Do or Die

by Rita Harling

  I remembered back to the time that Jock Corbally went missing, and recalled Mam telling me how up set and distraught Maureen was. I remember Mam’s concern and I recall Maureen and her family’s anguish. It was 1996, a year that was marked with blood. The murder of Jock Corbally on 28 February 1996 was reported in all the newspapers. I was living in the cottage in Kilshane with Brian at the time and working at the Esso garage at the top of the hill on the Old Finglas Road, about a hundred metres from The Royal Oak pub. It was a time when the criminal world was becoming more dangerous, as gangsters moved from thieving to dealing drugs and fighting over territories.

  I heard that Jock had his teeth pulled out and that he was beaten and stabbed repeatedly and then buried alive in an unmarked grave. It was horrific. I remember Mam praying for Maureen. The Corbally family were traumatised by Jock’s disappearance and murder. His body has never been found.

  Finglas is not a huge place and the community is tight. I would say that every person living in Finglas knows of someone who either deals or takes drugs. The people of Finglas and the voluntary organisations that operate there have worked hard to try to wipe out this problem that has been tearing the community apart for so long They have never given up and the battle continues.

  Mam was clearly upset by Brian’s phone call. She was very quiet, which was not like my mam. She seemed deep in thought when I asked her what she was thinking about, and she sounded troubled. Mam told him that there was no chance of me sending photos to him. That would have annoyed him. I stayed in the house with her for a while before heading home. Before I left I rang a detective and told him that Brian Kenny had a phone in his cell and that he was intimidating my mam. I wanted the prison governor alerted to the fact and I wanted the phone confiscated. Mam never heard any more from Brian.

  Sometimes I worry about Conor having been exposed to so much criminality. I can only hope that he does not go down that road. Drugs are now everywhere in our society. I have lived in Finglas most of my life and I have met wonderful people there; most of them are ‘the salt of the earth’. Over the last number of decades Finglas has had a bad reputation. It is a working-class area with all of the usual problems that any local authority area has, with few recreational facilities for younger adults. Sometimes I find it painful to read about Finglas in the newspapers. I have nothing but good memories of the place. I had an excellent childhood and my parents were loving and wanted the best for us. Like my parents, there are many others in Finglas who love their children and want them to do well. But life doesn’t always work out like that. You can never tell what the future will hold for any child. My mother did not raise me to become Brian Kenny’s personal punch bag. It is a horrible feeling to have someone control you. You are left feeling alone and in despair. You cannot see your future. All that you can see ahead of you is continued abuse, until one morning you wake up and smell the coffee. Some are lucky; they wake up to the facts earlier than others. Unfortunately some wake up too late and it’s too late to do anything.

  My relationship with Brian Kenny was very different to my previous relationships. I have very fond memories of some of my old boyfriends. I got through my teens with ease and enjoyed my freedom and my friends. I dated a young man called Gerry Bennett from the age of sixteen until I was twenty-one. Gerry was also from Finglas and he came from a large respected family. We were very innocent back then. I bought Gerry his first guitar about two years into the relationship. Gerry’s younger brother, Charlie, and their friend Jimmy Taigue formed a band called The Missing Link. They hooked up with another young man called Terry, who was also from Finglas. Terry was the drummer in the band. I enjoyed jamming with them in the shed at the back of the Bennetts’ house. They were so dedicated and ambitious. Jimmy was the lead guitarist and he taught both Gerry and Charlie how to play the guitar, Gerry on rhythm and Charlie on bass. I got on really well with them. I was one of the lads. The band played together daily, and I would join in on some of the harmonies with Jimmy.

  I have great memories of them all. The band worked hard and became quite popular in Finglas and played gigs at The Underground on Dame Street. One evening they backed up Paul Cleary and The Blades at the Olympia Theatre. I was so proud of them. I loved going to recording studios in Dublin and watching the guys record their demo tapes. They won the Battle of the Bands one year, beating A-House and Those Handsome Devils.

