The Question and The Answer
5
EDUCATION 1
There were seven educational outlets in the Town. The National School
for boys on the road out to Kilrush. The Christian Brothers Primary and
Secondary, opposite the Fair Green, on the road to nowhere. Saint Flannans
Diocesan Secondary School on the road out to Limerick. The Convent (babies
and senior infants, boys and girls) primary and secondary (girls only naturally).
In the centre of Town, off O’Connell Square. Of course we had the Protestant
School (Junior). That didn’t count however.
I didn’t go to the National School. I went to the Convent (babies
and senior infants). I don’t remember Babies. I remember Senior Infants
though. That’s where I was unfaithful to Maura. I fell in love with
Miss Kearns the teacher. She had long red hair. Then I fell out of love
with Miss Kearns. I vowed I’d murder her some day. Little boys have
funny habits. Mine, for some unknown reason was to catch the end of my blazer
and pull it over my head like a cowl. Miss Kearns told me to stop. I didn’t.
She made me stand up for a half an hour in that position. I was mortified.
I can still hear the giggles of the little girls. My hatred for Miss Kearns
was never confessed, even in my first Confession. My first touch of Educational
discipline.
I made my first Holy Communion in Senior Infants. I remember my First
Confession. I confessed my first Mortal Sin. Not the Miss Kearns one. That
was too awful to confess to anyone. I confessed the easier one. Even at
that age I was taking soft options. The priest asked me what it was. It
was pretty bad. A wall divided the girls and the boys’ toilets. Some
of us lost souls, to the horror of the goodies, tried to piss over the wall
into the yard of the girls’ toilets. There was silence, whilst this
terrible deed was being contemplated. The sound of a choked kind of a gurgle.
The priest blew his nose long and hard. In a strangled whisper he said,
“That was an awful thing to do. I’m sure God forgives you though,
for confessing it. Don’t ever do it again.” I thought I’d
get a full Rosary at least. I got three Hail Mary’s. I think that that’s
where doubts started to creep in. Being equipped to fight the good fight,
I went to the Christian Brothers.
The Christian Brothers was different to the Convent (Babies and Senior
Infants). No little giggly girls. Mans Stuff. I don’t remember first
and second year. I remember third year. The year of Mr. Joe Flanagan. I
remember an Irish poem and story. The poem was called “Na coiseatha”,
“The Feet”.
I guim na h’oiche cloisimid,
Na coiseatha ar Suil,
Airigeann mid,
Ni fheicimid,
Ni fhios ca mhia ar shuibheall.
During the night we hear them,
The footsteps walking,
We recognise them,
We don’t see them,
We don’t know where they’re going.
I remember sleeping in the small front bedroom in summer. I used to hear
voices and footsteps on the road outside. Like the poem, I used to wonder,
who, what and where. A trick to send me to sleep was to repeat the poem
to myself (in Irish).
The story was about a boy who lived beside a lake. On summer mornings
he used to look across the lake. One house there had golden windows. How
could you have golden windows? You’d never be able to see out. He decided
to find out. He cycled around the lake to the far side. It was evening.
He could find no house with golden windows. He looked across the lake. He
saw his own house. It had golden windows.
Two memories of third class. Flowers for the May Altar. Primroses and
cowslips. Their sticky sickly scent in the classroom. Mixed with the smoke
of the night-lights in front of the big blue statue of the Blessed Virgin.
She and all the paraphernalia looked down on us from the top of he big book
press.
Discipline with Mr. Flanagan. He rarely slapped us on the hands. First
in a sharp voice he said “Strip”. He was small with a pinched
face and a “Ronnie” moustache. We never stripped. He then put
our heads between his legs and spanked our bottoms with the timber back
of the blackboard duster. Clouds of chalk dust rose up in the air. He nearly
got one fellow to strip. Tom. Tom was one of those eternal victims of punitive
punishment. A tent of coats was made across the back of two chairs. Tom
was ordered in and to “Strip”. After a while Tom emerged in his
trousers with no gansey on. We all saw that Tom wore combs. Mr. Flannagan
ordered him to put his gansey on. Then Tom received the usual punishment.
Years later my friend Enda the Postmasters son, hinted darkly about sexual
deviation. In those days we would neither have known what sexual nor deviation
meant. It was all very hurtful and demeaning.
Mr. Flannagan was a Confraternity member. Every Monday night Third Class
had to attend, with their penny (old) subscription. There was a roll call.
We listened to thunderous sermons about the evils of sin. Especially the
dreaded ones about sex. We didn’t understand what he was talking about.
That is, us on the left hand side gallery. Maybe the grownup men in the
centre of the church did. We sang hymns like “Faith of our Fathers”
and “God have mercy and compassion”. All very religious and unnerving
for nine year olds. The following day was the day of retribution for those
lost souls who spent their fathers’ hard earned pennies on sweets.
The Inquisition was held. Clouds of chalk dust filled the classroom.
