by Mick Hare
“I’m preparing a meal this Saturday night,” she said.
“Who for?” asked Sean
“You if you like,” she whispered.
For a moment Sean hesitated and Martha instantly regretted her impetuosity. Her regret and embarrassment showed on her face. Sean could not help but see it and he quickly put his arms around her shoulders and said, “I’d love to.”
It was something that could never have occurred had they been living in the places of their births, surrounded by family. But, as two independent students in a strange, big city, they not only had every opportunity but they were also subject to the sense of bohemian freedom and implicit danger that the city possessed.
Neither Sean nor Martha had ever considered themselves devout, but as products of early twentieth century Catholic Ireland they found themselves much too uncomfortable with the idea of contraception. The physical side of their relationship was a major proportion of the attraction between them in those days and thus it became a major source of frustration and dissatisfaction. Worries about an accident leading to a rushed wedding were a further consideration.
Out of a logic of its own it emerged that to get married seemed the only sensible thing to do. Sean had planned for none of this. It had come about the way Friday comes about at the end of the week.
To the world they were deeply in love, obsessed with each other; marriage solved so many of their practical problems. Sean had other reasons for wanting the relationship to follow convention. Convention could be conveniently slow and even though he had no doubt that to love Martha would be the best kind of life he could hope for, he knew that there was a basic reservation within him and for that he bitterly regretted deceiving her. He knew that Martha could never compensate for the loss he had endured. It was unfair to Martha to let her walk unknowingly into the mess of his emotions and the secrecy of his activities but, with determination he believed he could make her happy. There was no other happiness he could aim for. Germany had left him with doubts about the man he was and the life he had chosen. Did he have the right to take Martha unknowingly into that life?
His recent experiences in Germany had battered his self image. Love and marriage with Martha were his way of returning his life to blessed normality after the chaos he had so recently stumbled through. For himself, this relationship was perfect, but for Martha, how could that be when he was concealing so much of himself from her?
Meeting each other’s families took time. There was the need for Sean to formally ask Martha’s father for his permission. This was necessary despite the fact that Martha would have married Sean with or without her father’s blessing. He did not refuse. He was delighted to have a doctor as a son-in-law. As a farmer it could only have been bettered if Sean had been a vet.
All the while Sean wondered if he should put a stop to the whole affair. He often believed that he would if a suitable opportunity arose. But as time drifted on, no obvious obstacle to their progress towards marriage offered itself to him and so he went along with the plans.
Then there was the wedding itself and all the attendant arrangements. Although demanding of their time, skill and patience, ultimately the whole process went smoothly. And so it was in the spring of 1937 that Martha stepped gracefully to the sound of her wedding march to stand by Sean’s side, there to share their wedding vows. Their first son, Cornelius (after Martha’s father), was even then beginning to grow within her.
Five
1938
“Will there be war do you think?”
The question came from James Callan and he addressed it to the assembled company in Brian Hagan’s dining room. It was the evening of March 13, 1938 only one day after German troops had marched into Austria and united it to Germany as a province. Hitler, who had accompanied his troops, had received a rapturous welcome, particularly on his home ground of Linz.
Hagan had somehow acquired some small red, black and white Nazi flags boasting swastikas and had bedecked his mantelpiece with them celebrating the “Anschluss” with Austria. He grasped his wine glass as he stood up from the table, thus signalling to his guests that they might adjourn with their drinks to the sitting room where schnapps and cigars lay waiting. As they moved between rooms the question hung in the air.
“Never in a million years,” Hagan finally responded as he lowered himself into his favourite armchair. “Herr Hitler is much too clever for that.”
“What do you mean by that, Brian?”
It was Martha Colquhoun, who submitted the follow-up enquiry as they settled themselves around the blazing fire. Hagan almost successfully erased the smug look stealing onto his face, but not quite. He settled himself deep into his armchair and looked at the faces of his guests – all awaiting his expert response. There was James Callan, senior consultant in paediatrics at Dublin University Hospital. Probably Dublin’s most eligible bachelor, and a man who had proven himself in the troubled twenties. A patriot and hero of the Anglo–Irish War and the subsequent bloody Civil War.
There was Martha and her husband Sean. Martha, was attending her first Hagan soiree since the birth of her son; Martha Grady of pure Irish rural stock; a child of the Catholic landowning class; the repository of Ireland’s future; Martha of the County Clare Grady’s; niece of Patrick Grady, trusted lieutenant of Michael Collins himself. And her husband Sean, the son of a man who had fought alongside De Valera at the Dublin Bakery in 1916 and now an official of Fianna Fail. Sean Colquhoun, reputed to be a veteran of the Anglo-Irish war, though this was something he refused to confirm or deny.
