1

Drinking from

Different Fountains

CCoonntteennttss

Foreword

Early Years

Feheney Side

of Family

Towards Adulthood

Sojourn in the

Caribbean

Part of

English Province

Return to Cork

Christian Leadership

in Education

Endnotes

A Memoir

John M Feheney

2

Foreword

ne of the reasons why I am writing this Memoir now is that I have become

increasingly aware of the approach of the end of my life. Though my mother’s family,

the Ranahans, have been notably long-lived, no member of my father’s family, the

Feheneys, has lived far beyond 80 years. And I have already passed 80. Moreover, since I

have concentrated on writing biographies in recent years, I am very much aware of the help

even random biographical notes can be to a future historian. Yet another incentive has been

the fact that, in recent times, the Province Leader of the Presentation Brothers, to which I

belong, has been encouraging older members to write their stories. So here is a part of mine.

The approach adopted in this volume has been one whereby a chapter has been devoted to

each of what I consider the significant stages of my life. No doubt, more could be written

about some of these stages, but I have tried to avoid burdening the reader with too much

detail. The reader will notice that I tend to get very absorbed in whatever work or project I

am involved, and that my work usually brings me great satisfaction. For the past forty years, I

have regularly kept a personal journal, which has been a great help in writing this memoir.

I am very grateful to some of my colleagues, who have read an earlier draft of this volume

and suggested amendments. These include Brothers John D Brazil, Paddy Minehane and

Terence Hurley. John J O’Connor and my web designer, Kelli De Franco Lee, have also

helped me with the layout and format of this work. I also feel grateful to my many colleagues

and friends, who, over the years, have helped me personally and professionally in numerous

ways. I especially place on record my gratitude for and appreciation of the support I have

received, and continue to receive, from my own family and my religious community. May

God bless and reward them.

John M Feheney

Mardyke House, Cork, Ireland

20 September, 2012.

O

Copyright: 2012 The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published 2012 on www.iverusresearchfoundation.com

jmfeheny@iol.ie

Homepage

3

Chapter 1

Early Years

was born in Adare, Co. Limerick, Ireland, on 16 March, 1932. My father, John Feheney,

and my mother, Bridget (nee Ranahan) lived at Ballinacourty House, Askeaton, Co.

Limerick. The reason why I happened to be born in Adare was that my Aunt, Mary Anne

Clifford, mother’s sister, was a nurse, living in Adare, and she was keen to help my mother

during the delivery. Aunt Mary Anne (nee Ranahan) was a widow, whose husband, William

Clifford, medical officer in Adare for 38 years, had died a decade earlier. I was the second

child in a family of four boys and two girls. My older brother, Michael, was a year and a half

older than me, while, after me, came Mary, Matt, James, who died as a baby, and Elizabeth.

The Clifford house was located in the centre of Adare, on the southern side of the

main street. It was one of the iconic thatched houses, built by the Earl of Dunraven in the

nineteenth century and leased from him. The two-story house had about one acre of ground

attached. This was divided into a garden and a little field for the pony. In later years, I usually

went to Adare for my summer vacation and came to know and love the place.

Ballinacourty House My home, Ballinacourty House, had a long history. The property was formerly part of the

Bury estate, which had been granted to Phineas Bury by Cromwell in acknowledgement of

the financial aid which Bury had provided for the Protector’s Irish campaign in 1649. The

land grant was confirmed by King Charles II after the Restoration in the Settlement of 1666

and the Burys lived for several generations, initially in Summerville, Pallaskenry, and

subsequently in the famous Queen Anne House at Shannongrove, nearby. However, when the

Burys inherited the estate and title of Charles Moore, First Earl of Charleville, they moved

residence to Tullamore, Co. Offaly, and sold off the Pallaskenry estate in parcels.1

John Evans, who built Ballinacourty House around 1750, was a member of an

influential family of Cromwellian planters in Munster. They were descended from George

Evans, who was a sergeant in Cromwell’s army in Ireland. Like many Cromwellian soldiers,

George was paid off in land debentures when discharged. But, unlike some of his

companions, he did not sell his debentures, but started a cobbler’s shop in Kinsale, and

methodically sought out other discharged Cromwellian soldiers and purchased their

debentures for small amounts of cash. Over time, he built up a substantial estate. In his later

years, he acquired the title of Colonel. He took care to give his children a good education,

thereby smoothing their subsequent entry into the landed gentry class. From there, they

moved into the aristocracy, the old Colonel’s grandson, George, becoming Baron Carbery of

Castlefreke, Co. Cork, in 1715.2

Before we leave old George Evans, the reputed founder of the Evans dynasty in

Munster, it may be of interest to reproduce an extract about him from the Diary of John

Perceval, First Earl of Egmont. The entry for Saturday 16 April, 1737, reads:

Col. Evans, the Old, to distinguish him from Col. Evans, the son (who died a

Privy Councillor of Ireland in my time and was the father of the present Lord

Carbery of that kingdom), was a sergeant under Oliver Cromwell and after the

Restoration, set up a cobbler’s trade in the county of Cork. I think at Kinsale,

but being a cunning, industrious and saving man, by buying army debentures,

and other opportunities that offered, laid the foundations of a large estate,

which his son and grandson, the present Lord, by parsimony have improved to

I

4

near 6,000 pounds a year. When the old man was 80 years old, a woman laid a

bastard to him, and proved it so well upon him that he was sentenced to stand

in a white sheet or to pay 40 pounds for commutation, but his vanity and love

of money was so great, that he chose the former, after which meaner people,

guilty of the same fault, made no scruple to stand in a white sheet, having so

honourable an example, and this was all the Church got by her censures.3

When old George Evans came to die, the parish minister exhorted him to repent of his sins,

and particularly of the rebellion in Cromwell’s time in whose behalf he had borne arms. His

physician chanced to be in the room at the time, so turning to him the Colonel asked him how

long he thought he should live. The other feeling his pulse said, ‘An hour at most’. Then the

Colonel, turning towards the minister (said), ‘Take notice that I pray that I may go to my old

master, Cromwell’. ‘Bless me’, cried the minister, ‘Why, he’s gone to hell’. ‘No matter that’,

replied the Colonel, ‘wherever he is, I’m sure that he is the uppermost!’4

Ballinacourty, comprising 410 acres, was leased to John Evans by William Bury of

Shannongrove in October, 1751. When John Evans died in 1792, part of his property passed

to his brother, George Evans (1742-1819), and another portion, including Ballinacourty

House, passed to Thomas Davenport, who, in 1771, had married Martha Evans, one of John’s

four daughters.

