Scars that Run Deep (26 page)

In the early hours of the morning I'd be shaken out of a deep sleep by the sound of the buzzer. I'd go to the fridge, take out a tray of ice cubes and smash them with a hammer wrapped in a tea towel. Pauline's eyes would simply light up. Her smile widened. ‘Ah, lovely, lovely, lovely,' she'd murmur with some effort, at the cool taste of the water.

It was after our visit to Lourdes that I began to receive much-needed help. The Balbriggan Clinic and Medical Centre sent nurses as Pauline required twenty-four-hour care. Pauline and I were also very pleased with the voluntary care from Ann Walsh, Rita McCormack, next-door neighbour Lorraine and Alice Crowe, Sylvie's mum. Sylvie was Suzanne's closest pal along with Gayle and Sandra, who gave Suzanne so much support.

The weekends became a real treat for Pauline as the whole family came, although sometimes it could be overwhelming as everyone tried to help. Pauline's sister Ann, brothers Tony and Jim, and mother May would sit in the garden in the summer of 1999 and soak in the breeze. Paula, John and Suzanne would also come over and take their mother out in the wheelchair, especially so she could admire the colours of autumn. They would take her by the cliffs, by old Fancourt along the Bower, for her to gaze fondly at the Mourne Mountains and to watch the most colourful old fishing boats return to the ancient Balbriggan harbour. For Pauline, the weekends couldn't come too soon.

I was amazed at Pauline's courage. Motor Neurone Disease, once it takes hold, is a slow, painful death without relief and without hope. But sometimes Pauline's smile would make me forget that her days on the earth were numbered.

Each morning I would climb out of bed to the sound of the doorbell. Sleepily I would make my way to let the nurse in to see to Pauline. Anne would prepare Pauline, give her a check over, then give her a shower, wash her hair. She loved being nursed by Anne. I assisted the nurse in every way I could.

One morning, over a cup of tea, Nurse Anne told me that she had noticed Pauline's condition worsen, and that – as I had been with her constantly, day and night – I probably didn't realise just how bad she was. In fact, Nurse Anne believed that Pauline had to be moved to the hospice for twenty-four-hour care. Still I stood by Pauline: she didn't want to leave her home, and I had to give her this final promise, for as long as I could.

The celebration of the Mass in our home by our dear friend Bishop Dermot O'Mahony and Father Michael Carey near the end of October 1999 lifted Pauline's spirits, though before everyone arrived Pauline, for some unknown reason, cried rivers. I was baffled as Suzanne tried everything to calm her mum by brushing her hair and doing her make-up till at last Pauline smiled. Folk began to arrive for the service: the choir arrived with all their instruments, the nurses and doctors, family and close friends all seemed to arrive en masse until our home was bursting at the seams.

I had known Father Dermot O'Mahony for years. He was, in many ways, a modern-day priest, young, lively and willing
to help. He wasn't afraid to get in among people in the communities to help them. His was an out-going, charismatic personality, and a breath of fresh air. He performed the wedding service for Pauline and me in 1973. He christened our first child and he always seemed to be there when First Holy Communions came along. As the children got older he was at St Peter's and Paul's in Balbriggan for their Confirmations. On the night of 20 October 1999, Dermot was present once again to celebrate Mass, and then once more on All Souls' Day to give the last rites to Pauline.

While the girls from the Community College sang ‘
Cead Mile Failte Romhat'
my thoughts travelled back to when I first met Pauline at a New Year's Eve Ball in the Crystal Ballroom in 1971. As the north wind blew in carrying mist from the sea the Lone Piper stood by our home in the Cove. ‘Amazing Grace' filled the cold November damp air as they carried Pauline's remains to the waiting funeral car.

The piper solemnly played the hauntingly beautiful ‘My Lagan Love' as we slowly walked the half mile to the chapel to be met by hundreds of school children dressed in their uniforms. They walked slowly and silently in solemn respect to honour one of their own. The end comes like dust on the wind: like the fallen leaf can never be replaced what's gone, is gone for ever.

