WHILE I WAS in London I kept in touch with the Mooneys and the Cashins. One day I was sad to learn that Bridie was moving shop from Fairview Strand to Macken Street, near Westland Row. ‘Blast,’ I thought. ‘There goes another good lodging house for me.’ However, I was delighted to learn that I would be welcomed home for Christmas if I could make it. Well, I made certain I would, and I never looked forward to Christmas as I did then.
I had saved most of the money I earned while I worked in Lyon’s of Cadby Hall, and by the time Christmas came I had saved a few hundred pounds. It was easy to earn good money then, and lodgings were cheap. I was working over sixty hours a week at night, which left me with little time for enjoyment. I quickly realised that machines had taken over from the skills of the baker. All the good was taken away by the fact that anyone could get a job in Cadby Hall as mere machine operators.
I came out of hospital about the twentieth of December. All I was concerned about was getting back to Dublin; and I was blessed to get a standby fare on an early morning flight when some passenger failed to turn up.
It was the homeliest Christmas I’ve ever had. The Cashins were to me what love and warmth were all about. While I was with them that Christmas I began to realise that it would be hard for me to stay away from Ireland for any length of time.
I was back working in the bakery that January. Eddie and Mando were also there. Mando explained to me why he left me in Liverpool, but I knew I’d never travel with him again. Eddie was about to leave to start a new bakery around the corner in Jim Behan’s shop. Stranger things still were to happen. Matt returned to work with us. I always thought it was difficult for an ex-Artane lad to make the grade – always returning to their roots or the humble beginnings from where they began on leaving Artane. I got to like Matt much more now and began finally to understand him and his ways.
As I couldn’t stay with the Cashins, I needed new lodgings for a few months before my travels. My boss Mick Bradley called me up to the house. ‘I want you to take this basket of breads up to the Pear Tree, Pat. They’re mighty fine folk and who knows, they might even be able to get you fixed up in new lodgings for a while.’
I made my way that Sunday morning up to the old grocer’s shop, the Pear Tree, and old Mrs Moore gave me an address. ‘Molly will put you up, son. Tell her I sent you and don’t you forget it.’ As I turned to leave the colourful old grocer’s shop, she called me in her loud southern accent. ‘By the way, you make the best buttermilk bread I’ve ever tasted. God bless you, son.’
Molly kept a fine homely lodging house. Her home cooking and baking was one of her many fine features. She was a widow in her sixties, her family married and living all over the place from County Dublin to New York and one of her two sons was out in Australia.
Molly was a happy, talkative woman and enjoyed a good chat with her lodgers. She liked to keep to the back of the old red-bricked, two-storey house, spending most of her time in the kitchen.
The wireless was her one great companion and she rarely ever switched it off except when at night she retired to her room upstairs. Molly could often be heard saying the Rosary at eleven o’clock each night, a sure sign to any lodger who was home to tiptoe and keep quiet and a nice way of reminding us to say our prayers. I knew Molly found faith and strength in that way.
I felt really at home in Molly’s house and I settled in very quickly, but my luck was soon to change.
I had just got in for tea when I heard a knock on the front door. I got up to answer it. When I pulled open the door I almost swallowed my tongue. I couldn’t believe my eyes – my past had caught up with me. Brother Simon Davaro was standing on the doorstep. He sounded anxious. ‘I was given this address. I was told I would get fixed up here.’
I was mesmerised, dumbfounded. He stared at me. I said eventually, ‘Yes, sir please come in. I’ll inform the landlady you are here.’
In shock I told Molly that a man had come to see about the rooms. Molly said, ‘Tell him to sit down and to join you for tea. There is just the two of you and he can share your room. It is a double and you are only paying me for a single.’
I hurried back to finish my tea, not prepared to argue with her. I took my seat opposite Brother Davaro yet I found it too incredible to believe. I really thought I was imagining things as I sat facing a face from the past.
‘Don’t I know you from somewhere,’ he said, as he placed his cup down gently on the saucer.
I stared at him for a long few seconds. ‘Yes, you do Brother.’
He smiled when he realised I was a pupil of his. He reached out to shake hands and said, ‘I’m Simon Davaro. Pleased to meet you again and in nicer surroundings too.’ He smiled. I shook my head, still in disbelief.
I became silent and curious for the remainder of the evening tea, not knowing what to say. I decided to remain silent and to let Simon tell me his story. He told me that he worked in the city centre for a semi-state body in a nine-to-five job. He was reasonably happy with his position in the office working for the company. But otherwise he was rather subdued. His mind was somewhere else, I guessed.