The Evans part of the property was duly inherited by Rev Tyrrell Evans, son of

George, while the Davenport part was inherited by Thomas’ son, Thomas Evans Davenport

(d.1856). Thomas Evans Davenport’s heir was Dixon Davenport (d.1872), who also held

more extensive property in Tralee, Co. Kerry, and who did not play a prominent part in local

affairs in the Ballinacourty area5. In Griffith’s Valuation (1850), Thomas Evans Davenport’s

property in Ballinacourty, including some small farms on short leases to local people,

comprised about 250 acres. Davenport also held property in Askeaton, including several

houses rented to townspeople. He subscribed to the publication of Samuel Lewis’

Topographical Dictionary of Ireland (1837) and was a founding member of the Limerick

Athenaeum (1850). He also held the title of Colonel and was a local magistrate. He was the

author of a report compiled at the request of Henry Watson, High Sheriff of Limerick, dated 6

December, 1845, in which he stated that there was an adequate supply of potatoes in county

Limerick for both food and seed for the year 1846. Unfortunately, and sadly, Colonel

Davenport’s information was incorrect, as the subsequent history of the potato famine in

county Limerick confirmed. Davenport also acted as Tithe Proctor for the parish of Iverus in

1828 and 1829.6

Dr John O’Donovan, in the course of his work for the Irish Ordinance Survey Office,

visited Ballinacourty House in 1840 and described the house as L-shaped, with a gate lodge,

a kitchen garden, an orchard, attractive ‘offices’ and a ‘handsome planting’. When I was a

child, some of the fruit trees in the orchard were still bearing and I remember with pleasure

the luscious pears, which were my favourites. Curiously, two of those pear trees are still

standing and bearing fruit after 250 years!7

Dixon Davenport broke up the Ballinacourty property before he died in 1872, selling

portions to three separate buyers. The portion containing Ballinacourty House, with about

140 acres, was purchased by the Baker family. They, however, ran short of money and sold a

further 60 acres in four lots to local farmers. Finally, in the 1920s, they sold the remainder of

the property to a Mr Hodgins. He, however, retained it only for a few years before selling the

house and about 80 acres to my father, John Feheney, in 1927. Apart from the orchard, one of

the most attractive aspects of the farm for a child, like me, were the fort and a large wood,

both atop the highest hill in the area. There was always something of interest to see in the fort

5

or in the wood: rabbits, foxes, stoats, and many species of birds, including pheasants,

woodcock, ravens, pigeons, blackbirds, thrushes, magpies, sparrow hawks, grey crows, rooks,

jackdaws and a bevy of smaller birds.

Jack, a Mentor There were also many species of tree in the wood, most of which I identified with the help of

our knowledgeable farm labourer, Jack Griffin. Jack was a most interesting and instructive

companion. He had a lively intelligence and a great memory. These qualities, however, were

somewhat overshadowed by a deficiency in interpersonal skills. He had a dominating

personality, a short temper, many prejudices and a dislike of groups. Though a diligent and

efficient worker, he liked to work alone but he welcomed an eager listener, with lots of

questions like me. Anything he ever heard or read, he seemed to remember. He taught me

how to recognise various trees: ash, elm, lime, birch, alder, aspen, holly, sycamore, beech,

hawthorn, blackthorn, willow, hazel, Scot’s pine, larch, Douglas fir and spruce. He had some

knowledge of animal diseases and was familiar with such things as the life cycle of insects,

including the warble fly and the common tick. I would spend hours asking him questions and

listening to him. It was he who introduced me to the family history of some of the local

gentry: Wallers, Caulfeilds, Evans and Davenports.

Jack was had a special interest in

the story of Sir Hardress Waller, who, in

the seventeenth century, lived in nearby

Castletown Manor. Sir Hardress, born in

Kent, threw in his lot with Cromwell and

was one of the judges who condemned

King Charles I to death. After the

restoration of his son, King Charles II,

there was a time of reckoning. The astute

Sir Hardress, however, was one of only

two of the regicides to surrender

themselves for trial. Though Sir Hardress

was condemned to death, the sentence was commuted to exile and he spent the remainder of

his life imprisoned in Mount Orgeuil Castle, Jersey, where he died in 1666. This is what the

history books state. But local lore, of which Jack was a knowledgeable exponent, had an

alternative version. This was that Sir Hardress escaped from Jersey and secretly made his

way to Castletown Manor, where he had a secret hiding place, and from which he emerged

only at night. But, eventually, the secret leaked out and Sir Hardress’ enemies, who were both

determined and numerous, decided to wreak vengeance on him. One dark night, they sailed

up the river Shannon, anchored off Waller’s Island, crept towards the Manor, and waited for

their quarry to appear. Sure enough, in the early hours of the morning, Sir Hardress emerged

from a side door and began taking exercise by strolling about. It only took minutes to capture

him and take him to a wood nearby. His captors then packed him into a barrel and drove iron

spikes through it. They then took the barrel to the top of a nearby hill and let it roll down to

the bottom, leaving the poor man to die in agony.8

In 1936, John Thomas Waller, locally known as ‘Jack’, the last of the clan to live in

Castletown Manor, sold the estate, amounting to 6,636 acres, to the Irish Land Commission

for division and reallocation to local small farmers. The previous year, he also sold the

mansion to a demolition contractor, who proceeded to knock it down, auctioning off the

furniture and valuable fittings. It is related that the Countess of Dunraven purchased the main

marble staircase for £100, with the proviso that it be taken down carefully and delivered to

1: Castletown Manor, home of the Waller family

6

Adare without damage. The important development for Jack, however, was the news that, in

the final stages of demolition, a secret empty room was discovered in the mansion. Jack was

exuberant when he heard the news and went around stating that this was the hitherto missing

proof that Sir Hardress had really escaped from Jersey and that the story of his death at

Mount Orgeuil Castle was merely a story put out by the English Royalists to save face.

