutane, to request nail-polish remover.

In July 1947, in a tradition dating back over three hundred years, the college closed down and everyone, staff, students and servants, travelled the twelve miles from the baking heat of the city centre to the relative cool and shade of the mountains. A stone house had been purchased in 1654 in an idyllic spot outside the hill town of Marino, which offered wonderful views out across the Sabine Hills on one side, and the blue of the Mediterranean on the other. The original Villa Scozzese had long since crumbled and had been replaced in 1925 with a modern two-storey structure, complete with an elegant courtyard and a bell tower which commanded views across the parched plains to Rome and up to the summit of Monte Cavo. The leisure facilities were those of an upmarket country hotel and included a swimming pool, tennis court and acres of vineyards, where, as Winning remembered, ‘you could pick bunches of grapes as big as a bucket’.

Upon arrival, the students’ and staff’s first priority was to inspect for any war damage, as the villa had been rented by the Italian Air Force before being converted into a German command post for the local area. It was in this capacity that Field Marshal Kesselring, commander-in-chief of Italy, had visited. Monsignor Clapperton discovered that what the Germans had lent with their right hand, they had stolen back with their left: new pumps had been fitted to ensure a steady water supply, the roads had been kept in good repair, and a mechanical wine press had been installed in the cantina. Upon their retreat, however, they had taken all the beds and mattresses, and ripped out the stoves they had fitted, leaving, as Clapperton recalled, ‘only the holes in the walls to greet us’.5 The compensation the college eventually received failed to cover the cost but, as Clapperton felt, ‘It was summer, we were back at the villa, and it felt good to be alive.’

In previous centuries, summer visits to the Villa Scozzese had been restricted to just six weeks, but now with exams over, the university closed until October, and visits to Scotland restricted to just one every three years, the house was to be home for almost three months. The students settled into a long summer of hiking, swimming, tennis and only the lightest of studies. The rector ran a morning class, studying Dante’s Inferno in the original Italian and there was the rosary and Benediction each evening. Yet Winning was to tolerate his visits to the villa as opposed to truly enjoy them. A lifetime’s fear of indolence was born during the two summers he spent at Marino. On future holidays for the rest of his life, he would plan and pack each day with excursions or visits, unable to simply slouch. ‘I felt it made you soft,’ said Winning, of his drowsy Italian summers. He was also stricken with pangs of homesickness and would climb the bell tower to watch the planes he imagined were bound for Scotland. To keep himself busy, Winning began teaching a daily German class for any students who could muster the enthusiasm to attend.

Some days, however, were easier to endure than others. The rector enjoyed the sea and regular trips were organized to Netuno on the coastline. A lorry was hired and the students would climb into the back for the short trip. The villa’s servants would also travel down to prepare a large lunch at a beachside restaurant that they would take over for the day.

One incident Winning remembered with bemusement was the arrest of Constantino, the villa’s chef. He had already embarrassed himself by making a drunken speech in honour of dead Fascists. This took place when the students had attempted to pray before a memorial to the Gordon Highlanders who fell at the Anzio beachhead. A few days later, a second incident occurred on the occasion of Marino’s annual festival, when the townsfolk travelled the neighbouring vineyards collecting grapes so that the town’s fountain would spout wine. After the ceremony, Constantino returned to the villa to prepare supper, but instead of simply serving the meat dishes and departing, he insisted on blowing a kazoo repeatedly in the rector’s face. He was arrested the next day with two stories circulating (both of which may or may not be true), one that he had killed a man while serving Mussolini during the war, another involving the theft of a cow.

In the summer of 1947, the students were joined for a few weeks by the Scots bishops, who had arrived in Rome for the Ad Limina, the report they deliver every five years to the Pope and the various Vatican departments. Their arrival had an effect on Winning’s future as he learned that the archdiocese of Glasgow would be split to create two smaller dioceses, centred around the towns of Paisley in the west and Motherwell in the east. Although Winning remained a student for the diocese of Glasgow, he now knew he would not serve there as a priest, as his address lay within the new diocese of Motherwell. The students returned to the college in October, narrowly missing the collapse of the top-floor ceilings.

