Founded on Fear

by Peter Tyrrell

  Six whole weeks of freedom. We have to go to the workshops each day, but it’s different. We work just as hard, and even better than before, but we can talk now and play around a little. We know that the old boss Lydon will report us when Fahy comes back, but we don’t care, besides, if we behave ourselves during the last week or two, Lydon may forget that we have now gone a bit wild. He is a terribly mean person, his daughter Bridie brings his lunch to the shop each day, it’s a very big lunch – a lot more than we get, he always turns his back to us while he is eating. Bridie his daughter is a nice girl of about fourteen, she used to speak to us, but now she doesn’t say a word, he must have told her not to talk to us. His son Martin Joe is twelve. He is learning the trade, but he is not allowed to come to the yard to play ball with us. Lydon has finished his lunch and he has a slice of bread left over. We are hungry and hoping he will give it away, instead, he puts it back in the paper bag and hands it to Bridie to take home.

  I am now sent down to the power house for the electrician because one of the irons is not working. On the way there I have to go past the glasshouse (or greenhouse) outside the glasshouse is Mr Griffin’s little dog Toby. He barks as I approach, and I stop to stroke his head, but he backs away growling. I know why, because some of the boys beat him with sticks. I have seen them do it, so I advance and explain to him that he will not be hurt. As I touch his head he snaps at me, he is still growling a little, but I now have my arm round his neck and telling him about our own little dog at home, his name is ‘Rusty’. I now sit down and lean against the wall, and Toby has his head rested on my knee, he is not afraid any more. The sun is warm and I go to sleep. I suddenly wake up, as Mr Griffin speaks, saying it’s bedtime.

  The superior was present at breakfast next morning, and we remembered that Brother Kelly did not mind us talking at meals, he only asked for silence when he was reading a letter or making a speech. But today he just spent his time going about and talking to the older lads. He had been away over two years during which time many things had changed. After breakfast I went to see the electrician to ask him to repair the electric iron, and I was surprised to learn that I hadn’t even been missed the day before from the workshop.

  Most of the older tailors have now left the school – Martin Connelly, Tommy Hewitt and his brother, Mick Bob Donavan, and ‘Sykey’, the lame boy with the crutch – so that I am now doing the special work making suits for the school staff and the local customers. I also teach the younger lads how to put on patches and other repair work. We also make suits and soutanes (or cossacks) for the Brothers who now keep us very busy. Most of them are having a suit made, as Brother Kelly is easy going. Keegan would not have allowed them to get a suit unless the old one was badly worn.

  Mr Griffin has been measured for a suit, it’s always blue serge for him, and he does not hurry us very much, until it’s almost paid for. He pays 5/- a week, as soon as it is ordered. Mr Griffin has one made every two years and it’s always the same style, a single-breasted jacket button and full back (that means there is no seam in the centre). The trousers are plain bottoms.

  After supper we go to the football field every evening. We are not compelled to play, we can just wander off to the stream, to look for eels under the rocks, or go to the well, where there is nice spring water. It’s the best water I have ever tasted, and is surrounded by rocks, and is shaded on one side (the south side) by a bank about three feet high. This water is always cold, and is very clear. I have often spent a whole hour looking into this well. The next best water I have tasted was on Diamond Hill when Brother Scully took us up there one Sunday, and told us stories and sang songs.

  We are in the school rooms now, playing around, and there is no one watching us. We will soon be off to bed, it is past eight thirty, and we are usually in bed at this time, but we are free, entirely free. We run about and jump over each other’s backs and we wrestle each other. We take full advantage of our freedom, so much so that there is danger. I remember the second year in school, just after the Brothers had gone on holiday, the boys went really wild. They pulled the pictures off the walls and damaged some maps, they spilled ink on the floor and they threw some books into the fire. They were all boys from Brother Walsh’s class, who had been subject to ill-treatment every day. Mr Hayden the baker, comes and tells us it’s almost ten o’clock, and tells us that we would have to be up at 6 a.m. He tells us that he is going to put the lights out so we run off to bed in a disorderly manner.

  It’s good to go to bed knowing that we will not be flogged the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. Life is really worth living. After going to bed we can talk to the boy next to us, and the night man tells us to go to sleep, but we don’t take any notice, so he just wanders off to the other dormitory. I am a lot better now. I have had several fairly good nights. The dreams are not so terrifying.

  It’s the second week of the holidays and Mr Griffin takes us to see the coal ship, which has arrived. It’s the same ship and the same crew as last year, and we are allowed to talk to the sailors from Scotland, who speak very strange English. Mr Griffin can understand them, but I can’t. Mr Griffin said they will start unloading tomorrow and the job will take four days. We have two lorries and one is borrowed from Coyne of Clifden. The Guy is a very big and heavy one, and the old Ford, which is tied together with string and wire, is still in humming order. Big Val Connelly drives the borrowed lorry and Mr Kelly, the new mechanic, the Guy. Dick Hunt, now a lad of almost sixteen, drives the old Ford. Hunt is the boy with the cauliflower (frost bitten) ears. There are twenty lads loading the lorries and another twenty unloading at the coal yard, but there are very many more looking on. Val Connelly takes off his cap and makes the sign of the cross, as Dick Hunt almost backs the old Ford off the quay into the sea. Val now warns Hunt to go slow and drive more carefully. He tells the boys to keep clear as Hunt drives his load of coal away. Val says a prayer as the Ford is driven away, at speed.