Local Carpenter Another great mentor in my early life was Jim Nealon, a local carpenter. Jim’s workshop was

on the side of the road, about half way between our house and the local National school.

Every afternoon on the way home from school, I called to Jim’s shop without fail. I asked

what he was working on, examined the product, asked from what wood it was made and

examined his tools. I learned that the shafts of carts were preferably made from larch, while

the wheels were made from elm. Oak was a highly-prized wood, reserved for beams and

furniture. Beech was generally not suitable for carpentry, having a tendency to split as it dried

out. Hurleys, on the other hand were made from Ash, as were handles of forks, spades and

shovels. Spindle wood, when available, was ideal for making ploughing yokes. Scot’s Pine

was suitable only for cheap boards, while pitch pine, full of resin, was long-lasting and highly

prized. As he worked with different tools, he explained their use: different types of saws;

spokeshave; plane, augur, pincers, pliers, hammer, mallet, wood chisel, square and level. I

often watched a cart grow, starting with the shafts, then the frame, then the axle and finally

the wheels. When the wheels were finished, they had to be taken to a blacksmith, who ‘shod’

them by heating an iron band, slipping the expanded cylinder over the wheel rim, then

plunging it in water, whereupon the iron cylinder contracted and became a tight fit.

Shannon Estuary Near the brow of our hill was a large stone, weighing about a ton, which, according to local

lore, was long ago thrown by a giant at an opponent across the Shannon from County Clare.

Later, I identified it as a fall-out from the melting and receding ice sheet of 15,000 years ago.

The dominating physical feature in the Ballinacourty area was the estuary of the river

Shannon. This river deposits large amounts of silt in the estuary west of Limerick city and, in

the Ballinacourty area, the main channel of the river is dwarfed by a vast expanse of mud

flats on both the Limerick and Clare sides of the river. These tidal mud flats were a haven for

wild fowl and waders and every trip to the river revealed new secrets. Among the waders

were the curlews, always the first to warn of our approach; the dunlins, the turnstones, the

sandpipers, the whimbrels, the golden, grey and green plover. Among the ducks, we could

make out the mallard, shell, teal and widgeon. In the winter months, there would be small

numbers of Greenland White-Fronted geese, that fed in the nearby fields at night. Our

ambition was always to crawl stealthily up the high grassy bank and get a peek at the birds

before any of them got wind of our presence.

The river bank had been constructed by Rev John Thomas Waller, a local landlord,

who, in 1869, purchased 269 acres of the estuary mudflats from the Irish Government. Using

local contract labour, he constructed two retaining banks, one in Ballinacourty, about 400

yards long, and one in nearby Castletown, which was about 700 yards long. Each bank was

about 16 feet high, 30 feet wide at the base, narrowing to 8 feet at the top. On the

Ballinacourty side of the river, there were two small islands, each of which could be accessed

by a causeway. These islands were wonderful places for exploration. One of the interesting

features of these islands was the fact that the underlying soft limestone was full of fossils.

Moreover, this rock was near the surface: all you had to do was strip away a few inches of

7

soil and you could see ammonites and belemnites galore. Later, I discovered that the area is

famous for a soft fossil-rich limestone, technically known as ‘Ballysteen limestone’.9

From about the age of eight to twelve, my chief leisure activity was ‘hunting’. This

was a grandiose name for exploring the surrounding countryside with a couple of dogs.

Occasionally, we encountered rabbits but our sheepdogs merely gave leisured chase and

rarely if ever caught anything. Immediately after dinner on Sundays, we put leads on the

dogs, in case they would attempt to return home, and headed off exploring. North lay the

river Shannon and south lay Milltown lake, embracing about 50 acres. It was known that

some otters lived in the lake and we were always on the look out to see them. There were

always some wild duck, coots and moorhen, occasionally a few swans, but we never saw an

otter. Most days, however, we saw foxes, hares and rabbits.

Nearby, in the town land of Milltown, there was an abandoned Royal Irish

Constabulary (RIC) barracks. This was on the property of the late Captain Alexander

Caulfield, who had spent most of his life with the British army in India. On his retirement

from the army, he had purchased the house and property previously belonging to Rev Arthur

Champagne (1789-1862), a Church of Ireland clergyman of French Huguenot stock. Since

the Caulfield family played an important role in the social and economic life of the area, I

will say a few words about them.

Caulfield Family

General James Caulfield was born in Castle Cosby, Crossdoney, Co. Cavan, in 1783. He was

a relative of William Caulfield, First Earl of Charlemont. He joined the East India Company

and spent most of his working life soldiering in India. On his return from India in 1844, he

purchased 3,100 acres of the Bury estate in Pallaskenry, which we mentioned above. He built

a house on the outskirts of Pallaskenry, which he called ‘Copsewood’, in memory of Rev

Michael Copps, a Catholic priest who lived in a little cottage on the site, but who died in

1819. General Caulfield was a straight-forward, if brusque man. In keeping with his

experience in the army, he insisted on paying wages every fortnight, rather than every week.

Many of his workers, or, perhaps more correctly, their wives, found this practice a hardship,

since their budgeting skills did not extend beyond a week. The wives, accordingly, requested

one of the senior workers to approach the General and request that workers be paid every

week.