In the autumn of 1947 and spring of 1948, Winning was an interested spectator in an unprecedented campaign by the Catholic Church in the national politics of Italy. The cause was in opposition to the growing strength of the Communist Party under the remarkable leadership of Palmiro Togliatti, a native Italian who had spent the war years sheltering in Moscow. Togliatti was a natural politician, aware that Italians had no desire to swap Mussolini for Stalin, and so he developed a distinctly Italian form of Communism, one capable of drawing ten thousand spectators to hear him speak. He had already been expelled from the coalition government during the spring, at the behest of Washington, and now with a general election planned for May 1948, he stood as a potential Prime Minister.

While the American government publicly threatened to withdraw the benefits of the Marshall Plan from Italy, in the event of a Communist victory, privately they pumped in $5 million through the fledgling Central Intelligence Agency to the Christian Democrats and anti-Communist trade unions to prevent any such victory occurring. Hundreds of thousands of posters began appearing for the Christian Democrats, showing a skeleton in a Soviet uniform with the shoutline: ‘Vote – or he’ll be your boss.’ A pastiche of such posters appeared on walls of the Scots College, during the election of the new debating chairman. Yet it was the power of the Pope which arguably swung the election. On 8 February 1948, Pius XII met with Professor Luigi Gedda, leader of Catholic Action, a Vatican-backed lay movement, which operated in a number of European countries to educate men (and a few women) about Catholic social teaching with the idea that they would influence society for the better, and charged him with the task of preventing a Communist takeover.

Pius XII denounced the Communists whom he detested for their atheism, and threatened any Catholic who sided with the party with excommunication, and Gedda set up a Civic Committee in 1,800 parishes across the country. These distributed propaganda posters and screened films depicting the Communists as godless and evil. From the balcony of his papal apartment, Pope Pius asked the gathered crowds, which included Winning, ‘Do you want to live under the atheism of Russia? Do you want to be disciples of Christ?’ A week prior to the election, while Winning was on a short break in Siena with Charles Renfrew and Eugene Matthews, Italian seminarians across the country removed their cassocks, dressed as laity, and actively campaigned for the Christian Democrats. On 18 April 1948, the Church’s pressure bore fruit: the Christian Democrats proved victorious. The Church’s achievement would resonate with Winning, who would never forget the potential for influence which existed within the Catholic Church, though at the time he questioned the effects on democracy. His conclusion, however, was that a Communist victory would have had even greater, more serious consequences.

The date of Winning’s ordination as a priest was set for 18 December 1948. As he was still only twenty-three years old, one year below the permitted age, a special dispensation was sought and granted. Prior to the ceremony, he embarked, as was customary, on a one-week retreat to reflect on the honour and burden about to be bestowed on him. Winning and Hugh McEwan, a fellow Scot whose ordination was set for the same date, spent their retreat at the Jesuit headquarters a few hundred yards from St Peter’s Square. There they met their former scripture professor, Fr Josef Mochsi, a Hungarian Jesuit, who was composing a report for the Vatican on Communist Hungary. The priest wished them both well, but asked that they pray for him as he would be returning to Budapest shortly and arrest was inevitable. Winning promised to offer his first Mass for the priest, who one month later was imprisoned by the Communist authorities.

