Scars that Run Deep (23 page)

As I poured the tea I quickly realised there was no milk either. As I stepped out of the front door I met my next-door neighbour. ‘Oh, you've just moved in. My name's Kathleen. Pleased to meet you, and so soon too.'

I introduced myself, then I added neatly, ‘Sorry, but I've got to run down to the shops for milk: I'm dying for a cup and and it's already made, you see.' Kathleen swiftly dashed into her house and before I could say O'Brien's Bridge she was back holding a bottle of milk, a plate of homemade scones and a cup of sugar. As I tried to take them from her I was afraid she would end up coming in to see how poorly I was set up. Worse luck, I moaned, as she did anyway. ‘Oh, goodness, my heavens, you've no furniture!' she cried out, almost dropping the milk.

My first tea set came from Pauline's mother. Each week I would buy one second-hand piece of furniture; each day I dug another bit of the garden. One day to my surprise a van pulled up and my future brother-in-law, Jimmy Brennan, got out to deliver a dining table and four chairs. A terrific feeling came over me with the thought that I was now able to sit at my own table in my own home and have a cup of tea with Pauline, though we were still only engaged.

By the end of the summer in 1972 I had done much to turn the house into a home, with a lot of help from Pauline's mother and father. I had turned the front garden over a few times. One hot, sultry evening I was using a pick, and the sweat was oozing from every part of me. I swung the pick high and brought it down hard. I was shocked to see it suddenly fly from my grasp into the air, then land safely in the soil.

Just then my future father-in-law walked up the drive with Pauline, followed by Jimmy. Jimmy looked at me in amazement. ‘What happened? I saw the pick take off.'

I looked down at the plastic pipe it had hit. ‘Look,' I said. ‘Down here, Jim.' He was shocked. He shouted, ‘Good God, Pat, you're lucky to be alive. You hit the electric cable.' As we entered the house Jimmy turned to me and said, ‘For Christ's sake, Pat, you must have nine lives. You were born lucky.'

But then his father raised his voice and said, ‘'Tis not luck
at all, Jim: sure he's blessed.' He looked at me and added, ‘You must have said your prayers this morning.' I was pleased by Pauline's interruption: ‘He's fine. You know, Father, he's only a baker. He wouldn't have much time at half four in the mornings to pray. He couldn't think straight at that unholy hour.'

At last the day of the wedding was set: 10 February 1973; and as each week passed a little bit more was done to the house. I had bought some carpets, and when they were put down I was in great humour. I looked around the empty rooms with Pauline and said, ‘Isn't it beautiful? Everything matches up just lovely. All we need now, Pauline, is the furniture!'

She smiled in her attractive way and said, ‘There's much more to life, Pat, than fancy tables and cosy chairs, you know.'

I was startled at that, after thinking about all I had done. I didn't think that Pauline might have other priorities. Our relationship was on the rocky side yet we loved each other. Money was so scarce it made life difficult. Pauline had walked out on me on several occasions over what she called my dominant ways. Her mother often remarked how I marched into the house, and through life on the whole, like a soldier. ‘You should calm down, Pat, and take it easy, son.'

As the time drew near I began to question whether I should get married at all. I wondered how I could settle down
to a home life, and be a father, perhaps. I became tense and acted in a rather irritated manner towards Pauline and those I worked with. I was steadily getting used to living alone in my own home, which was bad, as the longer a person lives alone the harder it is to adjust when they get married. I found it tough going getting the house furnished and paying all the bills on a very low wage.

It was a smashing August evening as I ambled in from work to find a letter waiting for me. I rarely received post, and as I opened it I realised it was from Pauline. I could feel the tension mount. I went up to my bedroom to lie down to read it. After the first few lines I felt choked, and by the time I reached its conclusion I was disappointed and confused. Now what is she playing at? So she needs time to think, a few weeks. Well, she can have as long as she wants!

I stood at the window staring out. My mind was flooded with the memory of the many times I was close to getting married only to see it all crumble, for one reason or another, and now again! What had I done to deserve this?

I was fed up with my lifestyle. Getting up at four in the morning, getting to Boland's Bakery by 5.45am, not getting home until 6pm. I was jaded, tired. In fact I hated my life so much I was tempted to return to New Zealand. But I loved Pauline.

‘Things will get better. It takes time to get it together when
you move into a new house,' Mrs Megan explained. ‘You've got the house, Pat, and the girl and a beautiful one she is. Take my advice and marry her.'

I decided to go for a walk. I stared out across the sea, thinking what a fool I'd been, and as I gazed out to the horizon I got a longing to get on board a liner and go around the world without ever getting off. I knew that Pauline was right to take her time, and that she could have all the time she needed to decide whether she wished to marry me or to simply say goodbye. I knew I had found a woman worth waiting for. And I made up my mind that if she broke it off, I would set off for distant shores.

One evening I travelled home by train. As I walked through Donaghmede Shopping Centre I was stopped by two Christian Brothers whom I instantly recognised from my time in Artane, Brother Crowe and Brother Monaghan. I was surprised to discover how young they looked. Both were anxious to know what my opinion was of Artane School. Though I was taken by surprise with their questions, and unprepared, I decided to answer them frankly.

‘On the whole I'd say it was an endurance test. As each day began I feared so much, most of all the hard men. It was an experience more than an education.'

I tried my best to sum up for them what they were capable
of and what they were good at doing. I said, ‘Education is not a trial, Brothers. In Artane you were all part of a system. The system came first, and you were masters at how to make the harsh system work and to make us suffer.'

Their expressions hardened. Brother Monaghan smiled and said, ‘Please go on, though I hope you can explain as well what we were good at.'

