Kenny Campbell Dot Com

Chesters College, Bearsden

September 1987 saw me start at senior seminary, in Chesters College, Bearsden. I think at the time the official title was "The College Of Saints Peter And Paul", but that was never used. These days it is still a functioning senior seminary, but it now goes by the name of "Scotus", a name bestowed upon it when it merged with the Edinburgh seminary, Gillies College. They might have a web site one day, but not yet. I wonder if it will include online confession.

Whilst I was a student at Chesters, I was also studying for a degree from the University of Glasgow. My main subject was philosophy, a requirement for the seminary, but I also studied psychology, sociology, and computing science. It was an interesting two years for me.

In reality, Chesters was like a holy halls of residence, despite the best efforts of the staff. We had morning and evening prayer, and mass every day, but most of our time was spent at Glasgow University being university students. True, we were a bit of a breed apart within that larger community, but we were still there every day, and subject to most of same things as every other student. Much of my time in the college itself was spent in the common room playing chess, drinking coffee, smoking, and bitching. We did a lot of bitching, and it turned out to be a good grounding for the social milieu in which I would later find myself.

One of the highlights of my time at Chesters was being given the task of putting together some "organised entertainment" at Christmas in my second year. The rector had sent out invitations to various dignitaries, such as the Dean of the Arts Faculty of Glasgow University, to join us for our Yuletide carol service and festive ... festivities. In the timetable, he had earmarked an hour for "organised entertainment", but at the time had no idea who would do the organising, what would be organised, or what would be considered entertaining by the assembled throng. About a week before it was due to happen, some fellow students quizzed him over supper about these matters, and nominated me to do the whole thing. It was great fun putting it together, everyone played along, and a lot of real talent and effort went into the performances. I compered the evening with panache, le parfum par Lentheric, and some people compared it with things that smell even worse than that. The highlight for me was Frank Rankin's valedictory "Late Call" slot, an act that benefitted enormously from the fact that Frank had decided to leave, and therefore enjoyed an unfettered choice of target. His acid barb left few sensitive spots unpricked, and a smile on everyone's face. It was a performance of some brilliance, and I fully expect to see the same rapier wit doing good work when Frank becomes an MP, a possibility that carries with it a sense of the inevitable.

I left Chesters at the Easter break of my second year, and continued studying at Glasgow University for the last term of that scholastic year. My reasons for leaving were trivial at the time, and the decision was given almost no thought at all. It was only in the months after I left that I realised that I had lost sight of the goal. I was no longer interested in being a priest, but had failed to recognise that. It was hidden beneath the day-to-day ritual and observances. It took a while longer - a couple of years - to make the journey from there to my current state of agnosticism with atheistic tendencies. I'd love to think there is a god, but I find it a bit implausible. In some ways, it's almost like an extension of what happened to the Tooth Fairy and Santa for me.