  Jimmy was a genius; he could pick up any instrument and play it.

  We would spend our summers in the Bennetts’ mobile home in Loughshinny close to Rush and Skerries in North Dublin. Jimmy was a real entertainer, a natural. I remember him allowing me to apply make-up to his face one day as we sat in the mobile home, the rain pouring down outside. I often smile when I think of him. We had great times back then, singing and playing guitars on the harbour.

  They hired a new manager, Mick Neary. Mick was a great choice as he shared the same humour as the guys and they got on really well. Jimmy, Mick and I all worked at the same Esso garage and we shared some great times. I think I laughed every day in those days. Life was sweet. The guys were always playing tricks on me. It was pure innocent fun. I think that I was a bit of a tomboy really. I had bought a Suzuki ‘Love’ moped because sometimes I would have to work the late shifts at the garage. As there was no bus service, it was a handy way for me to get home. I remember getting ready to go home one evening when Mick and Louis were on the roof cleaning the fascia boards above the garage. I said my goodbyes and went to get my moped, which was parked under the service hatch. I had just sat on the bike and put the key in the ignition when down came two buckets of dirty smelly water. I remember laughing so hard and I could hear the two culprits on the roof, in flitters. They thought that it was hysterical. I was soaked. I knew that the water was dirty because I could feel it’s gravely texture in my hair, and I think I even swallowed some. I remember shouting at them and calling them names, and laughing as I did. They wouldn’t come down from the roof. We continued to laugh uncontrollably and so did the couple of customers who were on the forecourt.

  I loved the people that I worked with there. They were all great characters. Linda Porter was a great friend and we shared many laughs together. Michael Chawke, the manager, has to be the best boss that I have ever had. Carl, who worked the evening shifts, had the most infectious laugh. Liam, Sean and Donagh: they were all very different characters and great fun. I wonder what they are all up to nowadays. I know that Donagh Diamond is now working for RTÉ as a reporter. I was heading home one night and Donagh had just taken over from me. The wind was howling outside. I could see that the trees in the cemetery across the road were bending. The headlight on my bike wouldn’t turn on. I was worried about getting home safely. Donagh had the bright idea of getting one of the huge box torches and taping it onto the bike. We fell around the place laughing as I ventured out into the crazy weather. I was in fact heading into Hurricane Charlie. I don’t know how on earth I got home in one piece that night, as the wind and rain made it nearly impossible to see through the visor of my helmet. I was surprised that the bike didn’t lift off the road as it was so lightweight – maybe it was the weight of Donagh’s box torch that did the trick.

  Gerry and I eventually broke up and we both moved on with our lives in different directions. The band continued to gig and jam together. They later secured a record deal with EMI/Sony Records, and were a successful rock band. In the meantime I had met Robyn’s dad and settled with him for a few years.

  In 1997, when I was pregnant with Conor, I learned of my dear friend Jimmy’s death. Sadly Jimmy had battled with multiple sclerosis (MS) for some years, but lost his battle in the end. It was a waste of such a talented young man’s life. Life seems to be incredibly unfair sometimes.

  I don’t think that I will ever fully get over the abuse that Brian put me through. However, I am learning to deal with the past as best I can, and, as time goes by, I am trying to forgive. It has not been easy. Abuse, no matter what form it takes, is horrific.
Whether it is physical or psychological, it can leave a person scarred for life.

  To any woman that is out there right now going through some form of abuse, I urge you to dig deep down into your soul, pull your strength from it and get out. You are worth more than that, and so are your children, if you are lucky enough to have any. Look to your family and friends for support. Don’t be afraid to talk about it, and, ultimately, do not in any way feel ashamed. These men are brutes. They take some sick pleasure in abusing you. No one has a right to say a single evil nasty word or to lay a hand on you. I cannot understand why some men and women think that they have the right to carry out these acts on another person. Who or what gives them the right? I feel sorry for some of them, as they obviously have issues that they need to deal with themselves. This does not excuse them for taking out their troubles on others. Don’t let them use the sympathy card to justi-fiy their actions. Brian was good at turning on the water works when he wanted to. I fell for it in the beginning, but thankfully I listened to my inner-self. I was crying too on the inside and nobody could tell, until I was brave enough to tell the people around me. I think that when you reach that point — the point when you no longer hide what is happening to you — then you are getting ready to leave.

