About this time there was a catastrophe just off the coast of Connemara and only a few miles from Letterfrack, when 45 fishermen lost their lives as a terrific storm arose suddenly and without warning (or it may have been the year before). We were confined to the school rooms and were not allowed into the yard, because there were a lot of slates blown from the roof, and on one occasion a slate came through the window of number 2 school. There was widespread damage to the little houses in Connemara most of which were thatched and whitewashed.
In spite of the critical financial position of the school, the superior had engaged a physical training instructor, who took us on P.T. for a half hour daily. He also taught step dancing, and assisted Brother Byrne in teaching the boys a new play. A barber was also employed. He came to the school once a month, and cut everybody’s hair. Until now, one of the older boys cut the children’s hair, but hair cutting was not done regularly, and it would often be two or three months before we would get a hair cut, the result was that many suffered from dirty heads full of vermin and sores. The children were often blamed for this state of affairs, and of course beaten. We were now in the new chapel which was more than twice as big as the old one, which was now being used as a store. The chapel was built on fairly high ground, which in 1925 was a wood. There were many and varied opinions as to the architecture of this building, Brother Byrne thought it was a ‘beautiful gem’, Brother Kelly said it was the ‘most modern chapel in the county’, Brother Murphy the office Brother thought it was like a ‘bloody barn’. Although it has only been completed, the recent storm blew half the roof off, and there are several gaping cracks from top to bottom. It has been constructed of concrete with dashed walls, the roof is made of red tiles, the altar is built from green Connemara marble, one end of the chapel, or the altar end, is only twenty yards from the Brothers’ monastery, the other end is about eighty yards from the old chapel. The cemetery is in the wood, half way between the old church and the infirmary, and about a hundred yards from the road.
In the tailor’s work shop we are busy making suits for the Brothers and a few outside customers. Our customers outside the school are mostly fishermen or farmers. They wear a very simple suit called a báneen which is made completely by machine. The jacket is made without a collar, the front is shaped like a waistcoat, it has sleeves, but is usually without pockets. The trousers have plain bottoms and are made with or without pockets. The báneen suit is of plain light grey flannel. The customers in Connemara are not difficult to please, they only want a strongly made plain garment with plenty of room to work in it. The natives are a very simple, almost primitive, and kindly folk. They take very little notice of fashions and the style of dress never changes. They are religious and superstitious, and many of the older people do not speak English.
As the land is terribly poor, most of them earn a living by fishing. Mackerel is the most common fish in these waters. Val Connelly the very big young man, who lives in the thatched house in the village, just outside the school, is in the mechanic’s shop most days. He is often engaged to drive the Guy lorry to Westport, and Foxford woollen mills where we buy most of our cloth. Val is better known as ‘the Bolshie’ on account of his escapades during the trouble. He gets no regular wage but is often allowed expenses. He may go two or three weeks without getting anything and then will probably get anything from one to three pounds, but only after he has reminded the superior of the dreadful circumstances at home. I always know when he is paid expenses, because Joe Baker tells me. He also tells me when Val is due back, and I manage to get out of the yard by climbing over the wall at the back of the lavatory and hang about the garage until he gets back, because when Val gets any money he goes drinking and does not eat his sandwiches, which he brings from home. And if I can stay around long enough, and he does not forget, he will give them to me. They are made of home baked bread and butter or jam, and once he had bacon and egg sandwiches.
