Scars that Run Deep (6 page)

‘Joey Boy,' I said, hoping I was wrong. I heard Oxo being ordered out to face the wall.

‘Bleedin' hell, we're not in the bleedin' dormo yet, and lads are facing the shagging wall,' murmured Stewie.

‘The bleedin' wall,' I blurted out too loud.

I feared being noted by one of the many monitors in their book. As we knelt down for night prayers by our bedsides I heard a loud whisper. It was Peas. ‘It's Angel Face, look.'

As I cast my eyes to the altar, the tall, handsome relief
Brother stood facing us, clutching rosary beads and a hymn sheet. Soon his voice echoed sweetly through the huge dormitory.

‘I want all of you boys to join with me in the beautiful hymn, “Slane”, or as many refer to it, “Be Thou My Vision”,' the Brother began. His voice carried above the great wall of sound. I, like others around me, just preferred to listen to the fantastic voice, rather than join in.

As ‘Be Thou My Vision' rang out, I was choked with emotion. By the end I was in tears. The hymn became my favourite, and remains so today.

When the Apeman took his place at the altar as night prayers ended, Angel Face moved away. ‘Will the following boys face the wall: the Burner, Oxo, Malone, Touher.' Shit, shit. Nothing bleedin' changes in this prison, I thought. I felt defeated. The Apeman's voice rang out as though to warn us of the danger we face by breaking the rules. ‘Before the final prayer and hymn, any boy told to face the wall must keep their hands high above their heads. It is wise to obey the rules. Talking, fooling and kneeling on clothing is strictly forbidden. Boys who choose to break the rules will suffer six of the best for the poor souls in Purgatory. Now let us sing all together “O Sweet Sacrament Divine” after me.'

‘Fuck the bleedin' Apeman,' moaned Oxo. ‘Let's hope Angel Face deals with us, Collie.'

‘You got-a-be kidding us,' said the Burner. ‘He's fucking weird.'

My hopes were raised at such a thought. I wondered where Brother Davaro had gone to, while screams from boys getting punished by the Apeman up in the washroom sent shivers running through my body. As I stood with the other boys who faced the wall, my arms ached. I decided to lower them when a voice broke the silence. ‘Keep your hands up.' I heard his voice. It was him, my hopes were raised. ‘Come in, boy.'

I stared at Brother Davaro as Oxo entered his room. The door banged closed. I waited anxiously. Then I heard shouts, ‘Leave me alone, you bleedin' swine. Leave me alone.' The sound of leather crashing off naked flesh always scared me.

The door swung open. Oxo came out, his hands covering his arse. ‘I'm bleedin', Collie. He's a bleedin' queer. I warned yeh.'

Just then the Apeman arrived, as though he was anxious to prevent a row. He pointed to Oxo and Peas. ‘The two of you report to me every night for a week and walk the centre passage until lights out. You filthy pups.'

‘Next.' I looked at the door. Brother Davaro was waiting. I suddenly felt frightened of this new Brother whose smooth voice and soft smile had me wishing he was me dad. Now, as I entered the room, I felt scared. Brother Davaro's voice was soft, though he was flushed. ‘I'm sorry for your pal. Oxo, is it?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Well, he swore at me and he's got a very bad record, I hear. You look frightened, Collie. Come sit here beside me.'

I noticed the long, hard leather strap on the chest of drawers. I suddenly feared the pain of it crashing off my naked buttocks. Is he just like the others? I wondered. He eased my cotton night-shirt over my head and, as it fell to the floor, he embraced me. I was shocked by this. After a long, silent moment I felt his lips on me, his hands comforting me. I was in his firm embrace as his lips trailed all over my nakedness while I stood still, fearful of getting flogged. I had no idea what he might do to me, yet I was tearful and too frightened to pull away from him. He pulled me low down on to him. I could feel he was really hard. I was shocked as he placed my hand on it. I pulled my hand away.

I hated men getting close to me, hugging, kissing and fondling me. These acts made my skin crawl. And yet I had a strange tendency to being cradled and molested, even as an eight-year-old in dormo five. The Macker and Hellfire sexually molested me on several occasions as an eight- to ten-year-old. However, I liked Brother Davaro because he was, I believed, different. Each time he came to me, he was very smooth and kind.