An old retainer, named Patsy, was deputed to handle the negotiations and he began by

inquiring about the General’s health and family. The General, however, with long experience

of retainers attempting an oblique approach when making requests, barked, ‘Spit it out, man,

spit it out!’

Patsy got ruffled and, forgetting the prepared wording of his request, blurted out,

‘General Caulfeild, sir, could we have our fortnight’s wages every week?’

With a smile, the General replied, ‘Well, Patsy, you can have your weekly wages

every Saturday, but not your fortnightly wages as well!’

The Alexander Caulfield, who purchased the Milltown property from Champagne was

a son of the General. Since Champagne’s house was old, Alexander built a new imposing

mansion nearby. On the death of Alexander and his wife, the house and lands were sold. The

last owner of the house was Patrick Moran, a retired school principal from Ballysteen. He and

his wife sold the mansion for demolition in the early 1940s. As the demolition proceeded, the

contractor sold off fittings to various people who called at the site. I was present at the

demolition and alerted my mother to the on-going sale. Together we visited the site and she

purchased windows and doors, made of fine wood, which a local carpenter subsequently

installed in our own house. The place where the mansion formerly stood, was levelled off,

covered with top soil and planted with grass. Soon, there was no visible evidence that an

8

attractive house once occupied the site. The General’s grandson sold ‘Copsewood’ House,

Pallaskenry, together with about 250 acres of land, to the Salesian Congregation in 1919. The

Salesians used the General’s excellent farm yard facilities as the basis for an agricultural

college, which is still in operation today. The Irish Land Commission acquired the remainder

of the estate and distributed it in small parcels to local farmers.10

Ballysteen My mother’s old home in Ballycanana was about a mile from our house. Ballycanana was

one of twelve townlands in the ancient parish of Iverus, now known as Ballysteen. Iverus, a

translation of the Gaelic name, Uibh Rosa, meaning the territory of the Rosa tribe, was once

an independent geographical unit with its own chief. The ancient church, now a partly-

restored ruin, is in the town land of Ballyaglish, on what is now known as Beigh Hill. About

a mile away is Beigh Castle, dating from the 15th century and, in ancient times, part of the

property of the Knight of Glin. The castle is located on an elevated limestone outcrop,

obliquely across the river Shannon from the present Shannon Airport. In Cromwellian times,

the castle came into the possession of Sir Hardress Waller, who was a General in Cromwell’s

army and helped General Ireton to subdue Limerick city and county.

During the Napoleonic War, the Castle was strengthened and a raised platform for

guns erected on the western side. The surface of this platform subsequently acquired a coat of

soft velvety grass and became a popular recreation venue on sunny summer Sunday

afternoons. As a placement for a battery of guns, it was ideal, since it overlooked the river

Shannon and provided a wide angled-view from west to east. I spent many a Sunday

afternoon there watching the sea birds and the sailing boats on the river. In 1905, an earlier

makeshift quay was rebuilt with fine cut stone by the Limerick County Council. The pier had

a fine slip-way, thereby making it easy to launch small boats or to dock larger ones. Galway

Hooker-type boats docked regularly with loads of turf, the local people purchasing the fuel by

the creel-full. In the nineteenth century the river was patrolled by a Customs and Excise

Cutter. Moreover, up to the early years of the 20th century, a ‘packet’ boat called there on its

journey between Limerick and Tarbert. Coarse fishing was good off the quay, especially

when the tide was coming in, but we preferred hunting for eels under rocks when the tide was

out.11

The Ranahans My mother’s family, the Ranahans, had connections with most of the families in Ballysteen.

When I emerged from Mass on a Sunday and looked around

at the groups of people chatting together, I could see that I

was related to most of them through my mother. My maternal

grandfather, Michael Ranahan (1858-1951), was the oldest

surviving member of the clan. He was very sociable and a

good raconteur. Apart from his great age (he lived to be 93),

he dressed in an old fashioned way, wearing a three-quarter

length jacket with buttons on the back, a cravat in place of a

necktie and a beard, which, even in his 90s still had traces of

the original red colour. Though retired from active farm

work, one of his hobbies was brewing cider, which he did in

a little house in the yard. Cider making was formerly a well-

developed skill in the area, having been introduced by

members of the Palatine community, whom the Wallers, the

local landlords, had introduced in the early nineteenth century. Most of the Palatines in

Ballysteen had been settled in small holdings and had surnames like Legier, Doube, Shier,

2: JMF's book on the Ranahans

(1987)

9

Sparling, Reynard and Languane, Shier being the only one of these surnames in the area

today. In nearby Pallaskenry, the Burys had established a larger settlement of Palatines on

their estate in the eighteenth century. Among these were the surnames Heavenor, Miller,

Bovenizer, Ruttle, Neazor and Switzer.

My maternal grandmother, whom I often visited before her death about 1937, was

Mary O’Mullane from Sixmilebridge, Co. Clare. She and my grandfather had a large family

of five boys and four girls. Three of the boys, Dan, John and Denis emigrated to the USA and

settled in Chicago. Like some other young men from the area, their first destination in the US

was Notre Dame University, with which there were local connections. Notre Dame

University was operated by the Holy Cross congregation, the Vice-President of which was

Father Patrick Carroll from nearby Cappagh, Co. Limerick. He was a well-known writer,

being the author of the Patch series of novels, as well as the editor of the US national

Catholic journal, Ave Maria. The Holy Cross Sisters had a women’s college close to the

university and no less than thirty girls from our part of West Limerick, had joined this

congregation at Note Dame. The university was built on a huge campus of 1,000 acres and

the management was always seeking manual workers. So, as soon as my maternal uncles

landed in the USA, they headed for Notre Dame and immediately landed jobs as groundsmen

or farm workers. Of course, once they found their feet, they moved up to Chicago, to other

jobs that paid better wages.