It is now St Patrick’s Day which is a holiday and we wear our best clothes just like on Sunday. We are allowed to talk at meals. Breakfast is the same as on Sunday, tea with bread and margarine. Dinner consists of roast beef, potatoes and cabbage, after dinner Brother Kelly comes to the yard, and as the weather is fine he takes all the boys for a walk along the Tully Strand road. Normally we should line up and march in our own divisions or tables, but Brother Kelly is not very strict, and I manage to work my way back to the rear of the parade where Brother Kelly is, because on such occasions he is very free and easy, and likes to make conversation. There are several questions I would like to ask him provided the opportunity arises, but when we are about a mile from the school, there is a donkey and cart coming towards us. The donkey is very small, and looks quite young, and there are two men sitting on the cart. As the donkey is unable to climb a fairly steep part of the road, and as the load is too much for him, he falls on the road, and is beaten by one of the men with a stick. On seeing this I turned to Brother Kelly and asked, ‘Sir, is it a sin to ill-treat an animal in this manner?’ Surely the correct thing to do is to help the donkey to his feet instead of hitting him with a stick. Brother Kelly just laughed and answered, ‘The animal has no soul, like us.’ After a pause I then said, the children have souls, yet, they are flogged almost every day. He looked at me and seemed to be angry, and asked, ‘Is that a complaint?’ I did not answer. Brother Kelly then went on, ‘I have never heard you complain before. It is very sinful in the eyes of God to complain.’ He then added, ‘I thought you were a good boy and was about to teach you how to “serve Mass”. But I can now see that you are not suitable for this duty, as this is your first complaint I will let you off, but you must never make this mistake again.’
For supper we have tea, bread, margarine and sweet cake. After supper there is a concert, and many clergy are invited. There are Christian Brothers from Salthill in Galway, and about a hundred paying guests. All the children are present, and everyone enjoys a good evening’s entertainment. The band plays very well. There is also step dancing by Matt Feerick and Christy Long. There are also some fairly good singers including Tommy Gordon, and young Hunt, but Hunt is so nervous, that he breaks down completely. This seems very strange in view of the fact that Hunt has been the school’s best singer for two years. We have another good tenor from Galway called Cooney.
The following day Hunt is asked in front of the class to give an explanation for his failure at the concert. He is now out of favour with the bandmaster and Fahy, and has been Fahy’s favourite pet for more than a year. Matt Feerick is now in Fahy’s good books and is nearly always in his company. Fahy always has one favourite, who spends long hours in his private room. Unlike most of his other pets Feerick does not carry stories.
In the tailor’s shop I only work on suits for the staff or outside customers. I no longer make clothes for the children, but am responsible to Lydon for any work done by the young lads, and have to teach them repairs and the making of the children’s suits as well as shirts, pillowcases and sheets. I also go to the office and store for materials for the shop.
Brother Scully has left and Brother Rairdon takes over the duties of farm Brother (Brother Blake was the farm Brother in 1925) Blake and Rairdon have much in common. They are about the same age 40. They both have a red face, and dark hair brushed straight back. They are religious and equally brutal to the children. Brother Blake went to Salthill in or about 1926, and it is said that he was so cruel to the lads that the older ones tied him up one night and flogged him severely. The boys who done this were sent to a reformatory.
In school there is almost half our time spent on Irish, and catechism, with the result we are behind in other subjects. Brother Byrne thinks teaching of Irish is a mistake, in view of the fact that most of the boys would find it necessary to emigrate before they reach the age of eighteen, due mainly to economic conditions at home. Tommy Ward then asked why do such conditions exist. Brother Byrne answered saying, our country is underdeveloped, because it was the policy of the British who occu
pied it, to keep it that way. But that is not the only reason, Ireland is poor in mineral wealth, Brother Byrne then added, but we are also poor in great leaders. ‘We have not a single leader who is worth his salt, and another very important reason for our poor economy is, because the Irish have always been reluctant to do anything for themselves.’ The Irish have done great things abroad, they have built the railroads in America and they have played a great part in the building up of the British Empire. They have fought and won wars for other people, but at home they can’t even feed themselves.
The nurse who left and married Mr Hogan, has come to Letterfrack for a holiday. They are very happy and every one is glad to learn this. Mr Hogan was a boy in Letterfrack many years ago. He was a blacksmith to trade but has since become a cook. They have settled down in England. Mrs Hogan is working in a hospital and is now a fully qualified nurse. Mrs Hogan has always walked with the aid of a stick and it is said that she has an artificial leg.
The waste ground at the back of the drill hall or concert hall, is now being levelled off, and a tennis court is going to be built there. Brother Fahy is in charge of the job and we all work there for an hour every day. Brother Keegan intended to grow vegetables there, but never got round to starting the job.