Late August the following year I was in dormitory three, I remember the occasion very well. I was returning from the
toilets, which were, in fact, outside the dormitory off the landing. As I re-entered the dormo, I heard a loud whisper calling me. ‘Collie.' Angel Face summoned me to his room. It was a small, well-furnished room. His voice was soft. His smile lit up his handsome features. ‘Are you lonely? You look frightened, son. Are you? Do not be afraid of me, son. Are you afraid, boy?'

I lied, of course. I guess it didn't always pay to tell the truth, I thought.

‘Come and lie down beside me.' I got this strange but very nice scent from him. As he drew me close into him, I barely felt him lift my night-shirt. On this occasion he drew me on to his naked chest. I felt really odd. I had never been this close to someone before, never held in such a tender warm embrace. But I wondered what would happen now. I was fearful, yet I felt secure, insofar that I trusted that he would in no way make me suffer excruciating pain. That thought comforted me to a degree. But when he lay down on top of me I could feel him. It was then I feared him.

I began to cry out. ‘Please, sir, please not down there, sir, it hurts. Please.'

I feared he was about to forcefully penetrate me. But I could not prevent him as he was on top of me, unlike the time with Joey Boy in the long hall. That time I struggled free from the perverted evil he was, but not without suffering a
severe beating. But this is different, I thought. I can't fight him or hope to crawl out from under his body. So I cried out as he drew me up to him. He began beating himself off with loud groans.

When he let me go, I had no pain. He did not hurt me, physically at least. Emotionally, he did. Enough for me to never forget him. He got satisfaction from holding me naked as he enjoyed self-masturbation against me.

After a long silent moment, Brother Davaro brushed back his silky hair. His smile widened. ‘I hope I haven't hurt you.'

‘No, sir, I'm fine, sir.' I lied, as I was really scared.

‘You better get to bed, son.'

I remember the final moment that warm night as he stood there brushing his fine crop of hair, facing the mirror on the dressing table. I was naked. My night-shirt was between his feet. I remained seated on the edge of his bed, thinking how smooth and gentle he was. How vastly different he was to the other Brothers, yet still I was scared. I was crying when he moved away. I reached down to retrieve my night-shirt. I felt his warm hands holding me. His scent was warm fragrance, his voice soft and very comforting, like his smile.

‘Are your parents living?'

‘No, sir.' I was anxious to get dressed. I was relieved to get my night-shirt on. It helped me feel better as I really felt odd standing naked in front of him.

‘So you are an orphan?'

I nodded yes.

‘I want to be your friend. Do you like chocolate?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘And sweets?'

I nodded yes.

He embraced me, hugging me warmly, close to him. ‘You better go to bed. I will look after you before I leave here. Sleep well, now. I'll remember you.'

‘Yes, sir. I'll remember you too, sir.'

‘Promise me.'

I looked up at him. His smile was soft. ‘I promise, sir.'

It was a promise I faithfully kept in my dreams and nightmares.

For me, not getting a severe beating that night from Brother Davaro was a great relief. But the fact he was leaving us made no difference to my life or that of my pals, as the truth is there was always the very evil hard-core band of Brothers who enforced the strict, rigid military system. Fear was the key.

THE DAY I
left Artane memories flooded back to me as I stood at the bus stop opposite the main gates and stared at the great school building that so dominated the area. I looked up at the clear blue sky, and watched a flock of birds flying over. As the number 42 bus pulled up, I smiled as I hopped on the back. ‘Free as a bird!' I said to myself with a soft smile.

I sat downstairs on the bus, clutching my brown paper parcel. Suddenly I heard the conductor shout, ‘Fare, son! Where are you going, lad?'

My mind was all at sea.

The conductor asked again, ‘Where are you going, lad?'

‘Where are you going to?' I replied.

The conductor looked amazed and spoke sharply. ‘The Pillar, mate. It says it on the front, lad. The Pillar in the city centre.'

At least I knew where I was going to get off. I paid my two pence and sat tight.

When I stood up to get off I noticed the conductor staring me up and down. I knew then that I stood out in my Artane clothes. I tried to read the address Segoogee gave me, and I cursed his rotten handwriting. It was even worse than mine. I glanced about. I noticed a guard gazing at the new spring wear in the window of Clery's store. Filled with apprehension, I spoke quietly to him. ‘Please, sir, could you help me find this place? I'm lost, sir.'

