Beyond The Sea

by Jack Lynch

  When the Missions arrived in town stalls and tents were erected outside the church and business boomed. Holy pictures, scapulars, rosary beads, prayer books and statues were sold incessantly. It was also a week of frightening sermons about Hell, Damnation, Fire and Brimstone. We were petrified when the Redemptorists and the Jesuits, gave their sermons.

  They bellowed, “Keep your hands outside the blankets and across your chest in bed, avoid temptation and bad thoughts,” Talk about being brainwashed! At one of these ceremonies, when the priest was in full flow shouting, and thumping the pulpit, he stopped and pointed at the congregation, in my general direction and he bellowed; “I mean you.” He continued, “Hell and damnation awaits you.”

  I’m sure we all thought the same thing - he’s pointing at me. Can he read my thoughts? It sent shivers up my spine. The man was serious! I wonder what he shouted at the women. The Missioners used to go around town, during devotions, and round up any male or female, who was not at the retreat. One of the missioners apparently approached a well-known local Protestant, named Ruby Robinson, and asked him why he was not in the church and Ruby allegedly said, “Because I’m not a Roman Catholic, I’m a Black Protestant.”

  A lot of the emphasis in religion then was on sex, for all its perceived badness they talked about it a lot! Other subjects were preached too but most of the teachings were done by fear and the threat of damnation forever. For instance, if you missed Mass on Sunday, or Holy day, you committed a ‘MORTAL’ sin, and if you died then, without making a good confession, your immortal soul would go forever into the fires of Hell. Bad thoughts too, were enough to condemn your soul down to ‘Old Nick.’ As children there was no question of us ever doubting this possible outcome, hell was a very real threat and this belief still nags me to this day.

  Recently, a priest preached that this method of teaching was wrong, and this comes as a relief to me, but I still have nagging doubts. For instance, I will not knowingly or willingly miss mass on Sundays, or Holy days, because I feel it is a Mortal sin. I will not go to communion, if I have eaten food less than one hour before receiving the Host. I think these are stupid man made laws, but it has been drilled into me and it’s hard to go against teachings that are so ingrained in you from an early age.

  In those days most people suffered from coughs and colds and it was during church services that this was most obvious. One cough during mass or during a sermon started an uncontrollable crescendo of coughing throughout the congregation. Sometimes it went on for quite a while and it was impossible to concentrate on the sermons.

  After years of these lectures, when I began to develop a natural curiosity about the opposite sex, I began to worry about impurity. What about a kiss with a girl? Would that be enough to damn me forever, if it made me excited and I took pleasure out of it? What full-blooded young person can control these emotions? My first kiss was with a Cobh girl named Eileen, who lived up near the Preaching House. She was the first girl I dated and I was walking her home one night when I had my first kiss. We went up the Preaching House steps and stopped at the entrance to the gate. I knew I was going to try and kiss her and after a few moments of awkward silence I asked her, “Can I kiss you”.

  “No.” She replied.

  “OK” I said, and turned to go.

  She quickly said, “All right, you can.”

  I kissed her awkwardly, once, and left. I didn’t go out with her again, or with any Cobh girl. I fancied quite a number but was too shy to try. Most of the girls I went out with were from Cork. I enjoyed the kisses, and hugs, but being a ‘good boy’ I confessed any which gave me pleasure. Being normal, they all did, and I did not stop enjoying myself!

