Her hand took hold of mine and placed it inside her blouse on top of her breast. ‘Never mind my bus, just feel my bust. Do you like that?’ My body reacted with an unusual hunger, but I shook with fear of being seen. Then the sweat simply oozed from me.
I made my first date with Noeleen that night as I walked her to the bus stop. She stood at the stop and spoke to me in a way no one had ever spoken to me before. Her voice was sweet, soft as her body. ‘Take me home. I’ve a lovely place. You’ll love it. There’s a laneway and a long driveway up to my house. There are lots of bushes.’
I felt out of my depth, and as I look back, perhaps I was out of my mind. I was concerned for her wellbeing and that she get her last bus, as I felt responsible for her.
Her voice suddenly became more seductive. She turned to face me. ‘Are you feeling all right, Pat, here let me undo your tie and loosen your collar. Gosh, you are so tense.’ Her soft, warm hands opened my tie, then reached to undo the shirt button.
I felt my body was on fire as she touched me but I froze as she pulled me to her. Our lips met, my heart raced, my mind was a blank. I couldn’t begin to imagine how I could please Noeleen. I quite simply let her lead me wherever her incredible, tender, sensual touching found its way.
‘You mustn’t miss your bus,’ I said eventually.
She gave me a very dejected look and said, ‘You’re not going to leave me here, are you?’
I felt embarrassed that I didn’t know what to do to please her. Fact is I had no clue how to please a girl. Yet I felt I had done everything I could do to look after her. I bought her cakes and a bottle of orange. I’d seen her safely to her bus stop. I was certain that was all that she expected of me. I was really hoping she would understand, yet her awful expression left me in no doubt that she was utterly disappointed with me.
I began to walk slowly away. I glanced at my watch, and muttered, ‘Gosh, I’m due in work in the bakery at midnight. Hell, I’ll be late, I hate to be late.’ Then I heard a voice calling me. ‘Pat, wait for me.’ I turned to see Noeleen dashing up to me, her eyes pleading. ‘Please take me home. I’ve got a lovely house with a long front garden, with trees and evergreen bushes. My Mum and Dad will be in bed, please don’t leave me like this.’
My heart almost stopped as I faced the first girl who ever had a real interest in me. Yet, I couldn’t handle it. ‘The bus is about to move off. The driver has started up the engine, you’d better hurry.’
‘Can we meet again? You could get to know me better.’
How could I refuse her? ‘Yes, yes, be glad to see you again.’
She drew real close to me by the bus. ‘Next time you’ll take me home. You won’t regret it.’
She kissed me hungrily before taking a seat on the bus. Noeleen pulled open the window of the bus. She looked ravishing. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday night. Just say a place.’
Without thinking I said, ‘Outside the Fairview Grand.’
She agreed. I hurried to get my bus to work, thrilled I had my first date. I was just seventeen and so naive.
I booked two seats for the Fairview Grand for the Sunday night showing. When I look back to that occasion years later, I realise that I should have booked for the city, the Royal perhaps, as she lived in Drumcondra and I in Fairview. What’s more, I loved and adored the Westerns. I never even considered what Noeleen liked.
As we entered the cinema I headed for the centre seats. She pulled me back; I wondered whatever for. She spoke quickly as the lights went low. ‘Follow me,’ she whispered, and we ended up sitting close to the wall at the back. I turned to her and asked her if she liked cowboy films.
She whispered, ‘No,’ and smiled teasingly, her lips almost on mine. ‘Do you?’ I responded at once. ‘Of course. That’s the reason I came.’ She didn’t answer. ‘Do you like Errol Flynn?’ I asked her.
She smiled and shook her head. Suddenly she whispered, ‘I like you a lot better. Are you really interested in all that horseshit?’
I laughed. A voice from behind said, ‘Shush. Shush, please, or I will have yeh put out.’
After a while Noeleen whispered, ‘Are you enjoying the film, Pat?’
I was glued to what was going on along the Sante Fe Trail. I didn’t even look at her but said, ‘Yes, yes, I am Noeleen.’
‘That’s too bad,’ she muttered and suddenly she got up and walked out. Suddenly I was alone.