‘'Tis a shame the Brothers had to act so cruelly for minor faults. Education is not about how hard or disciplined you are or how you keep order. I believe it is all about learning in easy stages, to help the child's mind to develop. I believe the system you helped to develop only helped to destroy a lot of the good things you were doing; and without those hard leathers in the classrooms I would honestly say that the Christian Brothers would have achieved the highest standards, which you were indeed capable of.'

As I went to move away Brother Crowe called after me. ‘Did we fail you, Pat?'

That was an easy one, I thought. ‘No, no, the system left its mark on me, and though it certainly held me back in an educational sense, remember I was a duffer. I also believe that the Brothers were struggling to do their best for us, and there were so many of us. Yet when I left, it was a real struggle to come to terms with the emotional aspect of leaving such a strict institution, which I lived under for so long.'

‘So what you are saying is that you weren't fully prepared for the outside world.'

‘And I suffered so much awful abuse! 'Twas a pity you had to be so cruel. The punishment was never justified, particularly in the classrooms and dormitories.'

I was unprepared for this, I thought, as Brother Monaghan drew closer to me, his face flushed. ‘So, we were cruel and used physical force. Tell me, how else could less than 100 Brothers keep strict control of 900 boys? Many of those boys were tough and streetwise, Pat.'

I replied, ‘In all my eight years, there was always about 400–500 from the country. We were all treated in the same brutal manner for very trivial and silly offences. Fear was the key of keeping strict rigid control.'

‘But no other system could have achieved that result,' said Brother Monaghan. Brother Crowe nodded in full agreement with his long-time friend.

‘No other system was ever tried in my eight years of prayer, hard labour and physical punishment and widespread abuse, and both of you were there in most of my time . . . Though ye treated me fine as I recall.'

That brought a smile to their tanned faces, and as I went to go on my way Brother Monaghan said, ‘Take care, Collie.' Brother Crowe seemed curious and asked, ‘What brought you this way?'

I smiled and said, ‘Well, I've bought a house just up the road there.'

‘Ah, well done, boy, a home of your own. You've come a long way!'

As I stepped it out swiftly through the crisp autumn leaves I paused to watch young children playing conkers, which brought back emotional memories to my busy mind. But my thoughts quickly changed as I walked home to my own house with its own table and chairs and a bed where I could dream.

ONE BEAUTIFUL AUTUMN
evening in 1972 I walked into the hall and saw a letter on the floor. A quick glance told me it was from Pauline. I was invited over to her house for dinner the following Sunday.

I was warmly greeted by Pauline's mother. ‘Come in, you're most welcome, son.' Within moments I was being hugged and kissed by Pauline in the narrow hall. By the time Sunday dinner was over I felt I was part of the family.

I could see the change in Pauline. She had made her decision and was keen to go ahead with the wedding, and we began to make the arrangements.

We got married on 10 February on a clear, crisp Saturday. As I stood on the steps of the church in Marino, I wished all my old Artane pals could see me now: Quickfart, Minnie, Jamjar, the Skunk, the Burner. I took my seat and I whispered to the best man, my good friend Tony Lally from Ballybough, ‘Do you think she'll come?' He looked at me and laughed.

‘Don't worry, Paddy, she'll come, but it might take a while.'

I wondered why he thought it was so funny.

My baker friend from Boland's pleased the hearts of all the congregation with his beautiful deep baritone voice as he sang ‘Lord of All Hopefulness', my favourite recessional hymn, while everyone awaited the arrival of the bride. He followed this with ‘Ave Maria' as the bells rang to announce Pauline's arrival.

‘She finally arrives,' said Father Dermot O'Mahony, with a nice smile. Pauline was always late for every occasion.

 

After the ceremony we set off from the airport on our honeymoon: two weeks in El Arenal, Spain.

It took me a long time to get used to the fact that I was married. I had no inkling of the number of difficulties I had to face in the sudden change from being single, and being able to please myself about whatever I wanted to do, to being a married man and having to learn to share myself and my time and to relate to my wife as my partner.

I was exhausted coming home from Boland's, and became a real mixture of all sorts. I wasn't able to understand Pauline's problems, and there were problems from the day we crossed the threshold in the house in Grangemore Estate.

Pauline was pleasant and easy-going, as she remained for the rest of her life. Thank goodness for that, as I was so domesticated and dominant. My concept of marriage was very different from hers. I believed in the old style: my wife would be waiting with my dinner cooked, and a smile, as I came in from another hard day at work. But to my amazement I would arrive home to find a note saying, ‘Dear Pat, As you could be out all hours and as you yourself don't very well know what time you'll be home at, I'm at Mother's and I will have my dinner there.'

Once I got over the shock of her not being at home, I'd swear under my breath at the way she would sign off the note
with, ‘Good luck, you can help yourself, Love, Pauline.' Help myself? I wasn't fit to stand up when I got in after being out from before five in the morning. I'd laugh at the whole idea of her ‘take it easy' style and ‘don't worry'. This kind of situation in a newly married's home is fun for television viewers, but it's not funny in reality to stare into an empty fridge or to put on the kettle for a cup of tea only to find there's no milk.

After a few weeks I began to realise that there was a lot more to being married than I had imagined. I was soon to come face to face with hurt of a different kind, as I discovered when, on arriving in from work, I might pass some remark more suitable for the chain gang in Boland's than for the sensitive ears of my wife. Even when I'd only mutter or grumble a harsh remark, though it wouldn't seem harsh to me, she would pick it up. Soon I discovered that I couldn't behave as though I was coming home to the lads in the Catholic Boys' Home; and yet as I would hear the door slam I would say to myself, ‘Good God, what have I done now? Ah, sure I just said the wrong thing.' I'd laugh at my simple explanation.