  Everything went well until the last day. As the last load was being driven from the ship, some of us started to walk back to the school, and we seen in the distance several hundred yards in front, the old Ford which had broken down and was stuck, and would not take a small hill, so when we reached the lorry we gave her a push and she started off again. There was too much coal, so we unloaded about a half ton on to the roadside. When she got stuck the second time, she failed to take the hill near Lydon’s house (the tailor’s) and was now running back down the hill again. The driver had lost control, but managed to apply his brakes before running off the road. Had he run off the road anywhere along here he would have a drop of over twelve feet and may even finish in the sea.

  Several of the lads run forward to give a hand, to push the lorry back up the hill. John Kelly, also a mechanic, who is travelling in the front with the driver is now pushing her and now she is climbing the hill at a fair speed when something dreadful happens. As John Kelly runs forward and tries to climb into his front seat he tries to jump on the step or running board, and he misses the running board, or his foot slips off which is more probable, because it is loose and breaking away. He falls underneath and is run over as the rear wheel passes over his chest.

  John Kelly is dead one hour after the accident. He is laid out in the small room at the road end of the infirmary all the following day as we go into the room to kneel and pray. Brother Kelly the superior is there. He hardly leaves the Room of Death. All day he cries and prays. I have not seen a man cry since the time about three years ago when Mr McAntaggart the bandmaster, and our teacher, was hit several times on the face by Brother Walsh. Brother Kelly is now crying loudly, and between sobs he is praying. He is really genuinely humble and sincere. Brother Kelly is my interpretation of a saint.

  We should be going to Tully Strand next week, but it has been cancelled, as the school is now in mourning. As I looked at the face of the corpse, I was amazed at the contented and relaxed appearance and I felt relieved that this boy’s sufferings were over. And for
just a moment a sinful thought came to my mind. I too would like to be dead. This thought now worried me more every day and I wondered if I should tell the priest, but I was always afraid. I would leave it until the Missioner came on Christmas Eve, or perhaps I might ask Brother Kelly when I go to the office for thread and buttons.

  The holidays were spoiled by the accident. We did not go to Tully strand which was an awful disappointment to every one. All the other lads went last year but I did not go because I was ill in the infirmary. Back at school I am in fourth standard. I am awful sorry to leave Mr Griffin, who was so good and kind, and taught us so much. At the exam before the holidays I got second highest marks, Danny Shields got the highest score. My brother Jack does not go to fourth, as he is due to leave school in a year and he works permanently on the farm except for an hour which is spent at school in the evening.

  Brother Byrne is now our teacher and he often sends ‘Bulldog’ (a boy in our class) to the bathroom to get a wash because he has been working with the pigs all day. Bulldog has been a long time at the school because he has been here since he was six, and he has a hard and difficult time. He used to be often beaten by the monitors or bullies, who were lads mostly overage who were sent back to Letterfrack because they were failures outside.

  Brother Byrne is a good Irish speaker, and teaches us all subjects so there is no need for the native Irish teacher McLaughlin to come to our class, (his nickname is adhmad or the Irish for timber).

  It is Halloween and there is the usual excitement. We do not get oranges, because they are too expensive and Brother Kelly speaks of the growing need for economy. But we get very good apples and nuts which have already arrived days ago, and many of the boys write letters, and take them to the office. This gives them a chance to see for themselves the big bags of apples and nuts. This year there is less excitement because everyone knows in advance what they will receive. Brother Kelly has had to go away on business so Brother Fahy and Vale give out the fruit. For supper we get a slice of sweet cake, and a whole pot of strawberry jam to each table.

  I have not been on serve now for two months and my state of health is better than before the holidays, but my hands are trembling and sweating just the same, so that my writing is not good, and although I wash my hands several times daily, my writing book and drawing book are dirty. John Power and Tommy Berry and young McLaughlin are all the same as I am. My head aches most mornings during breakfast but it’s better when we are permitted to talk. There is now a great atmosphere of tension during every dinner hour, as there is about to be a change over in serve duties. We never know when the change will take place. Sometimes it may be after a month, or six weeks, but it may even be as long as four months before we are relieved of duty. The meal is now almost over, and we sit in nerve-breaking silence, until one of the very young children drops a spoon or something on a plate, and I jump. The noise that spoon makes is as if the whole roof had fallen down. I did not notice any of the others jump, and after the meal I wanted, very much, to ask some of the other lads how they felt when the spoon dropped but I thought they would laugh at me, and to be laughed at was even worse than a beating. I worried terribly what everybody thought about me. If I made a stupid mistake at school, or got the lowest number of marks, it was something to be ashamed of, and the remark that old Lydon made last year upset me quite a lot. He said my ‘work was getting worse every day, and a good thing it is for you, the manager is away’.