It is now Easter week and there are great preparations for a dance to be held in the hall on Easter Sunday. We are washing and scrubbing the floor and putting the chairs in position, the entrance fee is 5 shilling. The children will not be there of course. It is a tea dance, which is good news for everyone, because we will have to do the clearing up the next day, and shall be able to get the food that’s left over. I can’t remember the last tea dance but the lads say there was lovely meat sandwiches and all kinds of cakes left over.
Tom Donlon said he found a half crown on the floor when he was sweeping up after the last dance, which he gave to Brother Vale and got a penny for himself. A very large crowd is expected as the dance is well advertised. The boys all look forward to a dance or a whist drive, because the Christian Brothers will be busy with their girlfriends. Brother Byrne has a lovely girl with black hair, she is only 22. Brother Fahy sees his girl two or three times a week now, she always comes in her car and waits for him on the road outside the avenue. The boys in Fahy’s school say they have a good time when he is going with the girl, but when they fall out he beats them much more.
In the refectory we are still being beaten by Vale. I have not been beaten during meal times for nearly three weeks, but we are beaten on serve usually for three days, and then he leaves us alone sometimes for a whole week. I have now discovered a very good idea. I have made a double seat for my pants which I have stitched on the inside. It is a very heavy material, and I find it most effective. When I was beaten two days ago it didn’t hurt very much, and I am not so much afraid any more. I have promised to put double seats in for many other lads, as soon as I can get material. I am going to pad the back of my jacket as well especially around the back of the shoulders, as that is where the rubber hurts most. I forget my own fears when I see the faces of some of the other boys, John Power, Martin Mullins, the two Giblins, John Coyne, Tommy Berry, Murdoch, the two McLaughlins. I have heard that John Power and big McLaughlin will be going to another home unless their condition improves. John Power goes about talking to himself and laughing. Sometimes he cries when there is no one near him. Tommy Feerick is also taking the beatings badly. He is at present in the infirmary with skin disease from which many are now suffering.
We often get nasty sores on the head and face, and the backs of the hands. John Coyne, this boy’s father killed his mother when he was six years old and he was admitted to the school shortly afterwards. I remember the day he arrived, he was a very shy and timid child. I was older than him about two years, and everybody was wondering if he really realised the terrible thing that had happened, although he never smiled he didn’t appear too unhappy. He was a really handsome boy with a lovely round face, dark hair and brown eyes. There was that searching look in his face. Every time he looked at me he seemed to be asking, ‘Do you really know the dreadful experience I have had?’, ‘Do you really mind very much?’, ‘Do you condemn me for what has happened?’ and ‘Will you hold it against me?’ I was extremely fond of this little lad, and although he is younger than me I often play with him, and share what little I get from home with him, because he has never received a letter although he has been here three years. I have never mentioned anything to him about his home life, nor he to me. Very few of the other lads bother with him and they often talk among themselves about his parents. I sometimes wonder, has anyone ever said anything to him about the past. It would be an awful thing if they had. I can well remember when he was only about a week in the school, seeing Brother Walsh holding him by the hand and beating him. Walsh always done that to children of seven or eight, he grabbed hold of their hand because they didn’t hold it in the correct position, to be slapped.
Vale has beaten this unfortunate boy terribly during the last year. His lovely face seems to have changed an awful lot, that roundness has vanished, instead his face is long, his cheek bones stick out, his eyes just glare (or stare) and there are dark shadows underneath. His cheeks were once rosy but now they are chalk white, with several spots.
Con Murphy has always been my chum. He plays in the band, and never forgets to bring me back something nice when he has been on tour, an apple, an orange, a bag of sweets, or a piece of cake. He was very young when he came to Letterfrack in 1923. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old. His health has failed terribly, he works beside me in the tailor’s shop, his mouth and gums are diseased, and by pressing his gums he can bring pus and blood from them, and like many of the children here he smells real bad, it’s like a stale smell of sweat. We sweat a lot when we are in the refectory. I have noticed many times when I am having a meal in silence the sweat just pours off my hands, and from under my armpits. I can feel it running down my sides, and when we are lined up to be beaten I can smell the sweat of the others, everyone a little different. If I closed my eyes and just walked along a line of children I imagine I could recognise each one by their particular odour. This is very strange to me. In spite of the fact that we take a bath every Saturday, and our shirts and socks are changed, most of us smell. Perhaps that is why Vale puts medicine in our food. We have not had any medicine recently because the last time it made many of the kids ill and they were up all night.