My grandfather, Michael Ranahan, always welcomed the chance to tell a story. Many

of his stories were about the faction fights that were common in the area during the first half

of the nineteenth century, especially in the 1820s and 1830s. The disputes that led to faction

fights tended to be vague and on-going. It was unthinkable for someone to be on any but the

local side and, once a person became involved, there was little opportunity to drop out. The

local community made it clear that you were expected to bring your stick and hold yourself

ready for combat at every fair afterwards. The men, and sometimes the women, of Ballysteen

tended to fight against those from Askeaton

and Stonehall, now known as Kilcornan.

One of the causes of the on-going disputes

is said to have been the collection of

seaweed along the Shannon estuary.

Ballysteen claimed exclusive right to

seaweed in every townland bordering the

foreshore of the river, including the town

lands of Ballinacourty, Beagh, Ballinvoher,

Ballycanana and Ballysteen, and they

harvested the weed from the shore.

Incursions, however, could be made from

the sea by non-natives and the seaweed

could be cut and collected from a boat,

without intruding on the land. This practice was, however, strongly opposed by the people

from Ballysteen. A dispute over the collection of sea weed would appear to be the ostensible

cause of a faction fight at the fair of Askeaton in 1833 and, possibly, was part of the

background leading to ongoing faction fights at the Fair of Stonehall.12

The fair of Stonehall was held twice a year, on 14 May and 25 September, in the ‘fair

green’, a patch of land obliquely across from the present Catholic church in Kilcornan. In the

1830s, there were several instances of serious faction fights. My grandfather maintained that

up to 20 people were killed in these fights in Stonehall over the years. Three Kennedy

brothers, who were dedicated faction fighters, were killed: one in 1829, another in 1830 and

the third in 1832. In October, 1832, a young man of sixteen years and his sister, aged

3: Collecting seaweed (kelp)

10

eighteen, were charged with the murder of the third Kennedy man at the September fair of

1832. Both were convicted of manslaughter and transported to New South Wales. At the

same fair, on 25 September, 1832, the parish priest, Fr. Timothy Foley, sought in vain to

separate the combatants, and it was only when he and other would-be peacemakers failed,

that Major Thorpe, a police magistrate, issued an order to the police to open fire. A teacher

from Ballysteen, James Reddan, who was a spectator rather than a combatant, was killed, in

addition to others being wounded. The numbers involved in these faction fights ran into the

hundreds.13

In 1833, at a fair in Askeaton, the Ballysteen faction was engaged in a serious fight,

the cause of which was alleged to be the collection of seaweed. This time, when the parish

priest failed to separate the combatants, Colonel Thomas Evans Davenport, of Ballinacourty,

gave the police, reinforced by military, the order to open fire, again with fatal

consequences.14

Askeaton, Wisconsin My grandfather often talked about his maternal uncles, members of the Somers (also spelled

Summers) clan, who emigrated to Wisconsin and founded a new town, Askeaton, in the mid

1850s. A group of people from the parish of Askeaton/ Ballysteen left Ireland in 1854 and

emigrated to the USA. They included Maurice and James Somers, my great grandmother’s

brothers, together with their cousin, ‘Big’ John Somers, and a dozen neighbours. They seem

to have been a united group with a good leader because, on arrival in the US, instead of

scattering, they remained together, working as navvies in New York State and saving some

money for an expedition westward. After about two years, they had accumulated enough

money and secured passage on a ship passing through the great lakes. They remained on

board until the ship reached its final stop, at Green Bay, Wisconsin, at the top of Lake

Michigan. There they disembarked and travelled inland until they reached what is now

Wrightstown, WI. They met Mr Wright and, from him, purchased parcels of land, each

approximately 50 acres, an adequately-sized farm by Irish standards, but a very small one by

US standards.

Patiently, they cleared the virgin forest and constructed log cabins. They called their

settlement, Askeaton WI, subsequently building an imposing Catholic church and a Catholic

school. The church is still standing and a few of the original names are still to be found there,

though not that of Somers. Some years ago, contact was established between the descendants

of the original settlers in Askeaton WI and their distant relatives in Askeaton and Ballysteen,

Co. Limerick. I was happy to be associated with this latter venture and, nowadays, among my

regular visitors from the USA, is a very distant cousin, Ed Summers, whose roots are in

Askeaton WI.15

The Mine Field Across the road from my grandfather’s house, was the ‘mine field’. This was part of the

property of the Westropp family, who purchased it from the Encumbered Estates

Commission in 1703. In pre-Elizabethan times, this land was part of the Dundon estate,

which, after confiscation, had a long series of owners, including members of the British

Crown (James II and Queen Anne). In the early nineteenth century, Edmund Odell-Westropp,

then owner of the property, opened a mine shaft to extract silver. The lode ran east-west and

the main shaft was 106 feet deep and there were shallow diggings extending for about 500

feet. Westropp also built a small quay on his property nearby, through which he exported the

ore. The vein of silver was shorter than anticipated and it ceased to be economic to work after

some years. Weaver, a geologist, noted that the project was abandoned by 1838. The mine is

clearly marked in the early ordinance survey map.16

11

Though the mine had been closed for many years, this did not mean that there were

not small pickings for the curious visitor. I first visited the site with my grandfather. Though

the surface of the field was by then covered with grass, he steered me towards a hawthorn

bush and put me searching the ground. Soon I had a handful of what appeared to be very

heavy pebbles. He then took his penknife and scratched away the dirt and showed me the

glint of metallic ore beneath. ‘That’, he said, ‘is some of the silver that the miners left

behind!’