  I still find it difficult to come to terms with some of the teachings and commandments of the Catholic Church, as they have changed so much over the years and so much of what I have learned as a boy has now changed since then. More things have become accepted as normal by the Church, i.e. relaxing of fasting and abstinence. Indulgences, as I knew them, are virtually gone by the board. It was forbidden to eat solid food for twelve hours before receiving communion when I was a child. Now we have Saturday evening Mass, priests and nuns in ordinary civilian clothes, lots of changes. As for indulgences, we were taught that you could get plenary or partial indulgences, if you carried out certain religious duties and prayed for the Pope’s intentions. A plenary indulgence, or partial indulgence, was used for the souls of the departed, whereby they could be released from Purgatory when you prayed for them. On ‘All Souls’ day you gained a plenary indulgence, when you visited the church, nominated the soul, and prayed for the Pope’s intentions. You also had to have made a good confession and communion. Nowadays, all this is changed and plenary indulgences are more difficult to get and I wonder what happens to the Poor Souls in Purgatory? I think, but am not sure due to all the changes, that some form of partial indulgence is still available. I don’t hear of indulgences these days. Come to think of it; if I met all the requirements of the plenary indulgence for a particular soul surely I didn’t need to do it again the following year for the same soul, but I continued to rescue the same soul every time I got a chance. The souls might not have been in Purgatory in the first place. Gone are the days when priests used to walk on church grounds reciting their ‘Office.’ in public.

  One priest used to cycle around lonely roads and the ‘Bush Field’ where he hoped to catch courting couples, and on discovery he would beat them with sticks. The usual give away for the couple was their two bikes together, left somewhere near where they were courting, while they enjoyed themselves. Rumours abounded about how long it took the priest to chase the couples, after first discovering them. The bishop did not allow priests to have their own cars. All their movements were on foot, by bike, or by jaunting car. This was not great for anyone who needed spiritual help, or the Last Rites, and could sometimes end up waiting long periods of time for the local priest to arrive. The priests may have had some access to local taxis.

  As well as church collections, the ‘Stations’ were another way of getting money in. This collection was made annually for the support of the clergy. A list of streets was read from the pulpit and a day was designated for householders to come to the Church and pay up. The priest waited at a table at the altar-rails. He had his book containing all the names in it and when the person from the house went to the altar-rails, in front of everybody, they handed over their offering, which was duly noted in the ledger. The following Sunday, the amounts donated were read from the pulpit. The person’s name was read out, with the amount paid. The priest started with the largest amount paid per person, until he got down to poor people who could only donate pence. It degraded and embarrassed these parishioners. There were also Sunday collections at the door, usually under the watchful eye of the Parish Priest, so nobody could dodge contributing.

  With all the money coming into the church from contributions, donations and indulgences the Catholic Church was one of the wealthiest institutions in the country. Outside of the church the rest of the country suffered greatly from lack of upkeep due to lack of funds. Footpaths which took us to the most beautifully kept churches were uneven and badly repaired, and roads were more like dirt tracks.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was approximately 1932 when I started school. My earliest memory of school is of meeting Sister Agnes and Sister Gabriel in the convent run by the Mercy Nuns. I don’t remember whether or not I cried on my first day. Our class was called the ‘Babies’ Class. At that young age we were mainly taught music, singing, and colouring. We also had little toys to play with and the usual squabbles took place over ‘ownership’ of particular toys. For our music lesson Sister Agnes issued the class with sticks about six inches long. Attached to each end of these sticks were small bells which we shook furiously to create sound. There were some tambourines and drums also given to some children. We all wanted the tambourines or drums, but alas, I never got one to show off my musical talents! That time, whenever a child
was deemed to deserve punishment Sister Agnes would give the child a six-inch ruler and tell him or her to administer a token smack to his or her own knuckles. It never hurt since even at that tender age we were not stupid enough to hit ourselves too hard. There was a large rocking horse in the classroom and rides were given to all the children except me. Sister Agnes and Sister Gabriel called me to one side early on and explained that my father had told them that I had a slight rupture (hernia), and should not be put on the horse. I was bitterly disappointed but accepted the decision. I used a truss for the hernia and it eventually cured itself without surgery. I remember I still had it years later, when I was boxing. However, there were plenty of other amusements for us children and we played happily with each other. There were the occasional rows, at which time the ruler would be offered to the offender, to self-administer the relevant punishment. They were extremely happy days for me and I was sad leaving that school.

