It was raining when I left the club to go to the Hugh Lane Gallery, so I took a cab. The driver asked me if I’d been in Ireland before …
It opened the flood gates. I told him I’d been sent to school in Dalkey when I was eight and home had been in Co Louth. He simply could not believe that I had been sent to a boarding school so young. Perhaps, on reflection, he thought it was just desserts for being a black Protestant. If I may digress, and I may be repeating myself as well, my grandmother was asked to submit a flower arrangement themed “ecumenicalism”. As she was Church of Ireland and her husband (my grandfather) a Catholic she was supportive but flummoxed as to how to convey the concept. My grandfather was seldom, I mean never, lost for words : “ a big vase of white tulips with a black one in the middle to represent the Protestants”.
Before I went to Castle Park I was groomed by my mother, a term that didn’t exist those days. I was easily persuaded that it was fun learning to tie my shoe laces, like a Dauphin, somebody else hitherto had performed that duty, learning to tie a tie (I learnt by tying one on Teddy) and dressing up in CP uniform. When the day came, I was like a Barmeath bullock going to the abattoir – utterly unconscious of what lay ahead. Castle Park at first sight bore some resemblance to Barmeath so I felt at home. It was castellated and cased in plaster cement. There was a flight of steps leading up to the front door and that was where my mother entrusted me to the care of the Head Master. Then the penny dropped. I did not cry but I knew I’d been led up the garden path. I can honestly say the happiest moments that first term were getting into bed, trying to forget where I was and longing to be at home.
On a happier note, eventually my mother was allowed visiting rights. She came with Mrs McGinn and I was overjoyed to see them. We went for a walk up the Sugar Loaf and had a picnic – I especially remember hot sausages in a Thermos – bliss.
I got used to being bullied by the school bully, I liked the teaching staff, with the exception of Mr Sarcastic the Head Master and I made a friend. The rain eased and I walked back to the club to meet him and his wife for lunch.
What an emotional story, not completely different to my own. It is good that life has changed much. I’ve picture of you by the lake with your Grand mother gardening.
You were clearly a very brave little boy. One of my brother’s spent his early years running away from his prep school until my parents finally relented and took him out. On my first day at school aged 5 the large, freckled hand of Sister Aloysius reached out to take me from my mother. Her rosary and keys rattled, her buck teeth yellowed with meanness only partly holding back her spittle and her forehead bulging from her wimple – I plunged my teeth into her arm. I did not have a happy time at this school but I went home in the afternoon.