Scars that Run Deep (16 page)

Lonely without Noreen by my side, I became a beach stroller along the golden sands of St Brelade's. I often meandered from noon until sunset. I dreaded the loneliness of my tiny bedsitter in the Market Street area of St Helier. I became exhausted from being up all night and beach strolling half the day. I lost a lot of weight, and missed Noreen dreadfully.

The summer of 1962 was a scorcher. I hated going out at night to work, and I was blaming the bakery and the long hours for all my problems. In reality, I was my own worst enemy.

I began to realise Noreen was really gone. My first love. Whatever love she had for me suddenly evaporated when she settled in Jersey. My heart ached. My pride hurt beyond repair. I found it almost impossible to come to terms with the suddenness of how I lost her. Nor could I quite comprehend what I'd done to make her leave me in this way. The truth is, I had done nothing. I was so fearful of committing a sinful act. Being so
naive, I failed to satisfy and please her. I had done nothing to abate her hunger and passion that could have bound our love. I guess that was the core of my problem back then.

I realised there was something strange about the way I related to girls, but the gulf I was desperately trying to bridge only seemed to get wider. Often I was left with the feeling that if only I had tried to be normal and forget about my high principles, or if only I had tried not to distance myself from them and just go out with them without falling in love too soon, it would have been all right. I was far too naive to please girls, treating them kindly but often with far too much delicacy.

As the season wore steadily on, I was becoming exhausted, having been working up to seventy hours a week, six nights a week. While still hoping for Noreen to come back to me, I took a trip out to St Brelade's Bay one hot Saturday afternoon in August. The weather and the atmosphere were beautiful.

Then I saw Noreen. She was strolling along the hot sands of the bay with a boyfriend, their arms around each other, two beautiful lovers. My heart sank to a new low, and I was in tears. Then, like a soldier, I stepped it out, and went for a walk along the country roads.

As I made my way along a narrow country lane, I was sure I had heard a cry for help. I looked about, waited, then a second cry. There was a low hedge, and I hurried towards it,
past what looked like a mansion – a big farmhouse, I guessed at a glance. I noticed a bicycle lying over the ditch, and beside it a young woman in some distress.

My depression vanished as I offered to help her.

‘Thank you.' She smiled up at me and added, ‘I've got a punctured tyre and hurt shoulder. Please can you fix it for me?' I was thrilled to be of some help. When she spoke again I fell in love with her French accent, and the way she smiled helped to erase any thoughts of Noreen.

‘I'm Maria Duvarre. I live next to that farmhouse, where I work as an au pair. The family are away. I'm alone.'

I introduced myself, and fell over the scooter. ‘Damn it,' I said. I looked up at her, she was so beautiful.

With a neat flick of her hand she brushed back her long auburn hair and laughed loudly as I lay across it. ‘Oh, you Irish, you are funny people.' I hadn't told her I was Irish.

Having repaired the puncture for her, I was dripping with sweat. As I stood gazing about, wondering where I could wash myself, I heard her voice calling, ‘Pat-rick, Pat-rick, please come and you have shower. You are so dirty and hot.'

While I was working on her tyre, she must have slipped off. I looked about to see where she was, and there she was, up on the balcony of the big stone farmhouse, dressed in a bathrobe. My heart missed a beat. No more ‘if onlys', I hoped. My time had come at last.

I entered the huge house. Maria appeared. I became flushed as she stood in her pink bathrobe, gesturing to me to come up. ‘Now you need to shower, Pat-rick – perhaps then we have a drink. You Irish love your drink.' She smiled at me, but little did she realise that I never drank alcohol.

I was shocked as she got under the shower with me. This time I was determined to go along with Maria to please her but also, more important to me, for the experience. It's now or never, I thought. It was as if I was in a state of complete paralysis beneath the shower as her body touched mine. Then we passionately caressed each other while the cool water flowed down on us.

She held the glasses of sparkling champagne and placed the bottle on the floor. She held a glass up to me and as I took hold of it, we touched glasses. A beautiful feeling came over me. I was always a fast drinker – of tea, that is – and no sooner had I downed my first than she filled it again. For the first time I realised I was intoxicated. I closed my eyes for a silent moment. ‘I'll have a lot to confess next time,' I muttered. ‘But nothing can stop me, now.'