  Sister Gabriel always smelled of carbolic soap and had a clean, scrubbed look. Even her glasses were spotless. Sister Agnes was older, smaller, and was not as impressive as Sister Gabriel. Sister Gabriel used to glide into the classroom. Both were kind, gentle ladies, and it’s strange how I have these specific memories of them. Perhaps, I had a soft spot for Sister Gabriel. I went back to see them once, when I was working but I regret that I did not try harder to go and visit these lovely nuns before they died. The two nuns were always together. I hope someday that they will be together again and greet me at the ‘pearly gates’.

  The convent was a mixed school of boys and girls. We had the same play breaks, and when the boys rushed to the outside loo; which always had a horrible smell from it, some of the girls giggled and watched us, and the boys used to try and piddle on them. The girls thought this was very funny and laughed as they ran away.

  1934 to 1940 were my informative school years. From the convent, daddy took me to St. Joseph’s National School, which was a boys’ school. It was christened ‘The Nash’ and was known locally by this term of endearment. It was close to the Convent, at ‘Top O’ the Hill.’ The regular routine in St. Joseph’s was that during breaks the boys were free to play in the school yard and when the whistle sounded we stopped playing and waited for the second blow of the whistle, at which time we ran and formed into lines for our own particular class. Our teacher waited for us. When a line was formed silence had to be maintained or else we got a wallop if caught talking. We were then led back into our class. Throughout the years, this discipline was maintained.

  In those years the schoolyard was constructed from hardened clay. In wet weather there were many mud patches. There was no shelter from the rain and more often than not we missed our play time outside. Later, the yard was concreted and a shed was built at the one end.

  Here I met my first male teacher, Mr. Casey. I started in lower infants under Mr. Casey’s tuition. We used chalk to write on slates. It was in later classes that we had paper and ink. The ink was made from powder, mixed with water. The inkwells had to be replenished on a regular basis and Gerard Bransfield used to make the ink. We used various types of nibs and we all had our own favourite nib. I liked the slim type and hated the fat stubby type. Nibs had to be changed regularly, when they became corroded. I don’t remember this practice ever stopping at the ‘Nash.’ Ceramic inkwells were used for the ink and most were chipped and had stains on them. Sometimes, boys spat into the inkwells and this became obvious when the pen was dipped and it came out with a sticky mess on the end.

  Later, the slates were used for another purpose. The slate was fitted in a wooden frame and Mr. Casey removed one end of the frame so that the slate could be moved in and out of the frame; like opening a sash-window. He used this when we were preparing for our first confession. He sat down and we knelt in front of him. He moved the slate through the frame in front of him, as if we were in a confessional, and we faced him and started to tell our ‘sins,’ practising for our first holy confession. We had to make up sins then, innocent as we were, so that we could go through the pretence of making a confession.

  In preparation for Communion we were taught Catechism. This was a religious lesson that was learned from a little blue book that cost a few pennies. Each child had to have a copy of it and had to learn the contents off by heart. A caning was administered if you incorrectly answered any question. The teachers wanted to show off their classes to the priest who came to visit. The priests would ask us questions from the book and they too were not very kind if we failed to answer the questions correctly. One Parish Priest used to take the class for catechism examination, and the first thing he did was to go to the cupboard for the cane. He used to hold the cane across the back of his neck, with both hands, bending it from time to time as he walked up, and down, between rows of desks, asking questions. If the wrong answer was given the cane would descend with venom across the boy’s back and shoulders. The priest got his fix this way. He was known as Buck Jones. At that time chastisement by teachers and priests was common and we had no recourse but to accept this punishment. Naturally, none of us liked it, particularly as some punishments were over the top and undeserved. Even now I can still see in my mind’s eye the cane descending. I’m sure it helped us to remember our lessons and spellings. I remember how we learned to spell catechism through a mnemonic. It was: Cathy Athy Told Eddie Connell How I Stole Matches.

  When I made my first communion it was great fun. I went around my relatives and neighbours, telling them I had made my communion. The whole idea was to collect as much money as possible, and to get sweets and cakes. Communion was secondary. However, I felt like a big boy going up to communion each week in church after that. One thing still mystifies me, and that was how I committed so many sins, that I had to go to confession every week. I’m sure I committed more sins by making them up, and confessing these to the priest, than all the sins I actually committed. Most of my sins were, ‘being bold at home,’ ‘telling lies,’ and ‘I can’t remember any more.’ That’s another lie!

