In 1981 a young U.S. Naval officer and his wife (who in a few years’ time were to welcome me into the world) were living in Denver, Colorado with their two small children. Disgusted with the ongoing abuses in the diocesan parishes, they were providentially guided to a conservative diocesan priest who still said the Tridentine Mass a few times a month. This brave priest was already being persecuted by his superiors for his opposition towards Vatican II and he it was who placed in my parents’ hands audio tapes by Michael Davies. My parents were very intrigued by this English convert, teacher and enthusiastic defender of the Faith with the endearing, polished British accent. Dad said that Michael’s way of taking complex doctrinal and theological points and making it available to the everyday layman was part of what made him a “gift during a time of utter disaster and persecution.” So, these audio tapes soon led to the purchasing and avid reading of his books too. My parents never wanted to go back to the “nervous disorder Mass” (as Dad called it) and committed to traveling to where they must to find the Mass of the Ages. They also read The Remnant and remember flipping to read A Letter from London first each time.
Michael Davies and Michael J. Matt on the Chartres Plgrimage in the 90s.
The early months of 1984 saw my parents transferred by the Navy to Spain. After meeting a SSPX priest in an airport there in Europe, Dad flew him in at least once a month to say Mass in their home and even ran an ad in the local paper to have others come to the old Mass. In April of 1985, just two months prior to my arrival – Dad and Mom took their small family to London on business. Situated during their stay in a quaint, cosy boutique cottage not far from Kent, they were wondering where to find Mass for the upcoming Sunday. Dad called the number to a bookstore where Michael Davies’ books were sold and after speaking for some time to the bookseller he began to ask questions about Mr. Davies. Finally the bookseller told him he should just call Michael himself – to which Dad was amazed, “You mean call Michael Davies?!” The bookseller assured him that Mr. Davies was very friendly and would probably be delighted to take his call. Dad did indeed call Michael right away and fondly recalls how they spoke for about two hours that first time. Dad always said that Michael was “never too busy” and “always made time”. They agreed to meet and talk after Mass that coming Sunday.
So it was that the next day my parents were eagerly scanning faces for Mr. Davies at Sunday Mass. After a few years now of reading his columns and books and chuckling over Michael’s own good humoured jabs at the Cockney accent, they were expecting this well-spoken English gentleman to be a distinguished figure, perhaps in a top hat. Imagine their surprise when coming towards them was an unassuming, down-to-earth man in a sweater that looked like it had seen better days under his suit jacket. He wore a welcoming smile and carried a plastic shopping bag with articles and booklets for them. My parents later said that in a way, they “fell in love with Michael”. I think many people who knew him would understand. After chatting awhile, and before parting, my parents asked if he and his wife, Maria, would join them for dinner that evening at their on-premise restaurant. He accepted gladly.
That night as my parents visited with Mr. and Mrs. Davies they felt as though they had known them for ages. Dad said he always felt that Michael had much faith and hope in young married couples reaching out to Tradition like my parents. Due to the fact he loved all things American and that Dad had a keen, enthusiastic mind himself, it didn’t take much for a friendship to form. Within a few weeks, Dad and Mom called Mr. and Mrs. Davies to ask them to be their third child’s godparents. I will always be grateful to my Dad’s desire to choose the best possible couple he could as my godparents. Michael and Maria accepted right away and were delighted. They always had me call them Uncle Michael and Aunty Maria right from the start. I loved this English custom and found such joy in normalizing what was already a real spiritual relationship.
Michael Davies and Remnant's Founding Editor, Walter Matt, at a Remnant Conference
From the very beginning my godparents took interest in my wellbeing. As soon as I was able to write, the many letters which I now treasure more than ever, began. Dad travelled back to London alone on business a few more times, and each time met with Uncle Michael, including going to his home to visit he and Aunty Maria. They spoke frequently by phone and Dad found a beacon of light and a friend in an otherwise very confusing world.
In 1990 my family was stationed again Stateside in Virginia Beach, Virginia for a brief spell. In 1991, although Dad was deployed, Uncle Michael and Aunty Maria came to stay with us several days (Michael being in the U.S. on speaking engagements) . It would be my first time meeting them in person (I had proxies at my Baptism), however they were no strangers to me at all. I was six years old and remember it perfectly. I couldn’t wait to meet the interesting and loving godparents who sent me beautiful little gifts and notes for my birthdays and Christmases. It’s my desire that other godparents reading this will take note that the first wise thing my godparents did, as they were obviously serious about our relationship, was to win my confidence by staying in touch and appealing to my childish heart from day one. So, enter Michael Davies and Peter Rabbit.