Maria looked at me with a smile. ‘You speak, Pat-rick? Tell me, I like you very much, so you make me very happy.'

I must be doing something right, as Maria was so happy and contented. I couldn't get myself to express fully how wonderful I felt. This was a joyful new experience for me.

‘You need towel, Irish. It's here. Come, you'll see. Hope you don't mind me call you Irish, Pat-rick.'

Maria was waiting in the open door with a long bath towel. I could taste the breathtaking sweetness of her fragrance as she began to towel me down. What am I to do? I wondered to myself. Just let it happen.

She led me into her room and slowly fell backwards on to the huge old bed with a velvet canopy, pulling me with her. For a while I felt I was lying beneath a chapel dome, though in reality I was on top of beautiful Maria. I was hoping Maria would lead the way; the last thing I wanted now was for me to mess it all up and be left feeling sorry for myself.

I felt Maria's fingers dig deep into my flesh, her mouth on mine. What do I do now? I wanted her to help me, because I didn't know what to do.

Then Maria gently took hold of me, and I experienced the ecstasy of love. Afterwards, as I lay on my back, a dreadful thought struck me: I'd committed a mortal sin – but at least I was normal. I'll confess later, I thought.

Maria reached for the wine glasses. She smiled as she handed me a full glass and said, ‘You make me so happy. It was so good. I'd love to have you to stay whole night but I'm not allowed to have friends after eleven o'clock at night. See, I must go by the rules of this house, okay, Pat-rick?'

I wanted to remain in this fragrant garden for as long as my heart beat.

The room grew darker. I must have dozed off. It was time to go. I gazed down at Maria as I said my goodbyes. ‘I will never forget you, Irish.' She paused for a brief moment, smiled, and said, ‘
Au revoir
, Pat-rick, thank you for fixing my tyre.'

As I left Maria, in her perfumed French garden, I suddenly felt sad as I realised that I'd never see her again. Her beautiful naked slim French body was now imprinted on my mind.

As I marched along the narrow road by many such farmsteads and beautiful homes, as the sun lowered to kiss the calm blue water of St Brelade's Bay, I wondered where I could meet another beautiful French au pair and be so lucky as to enjoy a loving cool shower with her. To experience the gentleness and softness of her French touch, to embrace the sensual warmth of her body so eager to be pleased. I longed to meet another Maria.

IN OCTOBER I
was back home in Fairview, working for James Behan in the bakery in Fairview Strand, and once again I was in lodgings with the Mooneys in Cadogan Road.

While I was playing soccer in Fairview Park one Saturday with a few ex-Artane lads and a team from Fairview, there was a schools hurling match on the pitch beside us. I had noticed the Drisco, who I worked under as a cook and a kitchener in Artane, and also a few other Christian Brothers; but the one who got most of my attention was the Macker. That Brother looked every bit as tall and as hard as the time he battered my best pal, Minnie, around the head and face with his open hands until he told him where he had hidden a pencil in the dormitory. Poor Minnie gave in. The silly pencil was found in a flower pot on the window ledge, and the next morning poor Minnie was practically unrecognisable.

I was close to the Macker as he stood on the sideline watching the team when suddenly I heard him call me,
using my Artane nickname, Collie. I walked up to him. ‘You called me, sir?' I stood looking up at the man who so often beat me with his dreadful leather for such silly things as being caught out of bed swapping a
Dandy
or a
Beano
with a lad a few beds away. I had quaked with fear of that tall Christian Brother whenever he was in charge of our dormitory: fear of wetting my bed and of being flogged by him for it. He slowly reached his right hand into an inside pocket and pulled out a wallet. He spoke quickly and smiled as he did so. ‘I've got something to show you, Collie. Do they still call you that?'

‘No, sir, not now. They call me Paddy or Pat now.'

I watched him open the wallet and take out an envelope. ‘I've got a picture of you, Pat, and a few of your pals from Barnacullia.' He handed them to me.

‘But it's me, sir, making my Confirmation, and one of my pals too. How did you keep them so good, sir, for so long?'