  Once, when I was going home from school I noticed a pigeon’s nest in the side of a building. The bird flew away when I approached with some friends. The nest was in full view and had five blue eggs in it. I threw a pebble and broke one of the eggs and immediately one of the other boys said, “Lynch, you committed a mortal sin.” This terrified me and I was scared to tell the priest in confession. It took me a long time to get over this and I wondered how many other mortal sins I committed by not confessing it immediately at my next confession. I dared not think where I would go if I died at that time. Just imagine now how one boy can terrify another, by telling him that an act committed was a mortal sin. These teachings hold powerful grips on a young person’s mind….

  I remember that the poorer boys seemed to be treated more harshly than other middle class boys. This was a trend I noticed throughout most of the early years, up to sixth class. For instance, on a number of occasions a particular teacher of younger boys, took a boy and wrapped brown paper around his body and head, and he then tied a string around the paper and pretended to put a stamp on the paper, to post the boy to China. The boy was then pulled crying to the boiler room and left there for some time before being released. It used to terrify these little boys. This was only done to satisfy the teacher’s lust for power, not to teach us anything. Physical punishment was administered just because boys misbehaved, did not learn their lessons, or simply that the teacher did not like them. The smallest infraction could lead to severe physical punishment. We were only small children. I also saw one teacher throw an old penny coin at boys to get their attention. We did not have the same fun in this school as we did at the convent when we were smaller. During later years, a number of selected boys had to take some of the ‘slower’ boys to one side and help them with their weaker subjects, whilst the teacher would carry on teaching the rest of the class. In some cases it was not easy, as some fellows did not appear to want to learn. During this period I missed out on the new lesson being taught whilst I was t
eaching the other boy and had to do my own catching up.

  One of the teachers I clearly remember from my younger days was Mr. Cooney. This man was a real gentleman and he taught me how to write longhand. I remember that the lines on the pages for writing were coloured red and blue. The red lines were to use for capital letters, while the blue lines were to help you write the lower case letters. I don’t remember Mr. Cooney ever lifting a hand, or cane, to any boy. Later, he lodged with my sister Kathleen, and many years after that I was to see him again, though this time at his funeral in Dublin. He was a kind and lovely man and I have fond memories of him

  Cheap meals were given every day to children from poorer families. The cost was one penny. These meals were given out in a small hall, near the back of the Cathedral and they were known as the ‘Penny Dinners’ or ‘St. Anthony’s Bread’. A lot of the better off boys tried to sneak in for a meal. I never did because much as I wanted to do so, I felt too ashamed or afraid in case I got caught. It was a different matter in school when current buns were delivered to the school, to be handed out to the poorer children, for midday break. When these children got their share, there were usually some buns left over and the teacher would ask, “Who would like a bun?” Every single child’s hand would shoot up. The teacher broke the buns into pieces and shared them out. Unfortunately, he did not do a ‘Sermon on the Mount’ miracle and only a few children got some so there were lots of disappointed faces. However, this was rectified over the week, as each boy got a piece of the bun at some stage.

  We had great fun around the cathedral corner on the way to school when it was a windy day. The wind blew very strongly and we caught the tail ends of our coats, raised them above our heads, behind our backs, and they ballooned in the wind. We then ran against the wind. Sometimes we were blown back up against the rails, which were about eight feet above the road below. We could easily have been blown down onto the road. It was so exciting, and we often spent an hour or so playing there on the way home from school. On a fine day I used to see priests, dressed in their cassocks, walking up and down the side of the cathedral whilst they read their breviary. A number of times I sprained my ankle running down the steps from the cathedral to the road. This was because I tried to take two or three steps at a time. I often wonder now why I continued doing this as it was quite painful and sore, perhaps it was just the invincibility of youth.