My own subsequent research, however, indicated that the matter was more

complicated. A survey of the area in my lifetime, which included numerous boreholes, has

indicated that there is not only silver but also copper, lead and zinc in the ‘mine field’ and

around it. One survey in 1980 indicated reserves of one million tons with a grading of 2%

lead, 3.5% zinc and 14 gm./ton silver. Though the concentrations do not, with current prices,

warrant mining, under certain economic conditions, an open-cast mine might be financially

viable. But, in such a scenic area, and with our present awareness of the potential damage to

the local environment, which might result from an open-cast mine, I doubt that there would

be local support for such a venture.17

Though the official reports state that the owner, Mr Westropp, closed the mine when

the silver lode ran out before 1838, local lore has a further gloss on this. According to my

grandfather, the mining operation came to an end in the following way. One day, after

receiving their wages, the men working in the small mine, adjourned to the local ‘shebeen’ to

slake their thirst. They were delayed by a heavy downpour of rain. When they eventually

returned to the mine, they found that the main shaft had collapsed owing to the rain and the

diggings were temporarily unworkable. They sent for Mr Westropp and he used the collapse

of the mineshaft as an excuse to close the mine. I expect that the truth lies somewhere

between the two accounts.

School

At the age of four, I began attending Ballysteen National School, then, as now, a two-teacher

school. Built in 1861, the building had three classroom: one for infants, with a gallery, which

was not then in use, one for junior pupils, up to second standard, and one for senior students

up to school-leaving age. The school and nearby St Patrick’s church were situated on a plot

of almost two acres of land donated by the 3rd

Earl of Dunraven in 1861. In my time, there

was an enrolment of over 80 pupils, the teachers being Ms Maureen Sweeney, teaching the

junior classes, and Mrs Kathleen O’Sullivan, teaching the seniors. Some pupils, especially

girls, remained in school after the age of fourteen, the legal school-leaving age at the time, to

follow advanced courses. These pupils were in 7th

and 8th

classes and worked mostly on their

own preparing for public examinations, such as those governing entry to the Post Office and

the County Council. It must be remembered that, at the time, there was no secondary school

in the area, though this need was subsequently met by St Mary’s Secondary School,

Askeaton, an excellent establishment under private management.

While I was in the junior classes, the school participated in a Folklore Collection

Project organised by Seamus Delargey for the recently-established Irish Folklore

Commission. There was great excitement in the school because any pupil who participated in

the project was excused from homework, provided s/he produced acceptable material. There

was a wide range of categories of local material that could be collected including: proverbs;

festivals and customs; local fairs; landlords; food in olden times; bread; hurling; accidents;

weather; natural catastrophes; old houses; giants, leprechauns and mermaids; ruins;

graveyards; emblems; penal times; old coins; legends; Whiteboys; memories of the Great

Famine; local heroes; local stories and memories of the Fenians. Only pupils from the senior

classes were permitted to submit material, which had to be written in a clear, legible hand.

Moreover, the name and age of both the adult informant and the student had to be listed,

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probably to ensure authenticity. The collection took place between the autumn of 1837 and

the spring of 1838 and, when the collecting was completed, the Principal, Mrs O’Sullivan,

arranged in excess of a hundred pages in portfolio format and sent it off to the Folklore

Commission in Dublin. This archive is so extensive that not all of it has yet been examined.

The entire collection runs to 5 million pages, with 40,000 photographs and many drawings

and sketches.18

Many years later, I read all the submissions from the schools in Ballysteen and Askeaton.

Some were historically valuable, some were informative and some were amusing. There was

one submission on local wisdom about the best day to get married, which read: ‘Monday for

health; Tuesday for wealth; Wednesday the best day of all; Thursday for crosses; Friday for

losses and Saturday no luck at all’ One of the submissions from a 12-year old girl described a

great flood in the river Deel at Askeaton in December, 1912:

Near our land the flood burst in over the fields, came down to our front door, in

through the house and out the back door, sweeping chairs with it. The stream in our

field became a roaring torrent, and spread out over John Hayes’ field. Paddy Ryan of

Church Street, with his man, John Purcell, was on his land milking the cows. They

had a donkey and cart and three tankards. The flood swept away the donkey and cart

and spilt the milk. John Purcell was nearly drowned and the donkey was found

drowned beside the railway station next morning.19

Ms Sweeney, who taught infants, first and second classes, was a small, fiery woman from

Ardara, Co. Donegal, who was loved by most of her pupils. While the boys kept their

distance, the girls in the class seemed to be always taking turns combing and brushing her

hair or changing her shoes for slippers. I had a good memory and had no difficulty learning

and reproducing material. It was a different story, however, when it came to penmanship. In

those days, pupils’ copy books were preserved in the school to be available for examination

anytime an inspector called.

The desks we used were

about eight feet long, each

seating four or five pupils.

Unfortunately, over the years,

some of the screws or bolts

linking the surface board to

the cast-iron legs loosened, so

that, if a pupil made a sudden

movement, the entire desk

shuddered with potentially

disastrous consequences for

anyone writing. The home-

made ink, which varied in

colour depending on the

amount of powder added to

the water, was in inkwells

sunk into the desks and the old-fashioned dipping pens, with separate nibs, were communal,

given out when the time came for writing headlines. It was your bad luck if you received a

pen with a faulty nib. Among the capital sins, which were punishable, were ink blots, badly

formed letters and ‘dog ears’, which was the term used for the curling of the corner of a page.

In my early years, and largely because of the unsteady desks, copying letters and

headlines was a hazardous occupation: lines that should be uniform and flowing turned out

4: Ballysteen National School, 1946 (built 1861)

13

jagged, or changed direction midway. Then ink blots seemed to materialise out of nowhere

and, despite my best intentions, the corners of my copybook mysteriously grew ‘dog ears’. So

my copybook was never placed on the top of the pile for the perusal of the school inspector.

As I progressed up through the classes, I discovered a liking for English and history. In 5th

and 6th

classes, the best English essay was usually read out by the teacher and, even in 5th

class, I set my mind on winning this distinction. In due course, it came and I got a great thrill

out it.