I looked again at them. I noticed all the lads who were in my class that year, back in 1954. He suddenly handed me the envelope and said, ‘Keep them, Collie. I've had them long enough now. I suspect you're keeping well and out of trouble, as so many have problems, you know. Keep up your prayers and go to Mass.' He turned and walked away.

Though I was shocked, I suddenly felt a tinge of sadness for this cruel and brutal Christian Brother. It's so difficult to
harbour revenge and hatred for so long. In many ways I'm sure he had regrets for being so cruel and evil towards so many boys in care, as he was to my pal Minnie and me. Time takes care of all our sorrows and heals our wounds, I thought, as he went on his way. In many ways he reminded me of Simon Davaro. The shadow of Artane haunts them all, I mused.

I met that Brother several times after that, riding his bike through Fairview, and he always stopped and chatted to me, always giving me sound advice. After each occasion we met I understood more of the man and the fact that the shadow of Artane had left its mark on him also. It struck me then that it is never too late to change.

At the turn of 1963 things were not really working out in Home Bakery. I found working with some of the lads a bit too much. The wages were awfully low: four pounds ten shillings. I told Jim I would have to leave if he couldn't give me a rise of at least ten bob – 50p. In response he drew out a right, and I hit the floor. After a punch-up we ended up shaking hands in Clontarf Garda station; and I did get a small increase after that.

From 1960 to 1968 I seemed to be working between Ireland, England and Jersey. I got that bug about working in Jersey for the summer season. Each time I'd return to Dublin
I would stay with one of my old landladies. I went back to the Mooneys in Fairview quite a lot.

While waiting at Dublin Airport for my flight to Jersey, I came face to face with my former drill master, better known as Driller the Killer. With him was none other than the famous Brother nicknamed the Hellfire, dressed in casual clothes. As I sat down and waited for my flight number to be called, I thought of those two Christian men.

Hellfire, who taught me for two years, got his nickname from producing pictures of Hell and scaring the children in the classroom with them. He beat boys' naked buttocks so badly that the blood seeped through their shorts. He often made me stand out facing the wall with my hands held above my head for long periods; if I let my hands drop, he would beat the legs off me. Driller the Killer was no ordinary drill instructor. He beat lads so badly that they were often removed to hospital or to the infirmary. Some lads never returned.

Summer of 1967 was special. I met up with Helen, a lass from Bingley in Yorkshire, at a dance. Helen was light on her feet, the music was old-time and we danced until the music died. Every moment with Helen was simply wonderful. I quite easily fell in love with her as we walked
home to her apartment by moonlight to the sound of the tide lapping and slapping over the rocks in Grave de Lec. I was floating like a piece of driftwood on a moonlit bay as I entered her apartment.

‘Make yourself comfy,' she said. ‘Take your coat off. Tea or coffee?'

‘Tea. Thank you.'

As I looked about I noticed piles of children's homework. So Helen was a teacher. Her voice rang out. I loved her accent. ‘Do you like toasted ham and cheese?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

‘It's on the table. Come and get it. You can tell me all about yourself then.'

I gazed at her as I drank the hot, sweet tea. She was so chatty and cheerful while I became slow and somewhat overwhelmed by her. ‘So what's your full name then?'

I began, ‘I'm Patrick.'

‘You told me you were Larry at the dance.' She seemed to be surprised.

‘Laurence is my middle name and I'm known as Larry at work. You see, they have one chap who is called Paddy and one Pat.'

‘Ah, that explains it then. I much prefer Larry anyway. So you are a baker, then?'

I nodded, ‘Yes.'

‘More tea then, or do you prefer red wine perhaps?'

I couldn't tell her I was a teetotaller. I took the glass of wine. I felt relaxed in her company, though she always took the lead. As I sipped the red wine I realised we had many things in common: her passion for drama, music and travel and, by the time the bottle of Merlot lay empty on the floor, her passion, drive and hunger for love.

For weeks that hot summer we walked miles along the golden sands of St Quans and St Brelade's Bay. It was odd, but because we were together all the time I never thought to get her phone number. One evening we strolled along the sandy beach at St Quans, not far from West End Park where I was soon to start a new nine-to-five job. I could tell that she had something to say to me. ‘What's on your mind, Helen?' I felt anxious, while I waited for her answer. There was a strange pain in my forehead and my back ached.