Beside them he saw Martin Beatty and his glamorous wife Peggy. Martin and Peggy were both in their early 50s but Peggy had retained her youthful looks and health. Martin was a junior minister in De Valera’s new administration. He had allowed the Guinness and the whisky to expand his figure. His suit jacket rolled around his rotund waist like a sail before the wind. His beetroot complexion could not hide the handsome face of his youth or the ready smile that preceded his generous laughter. His portfolio was currently education and as such he was an important contact for Hagan to cultivate. Hagan’s most recent visit to Germany had seen him return full of enthusiasm for Nazi education policy. He had reported to Martin on the amazingly rapid re-writing of children’s reading books that had been carried out to incorporate Nazi attitudes and to inspire children with admiration for Germany’s Nazi leaders. Martin had been very keen to introduce this approach to the Irish education system. He wanted to be the man to successfully inculcate Catholicism and republicanism amongst Ireland’s fledgling readers. Martin had been a supporter of De Valera throughout the Civil War and had suffered politically during the years of Dev’s exile. He was reaping his reward for loyalty now that De Valera was back in favour and back in office. He was ambitious and he wanted to make a name for himself. The significance of the connection between Beatty and Hagan was mutually advantageous.
Like the rest of the company, Beatty was an implacable enemy of England, or the British Empire as they sometimes referred to it. Having experienced first-hand the brutality and evil of the British army abroad in their own home towns, villages and cities they were reluctant to be swayed by England’s denunciations of Hitler’s Germany. How could it possibly be as evil as the British Empire? Most of those present could recount an incident involving the infamous Black and Tans. None of them could stomach morality preached at them by England.
The only exception to this was Sean Colquhoun. Sean was indeed a republican and also an Irish nationalist and a fierce supporter of Irish independence from British rule. He also believed in a united Ireland and accepted that Northern Ireland was a bastard state and an example of Britain’s reluctance to release any of its dominions from subjugation to its control. But Sean had had his views re-positioned by his first hand experience of living under a Nazi administration in Germany during his time at the Freidrichshain Clinic in Berlin. The sight of the little swastikas in Hagan’s apartment had put Sean into a bad mood; made him sick to his
stomach in fact. However, Sean had good reason not to voice his views in this company. Reasons he could not tell them. Reasons he had not even told his wife.
The company was completed by two of Hagan’s university colleagues and their wives plus Father O’Shea, a man from County Clare and known to Martha from her home village. Father O’Shea was returning from a visit to Rome and had contacted Martha on his way through Dublin to renew their acquaintance. O’Shea had a welcome delay before being transferred by the Church to Cork to take up his placement as curate at Sacred Heart Parish. Hagan had been delighted to add him to the guest list.
Six
Brendan O’Shea had been born in Birmingham. His father was an immigrant building worker from Galway. His mother, from Catholic Derry, had moved to Birmingham along with two of her sisters. They had found work in Birmingham’s outdoor market selling fresh fruit and vegetables. Brendan’s mother, Mary Clinton, had supplemented her meagre earnings by working as a barmaid at the Birmingham Catholic Men’s Club. It was here that she met Brendan’s father.
Arthur O’Shea turned up at the club every Friday and Saturday night. After a long week on the buildings he would bathe and shave and dress in his best blue suit, grease his hair and set off for a night of drinking and good Irish company. He was a humorous, charmer of a man and he found it easy to chat with women. In the male environment of the club Mary stood out like a beacon. Arthur was drawn to her and would spend many an hour propping up the bar chatting to her and cracking jokes as she served the members. They would also encounter each other at mass on Sundays. It did not take Arthur long to ask Mary to go out to a dance with him.
They first met for an official date outside the Assembly Ballrooms in Sparkbrook. They were married in February 1908. Brendan was born in March 1910.
The news of the death of Arthur’s uncle in County Clare in 1915 at first seemed nothing more than a sad reflection back to a former life. But when three weeks later news arrived of the will Uncle Michael had written reached Birmingham, Mary and Brendan could hardly believe it when Arthur told them both the news.
“I’m to be a farmer,” he cried. He danced a jig in his bare feet and he swept Mary and Brendan into his arms.
“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Mary.
But Arthur was into his thoughts.
“That’ll show the bastards. That’ll show the Galway bastards!” And through the wide-eyed laughter Mary and Brendan perceived a venomous contortion in his expression.
“Arthur,” insisted Mary. “Please tell us what is going on.”
So Arthur explained. As a young boy Arthur had been shipped out of his family home in Galway to become an unpaid helper at his Uncle Michael’s farm in County Clare. Uncle Michael and Aunty Peggy had had no children. Managing an Irish farm without children was as difficult as it was unusual. Arthur had interpreted the move as a rejection by his own parents and family but, thanks in no small measure to his aunt and uncle he recovered. He developed a fake outer shell. When his homesickness receded he had made a deliberate decision to shut his parents, brothers and sister out of his mind. In their own way Uncle Michael and Aunty Peggy loved him like parents and he came to respect them and appreciate their goodness.