I feared his presence in the same house, and having to share my bedroom with this man. Not just any man, this was Brother Simon Davaro, an ex-Christian Brother, this was the Sting, Angel Face. It was very confusing for me – on one hand I liked him, but I was scared of him and of his past.
While he sipped his tea I studied him for a long moment. I hoped he hadn’t come here to relive his past and off-load his experience upon me. ‘I’ll get more tea.’ I stood up to go to the kitchen.
His voice was soft. ‘Thank you, Pat. Your presence helps to make me feel at home, so to speak.’ My mind went blank. I was shocked, in awe, and confused.
Molly was standing by the gas cooker, a half-smoked cigarette between her lips, rollers in her hair held in with a net. ‘So you know each other, Pat. What’s he like?’
‘He was a Christian Brother in Artane, not so bad though.’ I lifted up the teapot. Molly blew out a lungful of smoke. It clung like a cloud to the high ceiling.
‘Are you scared of him, Pat?’
‘No, not in the way I feared most of them in Artane.’ But I am apprehensive, sort of scared of him I guess.
‘He’s a very good-looking man, Pat.’ She faced me. ‘Tell me, don’t be scared. I can tell that you’ve been abused. It shows in you. I’d say they had boys like you, Pat, for pleasure. They had the power, Pat, they interfered with a good many boys, Pat. Am I right?’
Her gaze was fixed on me. I could tell she was reading my mind. ‘Yes, ma’am, you’re right. I better bring him in the tea,’ I said, unsure of myself and what to say, or indeed how I should react, to this man from the dark, draconian past.
I was about to leave when she spoke again ‘They were an anti evil shower of bastards, Pat, unchristian, a lot of ’em. I know a lot about them, Pat.’ She tapped out the butt in the ashtray. Her gaze met mine, her smile was soft. ‘Look, Pat, he’s here with us. He won’t harm you, I’ll make sure of that. Any problem, come and tell me, okay?’
I thanked Molly and left with the pot of tea.
‘Sorry it took so long,’ I said as I poured his tea.
‘That’s okay, really. I’m used to waiting, Pat. I’m sure you know what I mean.’
I nodded in silent agreement. ‘I’d love to have an office job like yours, going to work at nine o’clock and home at six, every weekend off, no night work. Could you help me to get a position like that?’
‘To be honest, Pat, no. You’d need a degree. Without the education I’m afraid you’d be lost. I’m sorry to be so frank with you but it’s true. You got no chance whatsoever of getting into the corporate jobs, or semi-state, such as the Civil Service, unless you got the education.’
‘So I’m doomed to working in sheds in laneways or factory bakeries where machines do all the craft work and the bakers do all the physical labour manning them.’
‘I’m real sorry, Pat, that we didn’t educate you better than we did. I guess you had far too much work to do in the school bakery. Look, Pat, if you really feel you want to better yourself, for a better quality of life, you need to attend night school.’
What he suggested scared me deeply. I knew I could never go to night school. I had been locked inside Artane for eight years, eight long, hard years. I worked my back off from the age of nine years old in the kitchens and then in the bakery. I lived in fear of the Brothers in and outside of the classroom, of their leathers and their horrendous beatings. I had been scarred by my education; going back to school would never be an option for me.
At first sight Simon Davaro looked the real ladies’ man and as far as I could see he was. But I knew there was more to Simon Davaro than met the eye. I could certainly understand the problems he was having. I knew because we shared the same problems born out of our time in Artane.
I still walked in my sleep. I still suffered from nightmares; I was forever on the run in my awful dreams. Artane still cast its shadow over me.
Simon was the same. Every night I would be awakened by him shouting in his sleep, ‘Left, left, left right left, lift them up, you brats, or you’ll face the wall.’ Gradually his shouting and his talking in his sleep would die down without his opening an eye or waking up. Then suddenly the shouting would start again, much more pronounced. ‘The wall, the wall, face the wall, hands above your head.’
Once, Molly knocked on our door to shout, ‘You lads in there, are you okay or can I help?’
I got up to speak to her. ‘I’m sorry, Molly, but he’s having another nightmare.’
‘Oh, the poor soul. Oh, what have they done to him! He’s such a nice young man. Did he ever flog you, Pat?’ She stared at me as though she already knew the answer.
‘Yes, most of the Brothers used the leather – some more than others – but he never was like that. He was different, really, if you know what I mean.’