ON A WARM
summer's day in May of 1999 the prime minister, the Taoiseach Mr Bertie Ahern, made a public apology to all survivors of child abuse in semi-state run institutions, such as convents, boarding schools run by the clergy, and Christian Brothers boys' industrial schools in Ireland from the 1940s to the 1970s and beyond.

Later, in 2000, that apology was followed up by one by the late Pope John Paul II for all the sins of the Church. The Irish government set up a Commission of Inquiry to look into child sexual and physical abuse in our country and to find out the reasons why child abuse was so rampant and widespread in state and semi-state institutions and industrial Christian Brothers schools such as Letterfrack in the west of Ireland, and the most famous of them all, Artane Christian Brothers Boys Industrial School.

Once the Commission of Enquiry into Child Sex Abuse in State and Semi-state Run Institutions and Convents was set
up by the government, the Commission was given several very important functions: it would, of course, examine the reasons why child abuse was so widespread.

It would also allow survivors of child sexual-physical abuse to give their own account to the Commission of Inquiry in a very safe environment where their stories would be fully investigated; so it would eventually formulate guidelines that would help protect children against any recurrence of those awful situations where such abuse could flourish. The Irish government, led by Bertie Ahern, was determined that no child should suffer in this way ever again. They gave the Commission widespread powers. They appointed a high court judge, Justice Mary Laffoy, to be chairperson of the Commission.

The abuse of young children in state-funded organisations and religious boarding schools was not unique to Ireland. Therefore the government decided to look at the situation in other countries.

One such example was to be found in Newfoundland in Canada where, in 1989, a Royal Commission of Enquiry was set up to investigate Mount Cashel, an orphanage. Mount Cashel was in fact run by the Order of the Irish Christian Brothers, which had allowed a couple of proven child sex abusers to leave the province to go to a Catholic-run treatment centre without ever having to face criminal charges.

The Commission discovered a whole generation of boys scarred by sexual abuse at the hands of people entrusted with protecting them. The hearings of the Commission in Newfoundland were held in public, many of which were broadcast live on TV and radio. A huge number of victims gave their accounts of the horrendous abuse and indignities they suffered as young boys at the hands of the Christian Brothers. The people were shocked by this!

The Commission gave the Christian Brothers every opportunity to testify and defend themselves against such evil accusations, but they refused. Before the end of 1990 well over 150 charges were brought against the Order of the Christian Brothers by the Commission as a result of their investigation into Mount Cashel.

Many other countries set up enquiries into child abuse. In Queensland, Australia in 1998, the Commission investigated reported child abuse in over 100 orphanages and detention centres dating back over eighty years.

The Commission found that many religious state-funded institutions failed to provide for the very basic human needs of the children in their care. In my case I found it awfully difficult to come to terms with having to face up to my bleak past in Artane Industrial School from 1950.

Once I had agreed to cooperate and state my complete case to the detectives appointed to investigate cases of child abuse,
I realised I had to travel far back along that terrible bleak road to Artane Industrial Christian Brothers School of the early 1950s. It struck me hard when I had to reveal the kind of abuse kids such as me suffered during those fearful nights in the dormitories. I wept openly in front of the hardened detectives and my lawyers as I described those awful events.

I lay awake at night so often listening to kids crying for help, crying in pain after a fierce beating across their naked buttocks for some very minor offence, many crying out, calling for their mums and dads, all in vain. Though they were the lucky ones I felt, as many like me had no one to turn to for help.

I had promised Pauline that I'd cooperate fully with the detectives and my solicitors in giving a full account of the details of abuse I suffered. I really felt at the time it would be no problem; however, in reality, it was far different than I ever envisaged. I was confident within myself that I could answer all the questions put to me by the team and I'd simply shake their hands, enjoy a cup of coffee with them and go home. Reality is so different to dreams of what one may think or wish to think, the way such things pan out. In fact, I had a prepared script for the event, notes of dates, times, names, etc.