Fourth year was singing year. We had Brother “Moscow” Reilly.
He was small, dark, intense and a singer. A footballer from Cavan. He once
knocked me unconscious in the Fair Green. A blow of a football from ten
feet can do that to a ten year old. He used to sing “Come back Paddy
Reilly to Ballyjamesduff”. His leather was the most supple in the school.
It was rumoured he oiled it every night.
The big singing event of the year was the Diocesan Festival of Gregorian
Music. Fourth Class was the class for the Plain Chant event. Our voices
were just right for that event. Dare one say castrati? I know Enda had a
theory on that one too. Enda had lots of theories and they all dealt with
the same thing. That year the piece chosen was “Victi me Pascale Laudis”.
Appropriate. We not only won the shield but a special Cup for our performance.
Our reward was a day’s trip to Lahinch on the West Clare Railway.
Twenty-one miles away. It took a long time. Some of the choir got bored
and opened their carriage doors. They climbed onto the side rail into the
next carriage. There was no danger. On most gradients we were doing a cracking
seven miles per hour. We finally got there. It was a blustery chilly day.
We got lots of buns and lemonade. I bought a sixpenny water pistol. It didn’t
work. I remember getting sick in the train on the way home. A good time
was had by one and all.
That year, flushed with our success, both schools decided to put on the
H.M.S. Pinafore in the Town Hall. “Moscow” Reilly was the Musical
Director. Some rather pouffey character from England was stage director.
We, fourth class, were to be the female chorus. Enda and I were in it. We
had taken part in the Choral Festival. The boys in the Secondary School
were to be the Sailor chorus, principals male and female. My mother made
me a long red satin frock and bonnet. Edna’s mother made him a similar
outfit in pink.
The show was finally produced in a flurry of excitement. Three nights
running. We had our faces made up by helpful ladies of the Town. This Show
was a first time ever. An all male male/female presentation. It was exciting.
We pranced on to the Stage singing in falsetto “Gaily skipping, lightly
tripping, flock the maidens to the shipping”. The Secondary School
boys in their deep voices responded; “We sail the ocean deep and blue,
in our Saucy ships of beauty, we’re sober men and true, and attentive
to our duties. When the balls whistle free, o’er the deep blue sea,
we stand to our guns all day”. There was always a smirk on their faces
as they sang about the balls whistling free. We didn’t know why. All
I remember was there was a lot of grabbing and tumbling of fourth years
behind stage. Again, years later my friend Enda hinted darkly at sexual
deviation. I think the man was sex mad. It was a roaring success. We had
a great party in the school. There is a big photograph in the family album
showing us all in our costumes. Ah, the smell of greasepaint. The magic
world of the Stage.
All I remember about Fifth Class was the School Library. I read “Green
mantle” and “The Thirty Nine Steps” by John Buchan. I also
won a book at the Christmas Exams for English. Sixth Class was different.
We had Brother Lenin. He and “Moscow” were buddies. Nobody knew
where he came from. He was six foot plus. His abiding passion was hurling.
His leather was as stiff as a poker. It hurt just as much as “Moscow’s”.
He killed Des Shanahan.
Not on purpose of course. By accident. A blow from a hurley ball in Fair
Green broke the ribs of young red haired Shannahan. He was laid out in the
mortuary of the old Infirmary. The class had to file past the corpse. He
looked waxen. There was a strange smell in the air. Maybe it was the six
big candles flickering there around his body. I’ll always remember
that smell. To me it was the smell of death. For years afterwards, passing
the old Infirmary, I used to hold my breath, break into trot and finally
race down the hill home. Especially if it was nighttime. Vincent, breaking
into a trot with me, used to say “What’s wrong with you”?
I never told him. He was only my kid brother. He’d never understand.
Brother Lenin, just like “Moscow”, used to walk up and down
the classroom whispering sibilantly to himself. Unlike “Moscow”,
who if he caught you looking at him, administered a swift clip in the ear,
he did nothing. He had a special victim though. No, not Tom. He was a little
fellow for his age. His name or nickname was “Breach” O’Halloran.
Brother Lenin would call him out. Lift him up in the air by his head. “Breach”
would squeal “Ah no Sir, No Sir”. Brother Lenin would let go and
drop him to the floor. Looking down on the unfortunate “Breach”
grovelling on the floor holding his head between his hands. He would calmly
say “Boy, do you like ice-cream and musharoooms”? Enda had something
else to say about that. It had to do with Sadomasochism, which also had
connotations with Sex. Sex on the brain, that’s what Enda had.
Sixth year I made my Confirmation. That made me a whole and perfect Christian.
My question from his Lordship Michael was easy. It was on the Prodigal son.
That story always interested me. I don’t know why. Maybe it was about
getting away with it. The Scut just does that. Maybe that’s what life
was all about. I was on the brink of a great adventure, adolescence. I was
ready for further Education.
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