I have noticed too that many suffer from catarrh of the nose and throat. I can hear many of them sniffing, and they have great difficulty in breathing. I can hear them during the night fighting for breath, as it were. I have the same complaint, my nose is always stopped up on one side, and it’s hard to breathe and my face feels hot and it gets flushed. I get pains between the eyes and when I try to blow my nose, I get a sharp pain over my left eye.
They call big McLaughlin ‘Kangaroo’ because the day he came to the school Walsh said he looked like one. He has long legs and big ears, he is very backward at school, and has been flogged a lot more than anyone else. Boys who are not good looking, or are in any way deformed, are laughed at, and ill-treated. Tom Thornton, a big lad for his age, has one leg, and is made to do serve duties, and washing up and scrubbing floors etc. I have seen him being beaten by Vale on the stump of his bad leg. He works in the tailor’s shop and is a good tailor, he plays handball very well, and he can beat me easily.
Matt Feerick, a band boy, plays a flute. He is very good looking lad of fourteen years and is now Brother Fahy’s pet. He has always had favourable treatment, he appears to be in good health, he is a nice lad and does not carry stories like the other pets.
Tommy Gordon, like his older brother George, is a good musician, he plays the piano and the clarinet. The Gordons from Belfast are good looking and very intelligent. They have had better treatment than most, probably because their mother comes to see them periodically. They get lots of toys and sweets. The younger lad is very nice and good natured, he give
s most of his sweets away. But his big brother George was a bit of a bully. He used to take half a slice of bread from me at breakfast during my first year, in exchange he would give me half his margarine, but it was no good without bread. He was the monitor in charge of the table. The Gordons have not suffered as much as the others, and they are in better health.
Charlie Haywood, now works in the office. He comes from Galway city and his mother sells fish in the market. He is my own age and is rather good at school. He suffered a lot under Walsh and is suffering under Vale now. Yet he is standing up to the beatings fairly good, and looks in fairly good health.
Murtaugh, this lad frightens me to look at his face. He is very small for his age. He was in great spirits when Walsh left, and was doing well at school, but now he is backward at school, and he screams terribly when being beaten, he cries even before he gets one blow. Brother Vale has given him a bad time, and hardly passes him without hitting him. Murtaugh like Con Murphy has bad teeth and his gums are all festered and look sore. He is now in the tailor’s shop. He has never received any letters and they say he has no parents.
Tom Berry, also small for his age, is very pale, and does not look strong. He gets bad colds and suffers with a cough. He is a tailor. He does not cry when being beaten and he has no parents.
Cosgrave, a Galway boy, is a very good singer. He is now fourteen. His mother came to see him once about two years ago. He is a mass server with Charlie Haywood.
It’s Easter and we are all given a new red handkerchief, because the priest is annoyed with us for sniffing at mass. He said we should blow our nose. He also complains about our coughing and said it’s just a bad habit. We have a fried egg for breakfast, and there is an extra loaf to each table of twelve. There is marmalade and tea. For dinner we get roast beef, with cabbage and steamed potatoes. After dinner, we have boxing, which is organised by Fahy, and he often matches the contenders badly with the result that several get hurt. Fahy likes boxing but the other Brothers don’t. Brother Vale, who is looking on, gets upset when he sees a boy bleeding from the nose. This is very surprising for him. For tea we get currant buns, with bread and jam, and there is a whist drive afterwards in the hall. There is an entrance fee of 2/6 but the boys who are able to play and wish to take part, are allowed in free. It’s quite an exciting evening, as several of the local men who take part are a little drunk, including Festy McDonald the butcher. He is always swearing as usual. I take part in the game but make many mistakes, by going to the wrong table. There are prizes of cash and a box of chocolates. Young Hunt wins second prize and the bandmaster gets third. The first prize is won by a very tall man called Joyce. He is a school teacher from the Joyce country, and is the tallest man I have ever seen. He is six ft. three inches.
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