He was eighty years old and more. He loved a whiskey , Harry Potter , and ‘Dancing with the stars ‘. As a priest he was known as the patriarch of our valley. And he gave the best mass even if there was just one person in front of him. I lived at a place called Monterrsat , the first Christian ashram in Australia, dedicated to the spirit of Fr. Bede Griffith the great English mystic who had an ashram in India. I lived in an old army hut below the big house where Roger slept. We lived under the scowl of a big black mountain, it was cold in the winter, autumn and spring. The sun just couldn’t get pass that mountain, a permanent shadow shined on us saved only by the old man’s smile. People told me the place was haunted but I knew the haunting was by the man who lived not faraway from the old house. He would come down to our place and enter our chapel and drink the altar wine dry. You could hear him howling like a banshee by the derelict apple orchid nearby . I remember one time when I was down, I decided to open up to the old priest in the tiny chapel when he said to me, ‘now, just hold that thought , I’ll be back soon’. Fifteen minutes or more passed and I wondered if he was on the phone just then in he came, smiling wild like some crazy digging hermit. He came over to me and said, ‘ Billy I’ve got some good news for you, Jesus loves you’. It was perfect. It was like for those missing minutes he just got the good oil from Jesus himself. My sadness turned to joy. Oh how I miss that old man. My Billy Bunter of the mountain.