‘Not really, Pat, they were all severe on the boys up there, I know, I’ve had quite a few ex-Artaners here you know. The poor orphans suffered a dreadful hammering, Pat, he could not have been all that different surely.’
I knew she had a point. ‘Well, he did have to thrash lads and quite severely too, whenever he had to, I mean.’ I wanted to talk about the sexual abuse, but I couldn’t express my true feelings as in all truth I didn’t even understand the real meaning of what had happened.
‘Go on, tell me more,’ she said.
After a long moment I continued. ‘Simon was on duty each night in dormitory five. Once there he would have to deal with any boy put facing the wall, and someone always was.’
‘You mean he’d have to flog boys day and night, you mean!’ She looked shocked.
‘Yes, morning, noon and night, really, and he would have had to deal with unruly boys in his classroom as well. Then he had additional duties to do. Being in charge on parade and out on walks, you see.’
Molly shook her head. Her expression was more sad than angry, I thought. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Molly, he was one of the best and he was always more humane, more real and down to earth. He was only hard when he had to be.’
Molly smiled, ‘Of course, I understand. It must have been a hell for him as well as it was tough on the boys.’ She paused, thinking for a moment. ‘Poor lad, I feel he needs a good looking after, a good mothering is what he needs. God love him, Pat. He’s living out his hell in his dreams.’
She put a hand beneath her right elbow, resting her right hand on her face. Her expression changed. ‘You know, Pat, my son went to a Christian Brothers’ school and received a kick in the ear from a very rough Brother. My son suffered deafness for several days after it. My husband, Lord have mercy on him, he would not hurt a fly. But he did go out there to see that brutal man and it was the only time in forty years of marriage I’d seen him so vexed. He took hold of that Brother by the collar. He had no fear of the collar that was around that Christian Brother’s thick neck.’
I watched as Molly wiped her eyes. She looked at me, ‘You are just as bad as he is, Pat, you walk and shout in your sleep. Poor Simon. He needs to see a doctor, he is that stressed out, the poor chap. Just as you do, Pat. You think I’m a fool, well, it’s not only Simon’s voice I hear at night, I’ve heard you too, Pat.’
It was a Saturday afternoon. The bright rays of the spring sunshine were beaming through the long Spanish lace curtains. I yawned. I felt tired. I had a late night and I was in no hurry to get up, but I’d have to make an effort, as at two o’clock I was to play a football match. I opened my eyes to find myself looking at the picture on the dresser of a beautiful woman. I hadn’t seen it before; Simon must have placed it there while I slept. Her eyes were staring at me with a tempting melancholy smile. She looked radiant – such beauty, such elegance, I thought, and wondered how could I get a girl even half as pretty. I mused, feeling jealous of my roommate Simon.
I raised myself up off my single divan bed and stretched out my arms. Blasted stupid bakeries, I thought, as my shorts fell down. As I bent down to pull them up, I received a fierce smack across my bare arse. When I stood up I could see Simon in the mirror and his picture of his beautiful sister or his girlfriend staring out at me. I felt ashamed as I pulled up my underpants. I turned to face him. ‘What was that one for?’
‘The poor souls in Purgatory,’ he said, smiling.
‘I haven’t seen you for some time. Is she your sister or what?’ His eyes lit up as he lifted the framed picture. I was filled with curiosity. ‘Is she really that beautiful?’ I stared at him, then at the girl in the picture. He was taking his time to respond to my question.
‘Laura Seymour, that’s her name, Pat. She is tall, slim, very attractive, drives her own car. Her father is a businessman in the city. She has class, money, elegance, with a warm heart and a smile . . .’
I didn’t want to interrupt him. I wanted him to go on and on describing the girl in the picture. The girl of his dreams. Then I thought of the time he desperately tried to force himself into me: I was only ten. It was hard to imagine he was the same man.
His voice was soft as he continued speaking. ‘I shall never forget that hot summer’s day by the sea in Clontarf when I first heard her voice. It was her voice that I first liked and her voice that won me over. Later, she drove up to Artane to see Marty, yes, she wanted to treat an orphan boy to a Sunday out. The more she came up to see young Marty, the more I saw of her and the more we saw of each other. There was no going back. I took off the collar and the cassock for her.’
Yet all the time he was speaking of his girl, visions of being held naked between his legs as a young boy raced across my mind. I was torn. I had always liked this Christian Brother, always preferred him to many others in Artane, but I could never forget that he too had used me for his pleasure, and that what he had done to me left scars just as deep in my mind as those by more brutal men, such as the Sheriff, the Macker and Hellfire.
