Obituary - Fr Cuthbert Rabnett 1981

Born: 13 Apr 1909 – died: 22 Dec 1981
Clothed - 21 Sep 1931
Solemn Vows- 22 Sep 1935
Priest - 17 Jul 1938

Fr Cuthbert's originality in dealing with the problems of life made memorable stories for the community and his many friends. There was the Junior who asked to borrow his bicycle: 'Yes,' said Fr Cuthbert. 'Which one is it?' said the Junior, expecting directions so as to distinguish it from the many flat tyred ones in the bicycle room. 'Well, it's the only one in my room.' On the cricket field, shirt sleeves buttoned to the wrist, with an air of inexperience, positioning the field, fussing to the nearest centimetre. Then came a voice, 'I've not been placed.' 'Oh well, better go second slip.' There is a pause before his run up, an air of detachment, as if his thoughts are far away. The deception is complete: the first ball goes off the bat into second slip's hands.

Climbing Scafell Pike with a party of Juniors late one morning after two attempts to see the sun rise at Stickle Tarn had been defeated by mist, a party on top of a rocky outcrop were waving and called; they had been stranded there all night. The Juniors started the rescue noisily fussing; Fr Cuthbert silently watching. When at last the party had been rescued, he smiled and said, 'What was the sunrise like?'.

First impressions were of a plain, blunt man; at times dreamy and inscrutable; a man of careful speech and no small talk or gossip; not of quick humour but of deep wit, even impishness; a man who lived rationally and not emotionally; and then, like a seam of gold shining in ore, appeared the unexpected depths within, especially his kindness.

Jerome Rabnett was born in 1909 in Newcastle where his parents had a business. He did his early schooling in Newcastle before coming to Ampleforth with his brother. A contemporary writes:

'Jerome was something of a puzzle to us, far more intelligent than we were and with a directness to which we were not accustomed.'

He had considerable and wide-ranging competence: in work, for he would win mathematical prizes; in music, for he was a good pianist; in sport, for he was house captain of rugby and played in the rather poor 1st XV of that year, and he was a highly praised school captain of cricket. He was a remarkable all rounder.

As a boy, and indeed later as a man, he was often difficult to understand, though easy to approach. One might ask him a simple question and expect an equally simple and direct answer. There would be a longish pause, showing not that he failed to have the answer, but rather that he had seen more to the question than had been anticipated: the answer might not be what had been hoped for but it taught us a lot more than we were prepared for. Always there was a touch of his very personal brand of humour which prevented an answer from seeming to be a correction, and no one was allowed to feel in any way inferior to him. His comments, as his answers, could be pointed in their bleak truth. During a school match Jerome, playing centre, sustained a fractured arm and was in considerable pain. Father Paul came to the Old Infirmary, where Jerome was lying on a bed waiting for the arrival of Doctor Porter, and anxiously paced up and down the ward. He was rather taken aback when after a few minutes a voice from the bed said, 'Father Paul, please remember that it is I who have the pain, not you'.

Already he could stand back and appraise the customs of the school. He may well have been the first Head Monitor to be opposed to corporal punishment. Another contemporary recalls that after one serious peccadillo he was taken for a walk by him, and in this way they thrashed the matter out.

His school career was completed when he won an Exhibition to Emmanuel College, Cambridge. The Universities between the two wars contained more than the decadence of Brideshead or the disloyalty of Blunt and other Apostles; Jerome represented those who were fully committed to their earlier loyalties.

'Jerome was a paragon of regularity and dependability especially in supporting the Fisher House plainsong choir: I don't suppose he missed a service or a choir practice in all his three years' residence. He was a wrangler in the Mathematical Tripos, of which there are perhaps thirty or so each year; I recall only one other Catholic priest reaching this distinction, so in this sense Jerome was outstanding among our clergy.'

He was also given a cricket trial for Cambridge University. He started his novitiate the following September and took simple vows in 1932. Solemn vows followed in 1935, and he was ordained in 1938. In 1934 he read Theology at Blackfriars, Oxford, his enquiring mind delighting in the problems that he encountered. It became a life-long interest and challenge and in sermons in later life he was able to present his findings simply, if in rather a haphazard and lengthy fashion. A clear explanation of some charismatic truth was once interrupted by 'and let us pray for the church door keys which have been lost'.

On return from Oxford, as war was threatening, he was placed on the Mathematics staff, and on the games field for up to 6 days a week. He became Senior Mathematics Master and built a faculty remarkably open to current advances. He was put in charge of the school timetable, and so sensible were his premises that his approach was used and developed until September 1981. Old Boys remember the silent figure walking along the corridors and were moved by the reverent atmosphere at his pre-Vatican II private Mass. Those in the scholars' set remember him correcting large piles of IV form books in class; the long silences when they asked a question; the days when he gave three or four totally different solutions to a problem; the annotated text books:-'author has not proved that point'. Professor Tim Smiley, talking of his experience of being taught in the scholars' set, said, 'I received unsparing, but quite unwounding, accusations of dishonesty at the slightest sign I had fudged an argument, a lesson I recall daily in my work as a professor'.