As I pulled open the bakery door the clock struck midnight. I was relieved I made it on time. ‘How did your date go for yeh, Pat?’
I looked away from Mando as he took his fish and chips out of the oven. I felt sick, tears rolled down my face over my lips. I could taste her lipstick.
‘Your bleedin’ crying, Paddy, did you screw her?’ He laughed.
‘I don’t have a clue as to what you mean, “screw her”. I didn’t touch her.’ Mando came up closer to me, his voice softer now. ‘Look Paddy, did yeh shag her?’
I was confused by all of his expressions. ‘I don’t understand you, honestly I don’t.’ I felt gutted, sick.
‘What did she do then, since you respected her and treated her so ladylike.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I told you I treated her the only way I know, so what’s wrong with that?’
He poured out the tea. ‘Here have a few chips. I’ll tell you what’s bleedin’ wrong with you, but first you tell me, did yeh take her home?’
‘No,’ I muttered.
‘You telling me you had a date, your bleedin’ first date, and she begged you to take her home?’
‘No, no, she walked out on me. She’s not coming back.’
He spilt his tea as he laughed at the news. ‘Fuckin’ hell, Paddy, that’s an awful start for a first date. She walked out of the cinema on yeh, left yeh on yer own? You were naughty, weren’t you, bit of a dark horse, surprise, surprise.’ I blushed and was shocked at his suggestion. ‘You’re all red Paddy, there’s no harm in that, after all, that’s what they all yearn for, yeh know.’
I was disgusted with him. My voice was filled with anger now. ‘Look, I swear to you I didn’t put a hand on her. She kept asking me if I was enjoying the film. I told her I was.’
Mando laughed. ‘I’m not surprised she fecked off and left yeh, you are supposed to please her Paddy, not ignore her. By the way, have yeh got a phone number for Noeleen by any chance?’
I wasn’t thinking of why he’d asked me. I searched in my pockets. I looked at Mando, his dark beady eyes staring at me. ‘No sorry, it must be in my lodgings.’ ‘What’s that number written on the back of your hand?’
‘Oh sorry, Mando, that’s it.’ His smile widened. His handsome face lit up. His voice softer now.
‘Can I have it, would yeh mind? Perhaps I could help her.’
Suddenly my thoughts and fears of losing her for ever vanished. My hopes were high again. I gave him the number. He sighed, a long sigh. He seemed to be relieved. ‘Good, thanks Paddy. I won’t forget this. I’ll do my best to please Noeleen for yeh. ’
Gosh, I was delighted with Mando. I couldn’t believe he was going to help her for me. ‘What will you do?’
He looked at me cunningly. ‘Ah, Paddy, gimme a bleedin’ chance. I’d have to kill yeh if I told yeh that.’
I waited for him to light his half-smoked cigarette. After he exhaled, his gaze caught mine. ‘Know what, Paddy,’ he said, as he tapped out the butt of the cigarette, ‘you’re not of this world. Artane didn’t just shatter your bleedin’ dreams and wreck your childhood, it wrecked your bleedin’ head, Paddy.’
‘Are you really going to help me and explain to me what I do wrong when I’m out on a date?’
‘You’re bleedin’ kiddin’ me. Look, take my advice and give up going out with girls at least until you are a bit older, and learn a few things, get a bit of maturity, know what I mean, Paddy?’
‘I’m not sure I do.’
‘Well, that explains it, you are not ready for girls as free and attractive as Noeleen.’
I trusted Mando as a friend. I was a fool, too naive and gullible to see him as he really was, a chancer who was prepared to cheat and to lie to get whatever he wanted.
I couldn’t get Noeleen out of my mind. I was certain I was in love with her, and with every girl that went out with me after that.
Looking back to those easygoing days of my late teens, in the late 1950s and fabulous 1960s, I can only laugh at how utterly gullible and incredibly naive I really was when it came to dating young women. So scared was I of committing mortal sin, I was quite simply too timid to venture too far in pleasing or giving pleasure to girls I dated, such as beautiful Noeleen. Though in truth, I hadn’t a clue regarding sexual matters, or indeed of the female anatomy. How to please a woman was a mystery to me.