At this stage, I read everything that came my way. There were as yet no special

collections of books for children or young people provided by the public library, so the books

I read were usually those intended for adults. Our own book case contained some books by

Dorothea Conyers, a local author, who wrote on hunting themes and whose characters were

mainly drawn from the gentry. I particularly enjoyed her Sporting Reminiscences (Methuen,

1920). From my cousins, the Naughtons, I borrowed some of the novels of Charles Dickens,

especially, David Copperfield. I particularly disliked David’s step father, Mr Murdstone, and

his nasty sister, Jane. As it turned out, I found it difficult to get Mr Murdstone out of my mind

when, a couple of years after the death of my father, my mother married a second time. But

more on this later. The boys in our school devoted most school breaks to playing football,

while the girls skipped and played games, some of them involving hopping on one leg. In the

summer, however, some of the boys played a game called, ‘Jack Stones’, which I discovered

had been played by schoolboys in the area for generations.

Mother Marries Again

My father, about whom I will speak in the next chapter, died in November, 1940, when I was

eight years of age, and my mother rose to the challenge of managing the two farms, one at

home and the other about five miles away in Askeaton. Of course, we had a ‘servant boy’ and

a ‘servant girl’, together with another workman, who specialised in heavier work, such as

ploughing. Both the servant boy and servant

girl were hired at the hiring fair in Newcastle

West in January and ended their contract a

few days before Christmas. Both lived with

us and were, for all practical purposes, part

of the family. In 1944, however, without

warning to us children, my mother married

Jim Sheehy, a local man, of middle age, who

had his own house and farm. After the

wedding, which was private, my mother

broke the news to us. Michael, my elder

brother, and I were most affected, not because we did not like Jim, whom, as a neighbour, we

knew well, but because having a stepfather made us different to every other child in school.

While the others spoke about their fathers, we would now have to call Jim our stepfather.

The term stepfather sounded strange, even unnatural and, most of all, embarrassing.

Moreover, I had an additional problem, having just read the book, David Copperfield, I could

not stop thinking of the unhappiness, even misery, stepfather Murdstone, had caused poor

David. A few days after the marriage, Jim came to live with us, and, to give him his due, he

never interfered in the personal lives of us, children. When any disciplinary matter involving

us, children, arose, he would say unequivocally to my mother: this is your responsibility; you

must deal with it. Jim was kind, sociable and companionable. He was well-spoken, dressed

well, was a good singer and a good dancer and, in general, was somebody to be proud of. In

due course, he became one of my mentors, though, for several years, I avoided calling him

5: St Patrick's Church, Ballysteen, built 1863

14

stepfather when I could avoid it.

In 1945, my step-sister, Ann Sheehy, was born. I remember the day well, since I was

given the task of driving to Askeaton in the horse and trap to collect the nurse, and, later, the

doctor. My stepfather, Jim, was so excited at the prospect of the birth of his first (and only)

child that he excused himself from evening milking and I had to milk his share of cows as

well as my own. Later in the evening, a lovely baby girl, Ann, was born and, from her first

moment, was the object of everyone’s affection. In due course, my two sisters, Mary and

Elizabeth, became her surrogate parents and watched over her with great love and devotion.

Jim and the Wallers My stepfather, Jim, began his working life as a teenage boy at the Manor in Castletown,

where his duty was to act as minder for the Rev John Thomas Waller (1827-1911), who, by

then, was suffering from dementia. Jim had lots of stories about the Wallers and, whenever

we were together, I would ask him questions about this famous family and he would answer

at length. Rev John, son of Rev William Waller and his wife, Maria O’Grady, was educated

at Trinity College, Dublin, and ordained as a priest of the Church of Ireland. In 1855, he

married Sarah Lavalin Puxley of Dunboyne Castle, Castletownbere, Co Cork. She belonged

to the Puxley family that developed and operated the copper mine at Hungry Hill, Allahies.

Rev John inherited the Waller estate, comprising over 6000 acres, on the death of his father,

Rev William Waller, in 1863. He was, consequently, landlord of many tenants who had farms

on lease from the Waller estate. He belonged to the evangelical wing of the Church of Ireland

and was long-time secretary of the Irish Church Mission Society, a proselytising organisation,

which invested resources in converting Irish Catholics to Protestantism.20

Nor was Rev John a mere armchair evangelical. He believed in doing his own bit

towards converting Catholics and, in 1861, he engaged evangelical ‘scripture readers’ to hold

bible classes and to erect hoardings with scriptural quotations in nearby Pallaskenry. With the

tacit, if not the active, support of the Parish priest, some of the Catholic people of Pallaskenry

and surrounding area, numbering about 200, assembled in the village and, after fiery

speeches, tore down the hoardings and pelted the scripture readers. The RIC were summoned

and 33 people, men and women, were arrested and charged with ‘riot and affray’. At the

assizes in Pallaskenry on 18 June, 1861, six of those charged were convicted and imprisoned,

while another eleven were convicted at the subsequent Petty Sessions. Moreover, Rev John

managed to get one of his friends to raise the matter in the British House of Commons.

Around this time, he also published a serious of articles attacking aspects of ‘Romanism’ in

The Limerick Chronicle (1861-1862). These articles were subsequently published in booklet

form under the title, The Mass (Dublin: Herbert, 1882).21

Jim’s duties as ‘minder’ of Rev John included some unusual tasks. At times, the old

man would think that he was still active as a clergyman and he would insist on going to the

local Church of Ireland in Castletown. On arrival, he would put on his vestments and go to

the lectern and read an extract from the bible. With Jim sitting in a pew in front of him, he

would then launch into a long sermon, with a strong evangelical flavour and occasional

imprecations against the ‘Romanists’. At the end of his homily, he would ask, ‘Jim, what did

you think of that sermon?’

Jim would invariably reply, ‘Powerful stuff, Your Reverence, powerful stuff!’ This

seemed to please and calm the old man.