As a proud Englishman, Uncle Michael always seemed to have a bias towards the great English authors. Beatrix Potter was no exception. As a very small girl I would sit and listen to an audio tape he had recorded in his own voice for me of The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Beautiful porcelain figurines, sent with love from London, of all of Beatrix Potter’s famed animal heroes and child-size matching teacups and tea pots lined a few china shelves in my mother’s special glass cabinet. Uncle Michael and Aunty Maria sent me these figurines one at a time each birthday and Christmas until about 12 years old. Then the gifts changed to a delicate jewellery box or cheque for me to pick out a little something for myself as I was growing up. Yet all the way until his death, Uncle Michael and Aunty Maria never forgot me for one birthday or Christmas! It is important to note that all of this communication was already underway when they turned up on our doorstep the summer I turned six in Virginia Beach.
My caring godparents may have been from “across the pond” but they were very real to me. I loved them even more in person. Uncle Michael, always so comfortable with children, played and read and laughed with my three siblings and I. Aunty Maria was gentle and kind and so precise. I remember following her upstairs upon their arrival. I was eager to see what she’d think of my sister’s room, where they would be sleeping. The first thing she did after a big hug was kneel down and open her suitcase and take from it special trinkets from England that delighted my first grader heart. Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddle Duck pencil cases and pencils, books and even Beatrix Potter erasers (I still have it all to this day) made their way to my desk. She and Uncle Michael truly enjoyed all of our company and Uncle Michael was always providing a laugh.
My two favourite memories from his visit are still crystal clear. One was his desire to get some U.S. sunshine. He set out to sunbake in our back lawn, and bake he did! He came back into the house red as a lobster and definitely with some explaining to do the rest of his trip. The other beloved memory is the water bumper boat crash. Uncle Michael and I were sharing a bumper boat on the water and I must say this experience would have informed him of his goddaughter’s temperament in one go should he have had any doubts. I convinced him to let me take the wheel and we proceeded to “bottom out” as they say due to my desire to go as fast as we could. It made a fun joke for years. He was a fantastic sport and very patient. After this visit, my letter writing began full force, and never ended.
Davies speaks at the Roman Forum in Gardone, Italy, 1997
How much we miss out on today with the lack of personal touch that is Email, Facebook and social media. My letters from my godparents are prized possessions to me. The letters span the early 90’s all the way until Uncle Michael’s death. Aunty Maria wrote several letters of good length over the years, but the writer in Uncle Michael naturally saw him do the correspondence. At the end of each letter was written, “Love from Uncle Michael and Aunty Maria.” How I loved and cherished each one.
Until about the age of ten or so, I was unaware that my godfather was filling such an important part in the world of Tradition with his writings. Seeing many of his pamphlets lined up in our chapel’s bookshop provided that realization and so, not wanting to make other children feel bad if they didn’t have such an amazing godfather as myself, I kept my godparents’ identity a secret. This has gone on for much of my life and now it seems high time to share all these wonderful things in order to honour this amazing man.
During the gist of these years he was President for Una Voce, a full-time job in itself, writing many books, giving many lectures, and travelling all over the world. Yet, he punctually answered every letter every time. In my late teens when we emailed more than we wrote one another, he answered immediately each time. From all his travels he sent me postcards and pamphlets and little things. How he did this with his work load I do not know, except that he was a man true to his word. When he said he and his wife would be my godparents he meant it fully. I know I had his prayers and still do. Yet during his life it was quite a testament to be able to remember me as he did. A postcard from Australia, a prayer card from a convent in the States, a postcard from Lisieux along with a booklet about St. Therese of the Child Jesus, medals, a beautiful gold necklace from Malta with the Crusaders’ Cross, were just some of his tokens to send me love and to remind me always of the beauty of our Faith. Uncle Michael never preached or spoke “pious” talk to me. He didn’t discourage me from my interests or dreams. While he had a million things to attend to, I always felt as if I had all of his attention. It is also amazing to note that this was while always living far, far away. Our correspondence had many addresses, from Italy to the U.S. to Italy again and finally back to another state in the U.S.
Uncle Michael didn’t talk about himself in his letters either. He did talk about home life. He loved his wife so very much. He talked about their life together, and about the flaming brandy on the Christmas Pudding which she made and about their love of dogs and cats and animal movies. He never mentioned what important jobs he was doing for the Church or whom he was meeting or anything like that. Towards the end of his life he did let me know how tired he was and that he was desperately trying to finish an update on his Trilogy. He also sent me some attached copies of various speeches he gave on St. John Fisher, the Crusades and Cardinal Newman. He wanted me to profit from that research and I appreciated it so. Yet, he wasn’t a man of tunnel vision. Everything had its place. He had many interests and this was a huge inspiration on how to be “in the world but not of it” for me. He knew how to enjoy the moment, to live in the moment where God wanted him to be. He was always happy to hear of my varied interests too.
In 2001 he recommended me to a Catholic family in Italy to nanny for the summer. Although I was very young, he knew I wanted badly to see Italy again and he thought the experience would be good for me. We tried to see each other when he travelled nearby but it didn’t work out.