When he reached the age of fifteen his own parents woke up to the notion that if they left Arthur with his aunt and uncle they might do something ridiculous – like leaving the farm to him. Arthur’s parents had always assumed that, in the fullness of time the farm of the childless couple, who were considerably older than themselves, would come to them. To remove him as a rival for this inheritance they suddenly decided that they had better whisk him back to Galway.
Arthur once again found himself torn away from the comfort of his home and the relationships he had forged. He was desperately unhappy, more so than he had been to be sent away in the first place. He bitterly resented his parents and his siblings. They were strangers to him but strangers with the power to make life changing decisions over him. At first he had blazing rows with his parents and vicious fights with his brothers. Later he learned the trick of switching off his emotions. He took pride in the fact that there was nothing they could do to enrage him; at least not on the outside. He may burn with anger inside, but outwardly he laughed in the faces of his tormentors.
He learned to mimic the people he judged the happiest and most successful and cultivated an air of confidence. He became the convincing charmer who would woo and marry Mary. Inside, however, the storm continued.
On the day of his sixteenth birthday he woke at the crack of dawn. He slipped a chunk of bacon and a loaf of bread inside his coat. He went out to the barn and collected the bag of clothes he had hidden there the night before and he set off to walk to Dublin. In two weeks time he had arrived in Birmingham.
“The farm is mine. Uncle Michael has died. He’s left the farm to me. It’s ours.”
Thus, Birmingham born Brendan was destined to grow up in County Clare. The boy who might have been a city bred Englishman instead became a farm bred Clare man.
Brendan was seven when his father first abused him. His mother was away in Birmingham. Her oldest sister, Betty, had died and she was attending the funeral and spending some time with her other sister, Catherine. It was the third night of her absence when Arthur came back from the village dead drunk. Brendan had put himself to bed and was asleep when his father woke him from his dream and used him.
Arthur experienced almost unbearable guilt following this act as he did following every subsequent repetition. But once he had crossed the line he could not stop satisfying himself at the expense of his son whenever he was drunk. It did not take much to frighten his son as to what might happen if he ever told anyone about their secret times together. Some perversity of thinking caused Arthur to believe that his son was in need of penance. To achieve this for his son he insisted that Brendan become an altar boy. Arthur took Brendan to the church and asked Father Haggerty to take Brendan under his wing. When Father Haggerty began his own serial abuse of Brendan, the boy could come to no conclusion other than it was normal behaviour.
When Brendan entered early adolescence he did not see himself as calculating but it was not a coincidence that with his proclivities he unconsciously endeavoured to conceal them by working to develop female friendships. It was thus that he cultivated an acquaintance with Martha Grady, the serious-looking tom-boy from the Grady farm that lay seven or eight miles away beside the coast. Neither of them would consider their friendship close, but there were days when they came across each other and tagged along side by side over the fields and streams, looking for trout to tickle or haystacks to climb. Martha found herself easy in his company. Although physically well-developed by the age of twelve she was not sexually mature by any means. There was something about Brendan that seemed to free her from the self-consciousness she felt when in the company of other boys. So it was, years later, when they met again in Dublin, Martha was delighted to renew her acquaintance with this boy from her childhood.
Brendan’s relationship to Father Haggerty became the closest in his life and it became the determining factor in his decision to aim for the priesthood.
Brendan began his own abusive behaviour at the age of thirteen. By this time he was the senior altar boy in the parish and responsible for instructing the other boys in the procedures and routines of the mass and benediction and the rites of marriage and burial. He began to be able to spot and develop likely victims. He was sixteen when a parent first complained about him to Father Haggerty. This time Brendan had miscalculated in his choice of victim and the distressed boy had rushed straight home and told his mother how Brendan O’Shea had played with his private parts. Brendan had denied the whole thing and Father Haggerty had told the woman to go away and pray for forgiveness and give her sick-minded son a good telling off. For good measure he gave her a penance of two ‘Our Fathers’ and three ‘Hail Marys’. The woman went off soundly rebuked and very confused.
Meanwhile however, Father
Haggerty realised that they had had a close call. He arranged for Brendan to enter a seminary in Athlone, many miles away. Thus did Brendan’s decision to study for the priesthood finally come to pass.
It was a complaint by a fellow seminarian in the last year of Brendan’s training for ordination that led to him being transferred to Rome to complete his studies. Brendan, despite continuing his abusive activities whenever the opportunities arose, developed a sound reputation amongst the clergy he came into contact with. Although rumours inevitably emerged around him, Brendan was protected by the unshakeable reluctance amongst the clergy to entertain thoughts of such matters.