For eight tough years I had lived on a daily diet of constant prayer and punishment. Fear of committing sinful acts in the company of females was all due to my fears I harboured as an orphan for eight years inside Artane. In Artane I had so many reasons to fear committing sin, as the punishment was a painful beating. Fear was the key to keeping the very strict rigid brutal system in place, for the Christian Brothers to keep strict control at all times of the boys’ army of 900. The system worked but ruined my childhood, and marked my adult life.
11
AS JUNE APPROACHED, there was only one thing on my mind: my holiday, which I had saved very hard for.
At that time I was taking stick from everyone and for anything that went wrong in the bakery. Mando was the funny man with the dancing feet, and a smooth talker if ever there was one. He would simply borrow or beg to get any money he needed. He knew, as did others, that I had money saved. Mando would and did pawn the suit off his back, and anyone else’s as well.
Mando was a slick mover. I found myself almost trapped in his company during 1959. He was in lodgings in the same house as me. I found working with him good fun, but being in the same house was a bit too much. Even though I had introduced him to the Cashins, I hoped he would leave.
On the first day he stayed in Cashins there were four lodgers at the table when the soup was served. Mando didn’t think much of the soup, and while Miss Cashin was out in the kitchen he hurried up to the toilet with it, quickly flushed it away, and returned to join us. Miss Cashin came in to enquire if we had enjoyed the soup. Mando was first to answer, ‘It was beautiful, ma’am,’ and gave her a winning smile. I will always remember the look on his face when Bridie responded swiftly and poured him out a second helping of the soup. He never got the chance to flush it either.
Mando and our new van driver, Regan, were after the money I had saved to go to the Isle of Man. When Mick Bradley heard I was going by boat to the island he quickly offered to pay the airfare for me. I accepted, and was delighted. When Regan heard, he moved quickly to borrow fifteen pounds from me, and offered to drive me to the airport. What amazed me at the time was that men who were so mature and settled – some were married and had nice homes to go to after work – were begging and borrowing whatever money I had worked so hard to save. I never received any money back, as they had promised.
I fell in love with the Isle of Man the first moment I set foot on its soil. It reminded me of a paradise island in the sun that I had seen in the school cinema. I was overwhelmed by its beauty, its gardens, and most of all its beautiful glens. The names of Glen Mona, Glen Myra and Laxey Glen bring back fond and cherished memories.
I went alone to the island, but once there I seemed to find company without really looking for it. Perhaps it found me. I entered a waltz competition, and I had an English partner, from Redcar in the north of England. We did well on the dance floor, and I still treasure the photographs of the occasion. She was a good few years older than me, but nevertheless, I dated her, and it all helped me to enjoy the wonderful island. I sat in my room in the guesthouse, thinking that the English people were really human after all!
One breathtaking evening I was making my way up the steep climb known as Darby Hill when a young woman came alongside me, rather breathless. ‘Have you the time, please?’ I stopped, gave her the time, and thought nothing of it. A few moments later, nearer the brow of the hill, I heard her voice. As I turned to see who it was, she was upon me. ‘Hey, Irish, we’re going the same way. Mind if I walk with you?’ She smiled warmly as the evening sun kissed her long golden hair.
‘Call me Pat,’ I said, and added, ‘I’ll be delighted to walk with you.’
She stroked back her hair and said, ‘Call me Gloria. I come from Redcar, in England.’ I was curious. ‘Have you an older sister here?’ She faced me and said, ‘Yes, I have. She’s in the dance championships.’
I loved the Isle of Man and the folk I met. England and its people filled my mind now! While I was away on my first holiday in the Isle of Man in the summer of 1959 I realised certain things about myself. These things were quite significant in my behaviour as a young adult. As I look back I can see that I was so inadequately prepared for life on the outside of the most feared Christian Brothers Boys’ Industrial School in Ireland.