Simon was keeping a very low profile while he was in the house, generally keeping to himself and rarely getting into long conversations with anyone. One evening, as I was in the kitchen with Molly, he knocked at the door. ‘Who is it?’ Molly called out. ‘My hands are tied up in the pie.’
‘It is me, Simon Davaro, to pay you.’
‘Oh, come on through, Simon. Come in.’
He opened the door and smiled as he stood just inside the door, not knowing whether to take a seat or to say something. I was about to stand up and offer him mine when Molly pulled out a folding stool. ‘Here now, put your weight on that now and rest yourself. I’ll wet the tea shortly, son.’
It was still hard for me to believe that here I was, staying at the same lodgings as Angel Face.
Molly was bustling about. ‘Just a wee moment now, Simon, till I put this apple pie in the oven. ’Tis for tomorrow’s dinner, yeh see, and when the fresh cream goes on top of that, you’ll soon know where yeh are, son, and where to put your feet.’
He smiled softly as he leaned against the old dresser, watching as she wiped her hands on her cotton pinafore apron, before pouring out two cups of tea. ‘Now, Simon, young man, you help yourself to some homemade scones and buttermilk soda bread.’
Simon held out some money. ‘Here you are. I owe you for a few weeks. I’ll be leaving you in a few days or perhaps a bit earlier.’ He made an effort to get up to leave. I could see she was surprised by the sudden news.
She looked at him. ‘Sit down, you’re not away already, sure ye’ve only just got here and what’s more I’ve been meaning to have a long talk with you.’
Simon settled back down. Molly wiped her lips. ‘Now Simon, I’ve been wanting to have a chat with you. I hope you don’t take offence my saying this to you. I have been wakened up by you on several occasions, now, during the early hours since you came to stay with us, and by Patrick also, by the way.’
Simon looked embarrassed.
Molly stood with her back to the Aga, clutching a tea cloth in her hands. ‘You know, you shout a great deal in your sleep, you give orders, weird sort of orders.’
‘What do you mean, ma’am?’ he asked with an extremely puzzled look on his handsome face. Simon became fidgety, raising his hand every so often to scratch his head or to wipe his sweaty brow. I could easily tell by his expression he was very, very embarrassed by it all. I felt so sorry for him, and remained silent throughout, knowing exactly how he felt.
Molly raised her tone. ‘Look at me, Simon.’ He faced her with a curious expression. ‘Since you got here you have nightmares, very turbulent ones too, I might say. You keep shouting, “Left, left, left right left,” and “Bend over, touch your toes, toe the line or you’ll get six for the poor souls in Purgatory or Limbo” – all that sort of thing, as though you were in the army.’ Molly turned her back and reached for a cigarette. As she turned again she drew on the Woodbine, keeping her eyes fixed on him. She pulled up a chair, exhaled and eased her heavy frame into it.
‘Demons dressed as priests with sacred vows – child bashers, most of them. Sexually depraved child abusers, a lot of them Brothers were,’ she muttered, then turned to face me. ‘Do you agree, Pat?’
I was shocked. ‘Oh, you mean me,’ I spluttered.
‘Yes, Pat, you, after all they put you through, son, go on, tell me.’
‘Yes, I agree with all you said, Molly. The fact is Simon and I share in the same bleak past, we both have nightmares and walk and talk in our sleep, except I don’t have a beautiful girlfriend like Simon does.’
Molly laughed. ‘Very well put, you’re nobody’s fool, Pat. But you are a real survivor.’
Molly turned to Simon. ‘I fear the road from here will rise up before you, it will indeed be a hard road that awaits you. I see by the picture on your dressing table that you have a girl.’ He smiled, and nodded. ‘So I’m right then. You must be planning to marry her some day.’
He nodded his head again. His tone was soft. ‘Yes, very soon, ma’am.’
‘Well it’s a good thing we are havin’ this little chat.’ She reached for another Woodbine. ‘God help the poor girl. You are not prepared for marriage, you need counselling, boy.’
Simon stood up. It was clear that he was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say when confronted with his past. He made his way to the door, but stopped when Molly said, ‘How soon do you intend to marry her?’ I was shocked.
He held the door open. A look of surprise passed across his handsome features. ‘A few weeks, perhaps. Well, actually the date has been set for some time now. I wanted to keep it quiet, you see. I think I’d like to go and relax in the lounge, before I go out. I’m meeting Laura at eight.’
She smiled for a brief moment. ‘That’s the kettle, Pat, you can wet the tea, son.’
