JOHN MARTIN'S TALES

A lot has been written about The Beatles’ flirtation with eastern mysticism, but nothing has been said about my religious experience with the Beatles. Until now.

It happened in 1969 when I was a Grade 6 pupil at Lindisfarne North Primary School in Hobart.

Sixty-nine was a memorable year for me. Not only was our class allowed to watch the fuzzy images of the prolonged moon landing on telly and miss nearly a whole day of writing and arithmetic, once a week a young priest would arrive with a bunch of record albums under his arm to take religious instruction for the Catholic kids.

We loved that class. No fire-and-brimstone preaching—we just huddled around the record player, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I can’t remember if he brought other records, but I do remember listening to The Beatles, which he somehow linked with God.

The White Album had been released late the previous year.

So it’s likely we listened to Back in the U.S.S.R., While My Guitar Gently Weeps, even Dear Prudence.

Second thoughts, the young priest might have vetoed that one, seeing as it was written in India when they travelled to Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s ashram in Rishikesh for a spot of Transcendental Meditation.

But then maybe he didn’t, on account of his thick skin.

Well, it figures.

He must have had a thick skin after what John Lennon said in 1966:

“Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink… We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which will go first—rock ’n’ roll or Christianity.”

In context, he was musing—somewhat clumsily—about the declining influence of religion in Britain, not boasting. But once that quote reached the United States later in 1966, it was taken at face value and caused quite a storm.

Surely it had reached the Eastern Shore of Hobart by 1969.

Sigh. It was a long time ago and my memory is tested. I can’t even remember the priest’s name. We probably just called him Father Ringo.

I do remember when word got out there were a few unhappy parents—and the church hierarchy might have sent him for a stint in the sin bin—but I don’t think any of my classmates were consulted.

For the record, I turned out all right, despite probably being exposed to Helter Skelter, a raw, chaotic rock song about as far from mysticism as you can get.

Mind you, I’m the Catholic boy who got away.

I went to Catholic schools for my first four years. Hence, I grew up in something of a bubble. All my friends were Catholic. I even went to a Catholic scout troop.

I was wary of anyone who wasn’t Catholic. They were probably ruled by a different moral code. Godless, even.

In Grade 5 I moved to a state school where religion was a separate part of the curriculum once a week.

I’ll never forget lining up on the quadrangle with all the other kids so we could be divided into our groups.

The names of the various denominations were read out.

Church of England—nope. Presbyterian—nope. Seventh-day Adventist—nope. Roman Catholic … hang on. I had only ever been told I was Catholic. Wasn’t Pontius Pilate the crucifixion culprit? I couldn’t possibly be part of that depraved lot, could I?

I was saved by the announcement that came next.

Church of Christ.

That sounded like my bloke.

So that’s the group I gravitated to.

And just like that, after years of careful Catholic upbringing, it turned out my religious path could be changed by a roll call and a misunderstanding.

No wonder The Beatles made it all sound so simple