He looked down at me. He was tall – a double for the Macker, I thought. He smiled at me and led me across the road. We stopped in front of the Palm Grove ice-cream parlour. He didn't ask me if I would like an ice-cream cone: he simply went in and got me one. I was lost for words, but to me his kindness was the mark of a great man.

He didn't asked me where I came from. As I followed him to the corner where the Irish Press office stood in Middle Abbey Street, he stopped and said, ‘You're from Artane School, son?' He smiled, and I nodded to him in response. Then he pointed to the place where I was to stay. ‘You're home, son. I'm sure they'll take care of you.' Then he nodded and disappeared into the crowd. For a long moment I stood staring emptily after him.

I looked up at the tall red-brick building. The sign over it read The Catholic Boys' Home. It did not impress me. I was frightened. I felt out of my depth. I just wanted to go home to Artane.

I found it difficult to hold back the tears as I walked up the few steps. There was a long room in front of me, and I could smell tea being prepared. There were two long dining tables with white cloths – a miniature Artane refectory, I thought. I heard voices. A door opened on my right. ‘Come this way, boy.' I stood in the office, nervously gazing at the cream-painted walls.

An elderly man came to meet me. ‘So you're the new boy from Artane.' I half smiled and said, ‘Yes, sir. I got lost.' He looked me in the eye and spoke with a warmth I had rarely known. ‘Many have done the very same thing, my boy. A darn pity a Brother doesn't come with you. Perhaps they're too busy, son.'

The Catholic Boys' Home was mainly for boys aged sixteen and over. It was a kind of stopping-off place in the city for boys who had left school and had no home to go to. We paid seven shillings and sixpence a week for our keep. The food was very basic and no better than what we were used to in Artane. But we did have hot showers.

I remember that first evening at tea quite clearly. I sat down with lads whom I spent years with in Artane – some of whom I didn't like. But there were others who I didn't know. The first nickname I heard being shouted was ‘Brown Tango' – a chap from Africa in his late teens or a bit older. He lorded it a bit, and perhaps he thought he was better than us from
Artane. I didn't like the look he gave me, and I believe he bumped against me on purpose, to knock my mug of tea out of my hand. He certainly threw himself about. Oddly enough, the ex-Artaners did not behave like that.

It was typical Artane food: bread and margarine and a mug of sweet tea in the evening; breakfast was different though – we had porridge.

After tea I was shown to my dormitory on the third floor. The front of the dormo looked out on to Middle Abbey Street; the back looked down into the North Lotts, where we watched couples courting and fondling each other at night among the winos. From my bed I could see the clock over the Irish Independent office; and I was happy about that, because I had never had a watch!

It was noisy in the dormitory, and something I'd never be able to get used to, I told myself through my tears. I cried as much now as ever I did for my lost childhood, tears of loneliness and self-pity. There was no real sense of being free. In the dormitory were two long rows of beds made of tubular steel and painted grey. The walls were painted yellow and dark green. As I put away my few belongings I was dreading the future. I just wanted to go out and get the bus back to Artane.

The lads acted in a boisterous way, and at times many were very rowdy. Later I was shocked to see lads from Artane running up and down naked, some of them fondling or
messing about with their private parts and generally showing off to others how big their penis was! This was a really new experience for me.

I got off the bed as a lad came towards me. It was Fatser. ‘Want me to show yeh the city? Come on.' I looked at him. I remembered the day he broke my nose over a silly matter in 1955. I had gone to the Sheriff who was in charge on parade that day. He had snapped at me sharply. ‘What do you want me to do, boy?' His next remark stayed with me for ever. ‘Stand up for yourself, boy. Be brave and hit back or kick back twice as hard. Fight him, boy!'

As the days passed I began to find my way around the city. We were brought to services in the Pro-Cathedral: sodality, the Rosary, and Benediction. Hearing again the choir singing the Latin hymns moved me emotionally, making me more homesick for Artane. As I stood up after the Benediction was over, the man in charge of us in the boys' home said, ‘Confessions are being heard now.' I better go, I thought.