By the time I hit about sixteen we were emailing. Uncle Michael was the opposite of pretence and “stuffiness”. Unlike so many Catholics who are too Catholic for the church, Uncle Michael was wholly Catholic and very real and approachable and utterly unselfish. At one point in my teens as I was growing up and wanted to appear part of the adult world, I began reading one of his really thick books. I hadn’t made much progress but wrote him anyway to let him know, thinking he’d be impressed. I sure learned a lesson! He emailed me straight back saying it was inappropriate for me to be reading such boring and tedious books at my age and that I should be enjoying the classics meant for young ladies like Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen’s works. I proceeded to pick back up Jane Eyre and was sure to tell him about it. I knew never to try and impress him, but to always just be myself.
By 2002 there were still letters in between, but email was taking over. That was also the year that he found out he had cancer. When he finally told me about it in a letter I wrote back immediately to say that I wish he had told me sooner as we needed to harness all the prayers we could. I’m pretty sure I said too that God was giving him that disease to give him time to organize his soul as God loved him so much. I cannot remember all I said but he wrote me an email right away thanking me and telling me it was “one of the most beautiful letters he had every received”. At this time, the spiritual relationship that exists which the Church teaches concerning godparents and their godchildren seemed to be a tangible thing; too many words were not necessary. There was a real understanding of the souls.
After he shared his shocking news with me he started asking about possible ways to see me one more time. Every time he suggested a conference or some such venue in the States it just didn’t work out with my jobs and by then dual enrolled schedule at the local college (I was home schooled).
Throughout what ended up being the last two years of his life, 2002-2004, I was actively looking into a cloistered vocation. Uncle Michael was a confidante that I wrote to regularly. I understood by now his vast knowledge and wisdom and I respected his advice on the same level as that of my own father. These were difficult years, and again, he was never ‘preachy’ but always oriented me towards finding God’s will and discerning different matters with common sense and a firm sense of Faith. That is its own story, but eventually when I let him know that I would not be joining the religious life, at least at that time, his final words in an email to me were that he was convinced I would find God’s will in my life. I am sure that he helped me find God’s will as only a little over two years after his death I met my husband, whilst marriage was not even on my mind!
In late 2003 Uncle Michael sent me an excited email one day saying that there was a way we could still see each other one more time. He said he was making one final trip to the U.S. late January of 2004, and would I come to St. Paul/Minneapolis to a conference he would speak at so as to spend some time together that weekend? I agreed and no sooner than I had than he insisted on paying for my flight. When I tried to protest he wrote me, “you must be obedient to your godfather. Since you turned 18 this past year I need to give you a worthwhile gift. So not another word about the flight.” I was elated. Uncle Michael sent me an email before the trip saying, “you cannot imagine the joy it gives me to see you one more time.” He knew the end was very near, and the fact he counted me as of any significance to see before that end overwhelms me.
It was wonderful experience to see the man who had recorded Peter Rabbit cassette tapes for me, who had read to me, written to me, prayed for me and cared so much from far away. I attended his speaking event that weekend and helped a bit at the book table, and beamed with pride when he introduced me to people. We went to the Mall of America, which Uncle Michael was keen to see. He had joked in an email to me that he was looing forward to seeing what he had heard was one of the seven wonders of the world, The Mall of America. We admired the Lego World there and ate lunch at Bubba Gump’s and he heartily enjoyed everything. Interestingly enough, in those few days together, we didn’t talk a great deal, we simply enjoyed each other’s company. At last when we said good-bye, I remember our big hug, and that he didn’t say much. I believe there were tears in his eyes, but he had his beautiful smile (albeit a much more tired smile now) and when I left the room and my kind hostess drove me to the airport to catch my flight, there was a feeling of loss inside me. It was so strange knowing we had had our final parting in person in this life.
We continued to email that Spring and Summer and my biggest regret is that I feel Uncle Michael was disappointed I did not go on the Chartres Pilgrimage. He wanted me to go on it so much that year. However, the timing corresponded with an Archaeology field school that was part of my major in college at the time. Looking back, I wish so much I had gone on the Pilgrimage as it meant a great deal to him.
Michael Davies died several months later, that September 2004. I was 19. A mutual friend in Minneapolis called me to let me know right away. He had died of heart failure. I was so glad that God in His goodness had counted my dear godfather’s sufferings and all the good he had done and had spared him the death of cancer. He was called out from this battlefield while in the midst of fighting the good fight, loving his neighbour, and being a faithful son of the Church. I do not know, but I would suspect his pen – his sword of truth – was in his hand when His Lord called forth this faithful labourer to ask an account for the talent he had been given.
After all these years, the relatively short time I knew my godfather has left deep impressions of the Faith and love of God irreversibly upon me. I find it amusing as well that when I sit now and read Peter Rabbit to my half dozen children, it can only be done in an English accent. Any other way just wouldn’t seem right.
Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord, and may we remember to never stop praying for his soul, whether fifteen or fifty years on. To close, allow me to share my favourite prayer card from Uncle Michael that sits in my missal still after twenty years or so: Prayer calms the soul as nothing else can. It lifts us out of this world of worry into an eternity of Peace.