Maurice Taylor had reconvened his priestly training in Rome on the completion of his military service, and it was he who visited the Jesuits’ headquarters and told Winning the location of the ordination. Unfortunately, the Church of the Twelve Apostles was an ordinary, unflattering site – entirely undesirable in the opinion of Winning – for hosting such a service. He insisted Taylor change the mind of the bureaucrat at the Vatican office who had made the decision. Winning wanted the ceremony to take place at the Basilica of St John Lateran, the grandest church in Rome after St Peter’s, and the site where he had previously received his minor orders. The self-regard of such a statement is one that verges almost on arrogance and illustrates that behind Winning’s doubts and occasional crises in confidence, there actually lay a strong bedrock of self-confidence. It is hard to imagine any Scots seminarian before or since who would deem a particular venue as unsuitable for his own ordination. Incredibly, Taylor was successful and Winning’s presumptuous wish was granted. On the appointed day, he arrived before dawn for a ceremony that began at half past six and would last over six hours.

Among the packed congregation was an extended delegation from Winning’s family. Thomas Winning senior had decided to sell his sweet-making machines in order to raise the necessary funds for himself, his wife and daughter to attend. Eight other relatives, including aunts, uncles and cousins, decided to make what was in 1948 a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, not only to witness Winning’s ordination, but also to see the sights of Rome. The church, with its stunning marble statues and fourteenth-century frescos, did not disappoint. In total, thirty-nine priests and a whole host of minor orders were ordained that morning by Archbishop Luigi Traglia.

Winning attempted to focus all his attention on what was to come. God, working through the Holy Spirit, was only moments from descending upon him. At the altar, the elderly archbishop laid both his hands on his head and began to utter the prayers of ordination which stretch back two thousands years to Christianity’s earliest days. After praying that the Holy Spirit would touch Winning with his gifts, Traglia anointed his hands with the oil of Christ, the sacred oil of olives once used in the coronation of kings and a symbol of the Holy Spirit. It was these hands which would now be able to administer the sacraments of the Church, turn wine into blood, and unleavened bread into the body of Christ.

In the most dramatic part of the ceremony, Winning lay flat on the floor of the sanctuary, his face pressed into the marble and his arms folded under his head – a form of surrender to God and a symbol of his rebirth. ‘He is waiting there like a dead thing, for the Holy Spirit to come and quicken him into a new form of life,’6 wrote Ronald Knox of the ordination ceremony. After a moment of silent contemplation, Winning rose as a priest and accepted the chalice and paten, the cup and plate used during the Mass for the bread and wine.

Outside after the service he embraced his mother and sister and shook hands with his father. It was the first time they had seen each other in over two years and the delight was evident. Although students were prohibited from missing classes to witness their friends’ ordination, Charles Renfrew had attended and gave his warm congratulations. Again, according to tradition, the rector was absent and so Winning returned to the college to give Clapperton his first blessing as a new priest. After this he retired to a local restaurant for a family lunch, which he followed with a visit to Vatican Radio in order to broadcast his blessings and good wishes to Scotland.

A highlight, not only of his ordination but also of his life, followed two days later when he and his family enjoyed a brief audience with Pope Pius XII. In contrast to Winning’s previous encounters with the Pope, this time he was able to speak with him, even though very briefly. He exchanged a pledge of loyalty for the Pope’s blessing and promise of his thoughts and prayers. It signified the closure of a remarkable two years. Though his final exams at the Gregorian would not take place until June and his fine grades, a cum laude, were not yet known, that meeting on 20 December 1948 contained the essential ingredients of his future life and career: a fierce loyalty to the Pope, a deep love of the family, and an unflinching devotion to his duty as a priest.

FOUR

A Curate’s Tale

‘Gerry Rogers was a father figure to me.’

THOMAS WINNING

Ecclesiastical politics and their secular cousin are very similar. In both, any change in leadership frequently corresponds to a change in personnel. In 1947, Fr Gerry Rogers, once the indispensable troubleshooter of the previous Archbishop of Glasgow, Donald Mackintosh, discovered that his successor, Donald Campbell, was a far brisker, ruder character. Where Rogers had once sat at Mackintosh’s right hand, advising on a range of issues from Church law to liturgical matters and changes of personnel, he now found himself distanced from and no longer welcome within the confines of the inner circle.