  I am dedicating this book to the memory of another mum of two, who found herself in a similar situation to mine — although the outcome for her was tragic. Baiba Saulite, a young Latvian woman, was gunned down outside her home in Swords, as she stood in her front garden with her friends. A lone gunman wearing a baseball cap walked briskly up to Baiba and pumped two shots into her chest, killing the innocent young mother. When I think that Brian threatened to have me eliminated, I often remember Baiba’s killing and feel great sympathy for her. Money and power are these men’s gods and they have no respect for human life. I hope that people do not forget this brave young mum who will never see her children grow up. No one has yet been arrested for the brutal slaying of Baiba Saulite.

  When things had settled down after the trial, I began to speak to my children about their thoughts and feelings. I realised that they too harboured great resentment towards Brian, especially Robyn. She cried when she remembered some of the brutal events that she had witnessed while we lived with him. She also cried when she spoke of our departure from Mitchelstown Cottage. I feel so remorseful that my children were subjected to such cruelty. I would never have dreamt of bringing them down that road had I known what a monster Kenny really was. Living with Brian has scarred all three of us.

  Around this time Conor made his First Holy Communion. I was looking forward to the day and was happy that we were moving forward with our lives. Robyn and I were sitting in the church beside Conor, who looked dapper in his suit and tie. Robyn was fidgeting in her seat and watching all of the commotion that was going on around her as the teachers tried to get the young pupils into thek allocated seats. Conor sat smiling at his classmates. Mass had just begun when I felt Robyn nudging me.

  ‘Mam! Mam!’ she whispered.

  I looked at her, slightly annoyed that she was talking in church:

  What?’ I asked.

  ‘The Kennys are here,’ she said, ‘the lot of them.’

  Where are they?’ I asked. I couldn’t believe that they were in the church.

  ‘About six rows behind us,’

  ‘I don’t believe this!’ I muttered to myself, as I took a deep breath.

  I had not seen or heard from the Kennys in over a year, since Brian’s arrest. Now here was the whole clan behind me, on this of all days. It was supposed to be Conor’s special day, not a reminder of what we had escaped from. I could feel their eyes were on us. I didn’t know how to take their sudden arrival at first. I was shocked. They had not received an invite or contacted me about Conor at all, but here they all were making their presence felt. The mother, father, brother and both sisters had come. Someone had obviously gone out of their way to find out from either the church or the school the date and time of the First Holy Communion ceremony. My family were not present with me that day because we had arranged to visit them all later, after the ceremony. I now felt hugely intimidated by the Kennys’ presence. They had some nerve. I couldn’t enjoy the Mass. I told Robyn not to look behind at them, and we didn’t tell Conor that they were there.

  Instead of enjoying my son’s First Holy Communion I wanted it to end. I had to walk Conor up to the altar to receive Communion, so I knew that all eyes would be on us as we made our way back to our seats. I kept my focus on the floor and didn’t acknowledge the Kennys. As soon as the priest had given his final blessing and Mass had ended, I ushered the kids out of their seats quickly. We slipped out the side door and headed for the car as quickly as possible. Conor couldn’t understand why he couldn’t stay and talk to his friends. I was annoyed that I wouldn’t get any photographs of Conor on the altar or with his teacher. The Kennys had cut Conor’s day short. I don’t know what Brian’s family hoped to achieve that day. I’m glad that Conor didn’t know they showed up. He had a good day, and that was all that mattered to me.

