14

IN THE AUTUMN OF 1927 we went to live in Blackrock. The house, at Avoca Terrace, is about a mile from the village. Brian, Gearóid and I attended Blackrock College as day students. This was a great change from Synge Street – there was not nearly as much homework to be done, the discipline was easier and the atmosphere more liberal. The Brothers in Synge Street had crammed so much knowledge into our heads that there was no need, for me at any rate, to do any study while I was at Blackrock. Nor did I have to do much study in my first year at university.

In those days Dr John Charles McQuaid, who later became Archbishop of Dublin, was Dean of Studies in Blackrock. He also taught English to the sixth-year A class.

I have often read journalists describing the Archbishop as ‘a shy, retiring man’ who would be ill at ease in company. This portrayal of the man is totally inaccurate, as he had a strong personality and many boys in the college used to imitate him, not in a mocking fashion, but for the sake of good mimicry. He had an unusual walk, holding one shoulder a little higher than the other. He was soft-spoken and made certain gestures with his hand – all characteristics which the boys noted and imitated. His writing style was very fine, with the letters separated from one another as if printed, and many of the boys, including Brian, copied it. I remember blank spaces in Brian’s textbooks carrying imitations of this writing with ideas and expressions that were never likely to occur to Father McQuaid!

Father McQuaid was a good teacher of English. He shared with us his opinion that Hillare Belloc was the best English writer of our time. He used to discuss literary matters with me from time to time and lend me books. I think he may have thought that I had the makings of a good writer in English. As far as I know Brian was never in Father McQuaid’s class.

Father McQuaid was later appointed President of the College. ‘Mixer’ was the nickname the boys had for him: the name came from the pipe tobacco called ‘Mick McQuaid’. As I knew him he was a friendly, sociable, learned man with a good sense of humour.

We made new friends both in the College and in Blackrock itself: Richard McManus from Stillorgan, Oscar Quigley who lived opposite the College in Williamstown but did not attend school there, and a family of five boys called Kenny who lived nearby in Avoca Avenue.

We were ‘patriotic’ in those years and were members of a branch of An Fáinne in Dún Laoghaire. This organization ran monthly céilithe and raised money for the Gaelic League by organizing door-to-door collections, and we took part in these activities. Some of our friends, like Richard McManus, were great enthusiasts about the Irish language; others, like Quigley or the Kennys, had no Irish at all.

Dún Laoghaire and its environs was populated at that time by a very pro-British contingent. Some of these people would be provocative and ask the conductor on the tram for a ticket to ‘Kingstown’, and often you would hear the angry or disrespectful reply. In Dún Laoghaire’s main picture house, The Pavilion, when an English newsreel was being shown which featured the Royal Family, there would be derisive clapping.

It was customary for the Union Jack to be flown alongside the flags of other nations whenever there was an event in Dún Laoghaire. We took exception to this practice and took down as many Union Jacks as we could. The Royal George Yacht Club had a large Union Jack flying from the flagstaff of the club, and on one occasion we managed to take this down and burnt it. Brian was no passive observer in these activities.

He also pursued his own personal campaign. It was a rule in Blackrock College that every pupil had to have a college blazer for formal occasions. He discovered that the blazers being sold to the pupils were made in Leeds. He spoke very strongly on the subject at an Irish debate which was chaired by Father O’Mahony, the Professor of Irish.

Dissatisfied with airing the matter orally, he went into the College in dead of night, accompanied by Oscar Quigley, and painted the slogan ‘DON’T BUY BRITISH BLAZERS’ in two-foot-high letters on the gable end of the handball alley in the quadrangle. Such a protest would cause little impact today but at the time it was a matter of great scandal. The College authorities moved very quickly to remove or blot out the offensive message – the first prose sentence that Brian ever published.