I made the pot of tea as Simon went into the front living room. I really envied Simon; he had a beautiful girlfriend and I’d none. And this was the man who has caressed my naked body, who had masturbated himself against me.
As I left the room I heard his voice calling me, so I paused out in the long, narrow hallway just before I opened the front door. I turned slowly to face him. I was apprehensive, somewhat scared of this man from the shadows of Artane. It sure was a long, dark shadow, I mused. ‘You called me. Did you forget something?’ I said.
‘No, no, not at all. I was wondering, would you like to walk into town with me?’ He paused, checking my reaction. ‘If you are free, and you have nothing to do, that is.’
‘But I thought you were meeting Laura.’
He came closer; his tall, slim figure, his good looks and charm would make any girl weak at the knees to hold him and embrace him, I thought. His tone was soft. He smiled a natural soft, easy smile.
‘We’ve got a lot in common, Pat. I’m sure we can help each other. We could chat about many things that affect our lives.’
I was stunned by this.
He spoke again, more relaxed than before, I assumed. ‘Are you free?’
I had pulled open the door. ‘Yes. I was going out for a walk. I got no girlfriend. I can’t seem to hold on to one.’
His smile lit up his handsome features. ‘Walk with me into town, I’ll introduce you to Laura.’
We walked in silence for a while.
‘Molly is a very clever woman, don’t you think?’ Simon said eventually.
‘Oh Molly, gosh, well, she knows all about your nightmares, Simon, and she knows quite a lot about the Christian Brothers as her son was badly affected and injured by one of ’em, you see?’
He glanced at me as we stepped out like two young soldiers. ‘She really could hear me then, marching up and down in my sleep?’
‘She did, Molly is no fool, Simon. Don’t be put off by her rollers in her hair and her easy-going style. She warned me about my sleepwalking and shouting in my sleep waking up the other lodgers. Two very nice young ladies left the house because of my sleepwalking. Molly told me I scared them half to death one night when I entered their room and crept into bed beside one of ’em.’
‘You did not, get away. You tried to get into their bed?’ Simon was gob-smacked at the news but seemed to enjoy it, I thought. ‘Get away. You are so naive, Pat, so immature. You don’t have a clue as to how you should treat a girl. I bet you believe in mortal sin, and just about everything you were scared into believing as a child in Artane School.’
I was shocked by him – stunned.
I stared out and down as far as I could see along the rail line going west, and longed to travel far, far away. ‘Sure, you are right about me, Simon,’ I said mournfully, feeling sorry for myself. ‘But you know, Simon, I also know a great deal about you, and in many ways you are just like me. Sure, you are far better educated than I could ever be and you have a beautiful girlfriend who loves you. You are more mature and older and wiser than me, yes.’
He turned to me, his voice soft. ‘So what are you getting at?’
‘The fact is you walk in your sleep, talk in your sleep, you shout orders. Your bleedin’ past will come back to haunt you and there is not a whole lot you can do to prevent her from knowing about you then, is there?’
I knew by his bleak expression that I had got to him and I felt relieved because he had it coming. It would help him once he realised who he really was and from where he came.
He paused again in the city centre near O’Connell Bridge. He faced me. ‘Look, Pat,’ he began softly, ‘I love Laura and she has agreed I will marry her. I love her and Laura loves me too, Pat.’
I tried to congratulate him but the words would not come. I felt so depressed that I couldn’t hold on to a girlfriend or to even please one.
After a long silent moment, the bells of Christchurch rang out eight hauntingly beautiful chimes. ‘Here she comes, Pat, here comes Laura.’
I didn’t wait to meet her. I quickly turned on my heels and walked away alone into the night, feeling lonely and deflated.
While I guess I should have been feeling happy for him, my gut feeling was it would be a marriage made in hell. Hell for beautiful Laura that is. Even I could see that Simon was no more prepared for married life than I was. As I made my way home to Molly’s, her words struck me like a warning bell. ‘But you do have awful nightmares, Simon. You shout and walk in your sleep, son. You are not ready for marriage surely. Does Laura know you well, Simon?’ If only she did know the real ex-Christian Brother, Simon Davaro. If only she could have shared a bedroom with him for just a few weeks she would save herself from having to endure in marriage the nightmares and the horrors of Simon’s past. Molly’s words rang true.
I got home to my lodgings that night feeling sorry not just for Simon – knowing exactly what he was like – but for the beautiful girl in the picture on my dressing table. Laura deserved much better. I was pretty certain of that as I knew Simon Davaro much more personally than did beautiful Laura.