  Conor told me things that had occurred while he spent time with his father. One horrific story stands out. Conor remembers sitting at the kitchen table in the cottage with Joey and another child. When Brian served dinner, the other child refused to eat it. Brian became very angry and started shouting and demanding that the child eat the food he had prepared for him. The boy still refused. When Brian saw that his methods were not working on the seven-year-old child, he did something disgusting that shocked both Conor and Joey. Brian went and got a tin of dog food, emptied it onto a plate and made the child eat it. Conor said that he felt sick and that he was very afraid. Conor didn’t tell me at the time because he knew that I would go mad. He knew that I would have confronted Brian and a full-scale row would have erupted. Then Brian would have threatened me and might have even become violent. Even as young as Conor was, he had been clever enough not to tell me. He was trying to protect me.

  Conor told me that on another occasion, Brian put him on the back of a motorbike and drove from Dublin to Drogheda. I was horrified. Conor told me that he was sweating because he was trying to hold on to his dad’s slippery leather jacket. He found it hard to hold on because Brian was driving so fast. Conor was just seven at the time. Can you imagine how a seven-year-old would have felt trying to hold on for that long journey? If Conor had come off the back of that bike while it was travelling at speed, he would have been killed. I suspect the motorbike was the same one that was used in the shooting of Jonathan O’Reilly — the Kawasaki 400 cc. Brian obviously had no respect for life, not even for that of his own son. Conor was terrified of Brian. He put on a show for Brian: he was always smiling, but was really afraid to say or do the wrong thing in front of him.

  Robyn spoke to me about the conversations she had with Joey. She told Joey how much she hated Brian. Unbeknownst to me, Brian had been abusing my daughter, not physically, but emotionally and mentally, by insulting her whenever he could, and always out of my earshot. This made me very sad. I knew that Brian was sly about what he was putting her through. If he started beating her, I would have known and done something about it. The fact that he was insulting her and saying cruel things to her out of my earshot, made it impossible for me to defend her. I didn’t know at the time what he was doing. She never told me because she was afraid that things would escalate, and she didn’t want to put me through that. She was so young and unaware that she was putting herself through her own battle.

  Brian locked her out of the house on a few occasions when I was not at home. She remembers sitting on the garden seat in the freezing cold as Brian and his companion sorted bars of hashish, microwaving them and cutting them into smaller pieces, paying no attention to her. She saw Brian wrap a gun up in a white plastic bag and hide it in a tree in the back garden. Not only did Brian have a gun in the house on more than one occasion, but my daughter had to see it. She must have been terrified. What would have happened if Conor had
come across it when he was playing in the garden?

  Robyn’s bedroom was in the attic. It was a small room and could only accomodate someone her size and age in any comfort. She loved that little room. It was like her secret little cave. I had decorated it and painted theRug Rats andOne Hundred and One Dalmatians on the walls. We had a new wooden floor laid in her room. It was a cosy little haven for her. But Robyn told me that Brian would sneak into her room at nightime and hide whatever dodgy item he had under the floorboards. She never knew what it was that he was hiding, as she was too afraid to look when she heard him coming. I can’t imagine that she slept very soundly with that disturbance and the thought of something dodgy hidden under the floorboards.

  Robyn and Joey had become very close, and over time they became like sister and brother. They shared their thoughts, feelings and worries. Children should not have the kind of worries they had, but at least they had each other to confide in.

  One time, while we were still living at Mitchelstown Cottage, Robyn became very ill. I took her to see the doctor, who told me that she was OK but had a fever. I brought her home and gave her some Nurofen, which the doctor had advised me to do. I still wasn’t happy and could not see Robyn get any better as the night went on. She couldn’t even keep water down. I slept on the sofa that night so that I could listen out for her. During the early hours of the morning, it must have been about five o’clock, Robyn woke me. She was standing in the doorway muttering my name. I took one look at her and immediately knew she was seriously ill. Her temperature was soaring, her skin looked a putty colour and she could barely move her head. I checked her body for a rash but couldn’t find one, as I suspected it was meningitis. We quickly got dressed, jumped into the car and headed to Temple Street Hospital, where the doctors examined her and did some tests.