When the hardened young detective faced me across the long polished mahogany table, his smile vanished as did mine
with his first question, for which I was unprepared. ‘So why did you not describe all the abuse you suffered in your book
Fear of the Collar
in 1990?'

‘Well,' I began, ‘I was not an experienced writer and though I did write on sexual abuse for the book, at the time I found it most difficult to write about, almost impossible in fact. However, I did submit some scripts for the book, but my publishers felt strongly that the country was ill-prepared for such revelations as child sex abuse and physical sex abuse in 1990. A time would come when all the true facts would be revealed, they believed.'

My lawyers were in full agreement, as were the team of detectives, with my answers. It was far from being an easy ride. It was awful having to travel back to those awful events of my past. I felt more than ever that the shadow of Artane had never gone away.

The team of specially appointed detectives took several years to compile over 7,000 statements. As my own case began to take shape I was relieved to be over the most difficult part in giving my statement to the detectives and to my lawyers who were incredibly helpful to me. I am most grateful to my solicitors Lavelle Coleman, and the team of detectives assigned to the case, for the superb job they've done in helping to bring closure for the thousands of victims of child abuse in Ireland's bleak past.

I heard nothing regarding my case for some time; however, an appointment was made for me to visit a psychiatrist. Once again I found myself reliving my extraordinary childhood in Artane Industrial Christian Brothers School and, though the lady doctor was most sympathetic, I found the whole experience harrowing and very emotional.

It was of great relief to me to get out on Saturdays and Sundays as a soccer referee and put the whole of my dark, bleak, childhood past in Artane Industrial School behind me. For those few hours all thoughts of Artane School would vanish from my mind and I often wished it could remain that way.

The fact that I was taking official control of a sport that we were strictly forbidden to participate in inside Artane was rarely ever lost on me, as I'd stand in the centre circle before kick-off, I'd glance across to my children and some of their school pals and smile with the satisfying thought that at least they are now free to choose whatever sport they wish to participate in.

It took until 2002 for my own case to reach a satisfying conclusion, over fifty years since I was sent to Artane.

I wish to pay tribute to the survivors of child abuse, over 7,000 of whom had the harrowing experience of reliving their childhood memories of that awful bleak time in Ireland, an Ireland without a breath of warmth or love for so
many in need as I was. Although the Christian Brothers had marked me for life, they had no part whatsoever in my being sent to Artane. An uncaring, selfish judge had done that because, as he said in court that morning in Kilmainham, ‘I have no place else to send you.' With those words he sent me to eight years of hard labour and fear, eight years that defined the rest of my life.

However badly I was treated, I tried my hardest to treat others well. Despite my upbringing, I became a successful baker, a well-travelled man, a published author, a husband to Pauline, and proud father to my three beautiful children, Paula, John and Suzanne. And I have tried, despite the shackles of my past, to live as free as I could, as free as a bird.

May Brennan once told me that November is the month of the fallen leaf, and throughout my life I have had cause to reflect on her words. Some of the most difficult events of my life have fallen within that month – I was first sexually abused by the Macker in November; I became deathly ill with a perforated ulcer in November, and in November 1999 I buried my beautiful wife, Pauline.

But November 2007 was different in every way. This November was a month of happiness, pride and hope for the future. As the hard rain fell and the autumn winds blew, I was looking forward to the day ahead with joy in my heart. On this day I would be walking my eldest child, Paula, down the aisle.

After Pauline died it was as if time stood still. On the day after she was laid to rest, I was home, by myself. There were her clothes, her shoes, her make-up; there were the photos that hung on the walls in which she smiled her lovely, radiant smile, but her beautiful presence was gone. A few weeks after
I lost Pauline, I stood staring across the sea from the cliffs at Hampton Cove when I was struck by a strange thought, 'tis death that brings us home to our final dwelling place.

Suzanne had decided to stay with Sylvie's family for a while, because it was difficult for her to be in the house without her mum in it. And so I was alone, in this house that was no longer a home, without the warmth a wife and children brought to it.