To be quite frank, prisoners in Mountjoy Jail would not have had to endure the hardship, the physical and sexual abuse and punishment we kids had to suffer every day of the week inside Artane, not more than two miles from the country’s famous prison! It’s very difficult for me to come to terms with this fact, that the country’s criminals in prison were far better treated in their daily prison life than we Artane boys were in ours.
As an Artaner, I believed every word the Brothers said, as though it was the Gospel of the Lord. The hypocrisy was rampant: we were told that all sexual acts were a mortal sin; yet many of us were subjected to the most horrific sexual abuse. We institutionalised kids in their care simply feared breaking their laws, their rules.
Those in power, working for the Catholic-run state, the Free State Republic of Ireland, lied to me as an eight-year-old and they turned a blind eye to child sex abuse in their very own run schools and institutions. I and many thousands of other kids left these church- and state-run institutions poorly educated, inadequately prepared for life so far removed from their holy Catholic world of prayer and punishment where the mere mention of the word sex was strictly forbidden.
After eight years of Latin hymns, singing and devotions, I became institutionalised. It would take many years, very many in fact, to come to grips with the real world far removed from the one I was sentenced to as a child of eight. I could not come to terms with life in the real world, a world where women had their place alongside men, a world where men and women came together as one, as a couple, as a partnership, as lovers, as husband and wife. All I had been told was that sex was a mortal sin. Even thinking about it was a sin. Touching women was forbidden territory, along with touching your own body.
The trip to the Isle of Man in the beautiful summer of 1959 was the beginning of my realisation of just how institutionalised I had become, and just what Artane had done to me.
The Isle of Man was a great eye opener for me. I came in contact with many people from England, young people, and I found them all to be really nice, particularly the young lady from Redcar who danced with me in the competition in the Villa Marina. It was like being in another world: I just loved it.
I toured the island from Douglas to Glen Mona, Glen Allen and to Laxey. Sitting eating strawberries and cream in the Rushen Abbey, I just simply wanted this holiday to go on and on.
On a coach tour one beautiful evening the driver pulled into a lay-by and said, ‘On your right, folks, you will see a cross, it is a grave and inscribed on the headstone are the words “Here lies the remains of some mother’s son”.’ On the return journey I penned a long poem titled ‘Some Mother’s Son’, after I’d heard the story from the coach driver of how and where the boy was found. On my flight home I harboured visions of travelling the world. I sure had itchy feet and I longed to see England and meet old school pals like Stevo and Oxo!
The Christian Brothers fostered a Republicanism and a hat
red for England and all things English, particularly their sport, soccer. In their eyes, a game of soccer was a mortal sin and we were forbidden to play it – this rule was enforced with a brutal iron fist. Yet I harboured dreams of going to Old Trafford to see my hero Bobby Charlton and to visit as many soccer clubs as I could once I set foot in England.
I would return to the Isle of Man to work, and came back on many occasions to holiday there with my family. That first trip away from Ireland gave me a window on the world at large. It opened up my closed mind to the possibilities of travel. I was hooked.
12
IN 1960 I was not getting anywhere in the bakery. I was losing my girlfriends as fast as I could find them.
In the lodgings I shared with Mando I was spotlessly clean – always dusting, polishing, and tidying up things that were out of place, forever putting things back and hanging up coats. I was very domesticated!
Mando was now the foreman of the small bakery, and I was his deputy. But it was not doing at all well. I realised that to get on I’d have to go abroad. I was becoming ambitious and I was no longer prepared to remain on low wages for ever. I was working all sorts of hours, which were very unsociable, and I began to get a burning desire to travel.
Mando came up with a plan of action. He told me on so many occasions how he knew England well. He wanted me to travel to Liverpool with him – a giant step for me to take. He told me that if I didn’t like Liverpool he’d have me back without a bother. His plan was that he would take a week’s sick leave and that I was to take a week off to simply try it. If it didn’t work, he promised he’d have me home and back at work in a week.
On the boat journey to Holyhead, I listened to the playing of traditional music, as there were many fine young musicians and buskers on board that night. I watched many people with tears in their eyes seated uncomfortably on the floor or on suitcases. By the time I got on to the train I felt as though I had already been away for a week.
Scars that Run Deep Page 9