Page 49 - Bulletin 13 2009
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                  In 1918, at the age of 72, he remained a tower of strength to all of those affected by the
                  great flu epidemic. Ill though he was, on one dark night in Black October he left his bed

                  at 3 a.m. against doctor’s orders to bring Viaticum to a poor fisherman who was dying
                  in the dim candlelight of his small cottage in Kalk Bay - such was Father Duignam. He

                  was also instrumental in turning the St. James Mission School into a hospital, with the

                  nuns acting as nurses during this great flu epidemic.


                  He was loved and revered by all his parishioners and was held in utmost respect by the
                  sisters of the Star of the Sea. In June 1924 a magnificent stained-glass window in the

                  Church  behind  the  high  altar  commemorated  his  fifty  years  of  great  service  to  the
                  community. It was presented by the members of the congregation as well as by the nuns

                  and  schoolchildren  of  Star  of  the  Sea.  The  Mission  School,  which  was  his  special

                  passion, presented him with a pair of seven-branch candlesticks. He was their religious
                  leader, teacher, comforter, guardian, architect, master builder, craftsman and instructor -

                  a legend in his own lifetime.



                     On 1 December 1925 he retired from St. James at the age of 79 and was assigned as

                     chaplain to a small Dominican Convent in Bonnievale where the sisters cared for him.
                    The day he was leaving he came into the school, a sad, lonely and pathetic old figure -
                     a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten  -  to  say  good-bye  to  the  children,  his  silvery  locks

                     flowing  down  his  neck  and  the  tears  streaming  down  his  poor  old  face.  He  went
                    round, touched every stone of the building, blessed the children, but could scarcely
                     speak, and, of course, neither could we, for all, big and small had dissolved into tears.


                    From the memoirs of Sister Mary Fidelis.



                  He died in Bonnievale in 1931, aged 85.


                    The old soldier had unbuckled his sword and laid down his armour for the last time.
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