The strength of mind and peace of soul required for this enormous output of continual work (whole holidays were often spent visiting a sick friend) he found in his monastic observance. The Office was his prime love: he was throughout life meticulous in attendance. The margins of his, and indeed any, breviary were filled with comments, some to the point, others purely meditative jottings. He was not a highly trained organist, but competent to deal with the complexities of Vespers. When asked by a pupil organist how long it would take to learn, he said, 'I have been trying to master the plainchant for twelve years'. In 1941 he became editor of the Ordo, instructions on how to use the Breviary and Missal, and co-editor in 1970. This was a job requiring scrupulous care and it was done with a craftsman's delight in the difficulties, especially of the pre-Vatican II legalistic rubrics.

Such a monastic example challenged and encouraged those close to him. He was appointed Assistant to the Novice Master, not an easy position for one with his solidly founded views, but loyally he took second place. Former novices remember his strict orders-'I gave you permission to go for a run, not a walk'. The after-lunch novitiate corona, or meeting, could have been a taut and silent occasion but the Ordo and the Liturgy provided him with inexhaustible topics, not least as the novices looked for the annual joke in the Ordo. But he was a listener, too, and discussions on circular churches in the '50s led to many of his ideas in the Oswaldkirk Church.

Being with the novices brought him into close contact with a younger age group and he delighted in taking them for a walk, a bathe in the Rye, or showing them redwings in Shallowdale. And when the Novices became Juniors in the community, he joined in their holidays. Maps were studied and accommodation would be found near a high trig point usually in the Lake District. He was a good companion. Memorable were his mountain climbing expeditions for non-climbers: Sherpa Rabnett led the way. On one occasion, as others followed, in mist on hands and knees up vertical mud for a final fifty metres, he commented, 'the guide book did say it was a difficult climb'. This time, at least, he did not advise, 'Go down the way you came.' On one hair-raising, desert-type drive down a narrow mountain road, luck and the Lord enabled the driver to swerve left into a lay-by and back on to the road while a heavy lorry monopolised the road parallel to the lay-by. A pause. And then. 'Br....., not all drivers are as good as you.' How naturally on holiday he could remind other monks of the things of God; the Litany at the start of a journey; the Office said together. The Second Vatican Council brought much relaxation to the rock hard rules of the Tridentine Church. Surprisingly, Fr Cuthbert had the liberty of spirit to adapt. The liturgy had come alive; Mass could be concelebrated. He welcomed and encouraged the charismatic movement, Marriage Encounter and the Ecumenical movement, especially the last for he was a strong supporter of the Ryedale Christian Council and made many friends there. In 1957 he became the Oswaldkirk missioner and this brought him into contact with many lay people. When asked later if he had done anything in his life, he said 'I've built a church'; and he could indeed be proud of the building he had had designed, and the Derek Clarke windows. But his words mean more than he realised for he had built a living church of people. His great shyness seemed to have gone; at last he was able to laugh at himself. His parishioners found how lovable he was beneath that rational exterior: his goodness and holiness radiated outwards to his family, the parish. He delighted in doing the smallest servicesÄa large print missal for one with poor sightÄhospital visits. He was in York making these hospital visits daily for a fortnight when he died suddenly in a York street on 22 December.

Happily, early in 1981, he had been on a six month sabbatical to the United States to visit his family. They remembered his kindliness over the years, the skill with which he kept in touch. For the community there was the delightful company of his last years. He had tried to do everything perfectly all his life and he had grown into what a monk ought to be: a man of God. Thus many of the community found in him a valued confessor.

But his idiosyncrasies did not disappear. Logic was applied to eating; his plate was covered with exotic mixtures of health foods; and his milk and hot water at supper was a trap for many an unwary first waiter. The labour- intensive waste paper collecting continued in the hope, not always the expectation, of adding a few pounds to the income of his parish. Only one area did he conquer: his marvellously untidy room was tidied and it took him a year of work. As his health deteriorated after his first heart attack in 1968, he gave up the long walks which he enjoyed so much, but hardest of all was coming to terms with his loss of memory.

The Prologue of the Rule of St Benedict tells us, 'He who dwells in the Kingdom, does what is right, and speaks truth in his heart; he does not slander, has done no evil to his friend, nor believed ill of his neighbour.' May he rest in peace.

CUTHBERT RABNETT

Details from the Abbey Necrology