  The change over has now taken place. After weeks of tension, the worst has happened. We are back on serve again. For almost a week he does not beat anyone except those working in the kitchen. Cunningham is in the scullery washing the dishes and we can hear awful cries coming from there. I want to go in to change the water, but am terrified. I know that if I am found using dirty water, I shall be in serious trouble. So I just grab the bucket and go to the kitchen as quickly as possible. I go to the boiler and get clean warm water, and as I am leaving, a little water is spilled on the floor of the kitchen which has been washed and dried, so I take the bucket back as quickly as possible, and return with a cloth to dry the floor. Luckily I am able to wipe it up without being caught, because it is considered a terrible thing to allow anything to fall on the floor after it has been washed. The next two months go by with little change. The same anxiety and tension prevails. The constant beatings go on as before, and we are relieved from some duties during Christmas week.

  The missioner has arrived. As usual it is a Redemptorist Father, who preaches about little else only the fear of hell. He tells us awful stories about children who die in a state of mortal sin. This missioner tells us about a boy who died recently. He was called to give the last sacraments, but on arrival found the boy to be dead, so the following morning as the missioner was about to offer mass for the boy, he felt a tugging on his garment as he was about to climb the altar steps. As he turned around he observed the boy in flames, who begged him not to pray for him as it was too late and would only add to his torment. The priest told us many such stories, at least one every day for a week. This particular missioner in December 1929 also told us the exact depth of hell and the thickness of the walls. He also explained in detail, how a condemned soul would be chained and the exact position of the chains. He also told us that it took a soul three seconds to reach hell. These stories frightened me so much that I prayed almost all the time, for many weeks after.

  I lived in a state of terror. I can remember very little of Christmas that year, because I was ill with fear, and suffered from what Brother Byrne said was a false conscience. I imagined that everything I said and done was a sin, and punishable by hell. It was at least a month after before I found the courage to explain my fears to the priest Fr Donlan. I then asked him if he thought it was true that the missioner had actually seen this boy in flames. He did not answer my question. He merely laughed and said ‘Do not worry about such things.’ ‘But I am worried,’ I said. ‘Please tell me father was the story true or untrue?’ And he answered saying, ‘You must not doubt the word of a priest.’ I asked Brother Kelly and he answered me saying ‘There is a good reason why the priest talks to children in this manner. Go away and forget about it,’ so that I started the year 1930 with a doubt in my mind as to whether or not the priest was speaking the truth from the altar.

  10

  Sixth Year

  The year 1930 is no better than any of the previous years. I now have very grave doubts, concerning my religious education. When I go to confession I often ask questions many of which are answered in such a manner as to leave me in greater doubt than before, so I often go to Brother Kelly for help. He tries to help me, but his words prove nothing and I tell him this, and he gets a little angry. He advises me to believe what I am told without question. He then goes on to say that my religion is based on the Holy Bible which is the written word of God.

  He reminded me that the good men responsible for my spiritual education were sent by God to simplify his word in keeping with my intelligence. I then asked, is it not true that many other religions are based on the Bible. Brother Kelly said that the other people’s interpretation was incorrect. I then reminded him that those good men whose work it was to simplify the teachings of the Bible, had been unsuccessful so far in my case, and that I was dissatisfied with many of the answers even from the priest. He then advised me not to think too much about such matters as I was too young.

  Although the new superior is a very good and sincere man his knowledge of economy is very limited, and the school is getting into financial difficulties. He has warned everyone that there would have to be many cuts in the purchase of food and materials, and that the wages of all employees would be cut by four shillings a week, irrespective of present earnings. I did not realize the meaning of this until I went to the office for materials for the workshop and Mr Griffin was being paid. His weekly wage was one pound, and with four shilling deducted, this left him with only sixteen shillings.

  Mr Griffin refused to take his wages. With t
hat the superior said your wage is sixteen shillings take it or leave it. Mr Griffin had been a teacher in the school for 43 years. It is a known fact that Mr Griffin is one of the best teachers in the country. His day starts at 6 a.m. and he finishes at 9 p.m., after school he is in the yard looking after the children, and he also looks after the greenhouse. Mr Griffin was always clean and tidy but now he couldn’t afford to buy a shirt, instead he had a piece of calico, which was fastened to his waistcoat each side with pins. He didn’t wear socks because he had none and he was almost blind trying to teach as they wouldn’t buy him a pair of glasses. The Brothers used to laugh at him, because he was getting old, yet he had a smile for everyone and would always lift his old torn cap when the brothers came along. Mr Griffin always addressed the Brothers properly. Mr Griffin, who was a brilliant and highly educated man, and an excellent teacher, who had given a lifetime of hard work under the most trying conditions, was now rewarded, by reducing his weekly wage of one pound, to sixteen shillings and his keep.

  Mr Griffin had never taken a holiday away from the school, nor had he taken a single day off during the years I spent at Letterfrack. When he was not teaching in the schoolroom, he was present in the yard, or in St Patrick’s Dormitory. Wherever the children were you could always find Mr Griffin. He took them to mass every day and back again, he accompanied them to the football field and for walks during the holiday time, he wrote their letters, and read to them any they might receive.