Farming and Riding

Though generally speaking, a farm was an interesting and exciting place in which to live,

there was one aspect of farming that I decidedly disliked. This was tillage, my special dislike

being reserved for the cultivation of root crops, using the minimal technology of the time.

The challenge which tillage posed for us children was compounded when the Irish

15

Government, at the outbreak of World War II, specified a quota of compulsory tillage for

each farm. Even small boys were expected to help with hoeing and ‘thinning’ turnips and

mangolds and picking potatoes. This work was hard on tender fingers and, before the days of

mechanisation, was generally disliked. Haymaking was more pleasant work, while milking

cows was not my favourite task, especially since we had a comparatively large herd that, in

my time, had to be hand milked. Anything to do with riding or driving horses, however, was

welcomed. From the time I was quite small, I learned to ride a horse bare-back. Later, I

graduated to a saddle and learned, by trial and error, to jump. My objective was simply to

remain in the saddle, no matter what, and I am sure I would have disappointed a riding

instructor with my rakish, if not ungainly, seat. I practised jumping diligently by clearing

every wall and fence on our own farm, quietly preparing for the day when I would attend my

first hunt and, hopefully, impress the more experienced riders. This ambition seemed to come

nearer realisation when we acquired a young grey horse, which could both jump and gallop

impressively.

Fate, however, seemed to frustrate my plans when Michael, my older brother, who

also wished to attend the hunt, announced, that, as the eldest in the family, he had first choice

of the ‘grey’. I had to assent to his claim but distained using one of our Irish draught working

horses, even though they could jump. I was hoping for a more spirited mount that would give

me an opportunity to show off my daring, if not my skills, in riding. Finally, I approached my

cousin, Denis Naughton, who was also a good friend, and he offered me a loan of a fine

spirited chestnut horse, something for which I shall be forever grateful. Two of the popular

meets of our local Hunt, The Stonehall Harriers, were at Ballysteen Cross on New Year’s

Day and at Askeaton on the feast of the Epiphany, 6 January. I attended both these meets,

mounted on the beautiful chestnut. This fine half-breed horse neither refused nor failed to

clear any fence. And, with the help of Lady Luck and a little skill, I remained in the saddle as

if glued to it, throughout each hunt. The country, over which we rode, to a large extent,

consisted of stone wall fences and there was no shortage of foxes. I had to check myself a

few times as I galloped along in case I got ahead of the Huntsman, Michael O’Shaughnessy,

and the Master, Paddy McDonogh. By then, I was wise enough to know that this would be a

breach of hunt etiquette. As I galloped side by side with Michael, he gave me some useful

tips for my riding: ‘keep your toes turned in, your thighs tight around the horse and sit up

straight in the saddle!’ These meets with the Stonehall Harriers in the 1940s were among the

highlights of my short riding career.

More than sixty years later, I recalled those heady days, together with Michael’s

advice on riding, when I edited the Stonehall Harriers Centenary Record. (Cork: Iverus,

2011). Michael is still senior Joint Master of the hunt and Ivan McDonogh, son of Paddy, the

Master in my day, is now junior Joint Master.

School Holidays

One of my favourite places for summer holidays was an extended visit to my aunt Mary Anne

Clifford in Adare. She lived with her son, William, then in his twenties, in an attractive two-

story thatched house in the middle of the village. Adare, apart from being a well-laid out and

attractive village, had a rich history and several important ruins. In the nineteenth century, the

Earl of Dunraven had restored the Trinitarian abbey and had given it to the Catholics, while

he gave the Church of Ireland community the restored Augustinian abbey. The Franciscan

Friary ruins were located on the eastern bank of a picturesque stretch of the river, with the

remains of a Desmond Castle nearby. There was also Adare Manor, residence of the Earl of

Dunraven, through the grounds of which the river Maigue also flowed.

My cousin, William, had inherited a farm from his uncle in Crean, Bruff, and most

days, we would drive there. My aunt would cook the meals and William and I would join in

the farm work, especially the hay making, when all available help was needed. The

16

surrounding terrain was very flat, but in the distance loomed the Galtee Mountains. On

certain days, these mountains appeared very near, not more than a couple of fields away. I

became convinced that reaching them would take no more than an hour’s walking, so I

approached an old retainer, Will O’Halloran, and asked him to accompany me some evening

after work on a walk to the foot of the mountains. ‘Great God’, he exclaimed, ‘are you mad?

Those mountains are miles and miles away ‘. I found this hard to believe, because that

particular day they seemed very near. But, since I knew Will would report any escapade of

mine to my aunt, I had to postpone my expedition to the Galtee Mountains. Years later, when

I did climb Galtemore, the highest peak in this range, I realised the wisdom of old Will’s

warning. Even as the crow flies, the mountain was at least 25 miles from Crean!

One of the more exciting events in Adare was the passing of the Dunraven horse-

drawn coach between Rathkeale and Limerick, through Adare, every morning and evening.

Since petrol was strictly rationed during the years of World War II, there were few, if any,

private cars travelling the roads. To facilitate people, including visitors, travelling to

Limerick, the Earl of Dunraven took the family coach out of storage and put it on the road. It

was drawn by four horses, and, in addition to a coachman, had a separate bugler, who blew a

blast of music as he approached each village on the way. There was a stop for a change of

horses at the Dunraven Arms Hotel on the eastern side of the village and the bugler played a

fanfare as the coach went through the village. I never tired of watching the horses trot smartly

along. The animals were beautifully groomed, and varied in colour: bay, chestnut, black, grey

and dun. I marvelled at the skill of the coachman who had to control four of them, while my

driving experience was limited to one, when I drove our horse and trap. My aunt told me that

one day there was a heavy thunder storm and the horses reared and tried to bolt when a loud

thunder clap sounded near them, but the coachman succeeded in bringing them under control.

The coach driving past was a sight to cherish and the reveille-like blast from the bugler really

rounded off the entire spectacle, just as icing does on a beautiful cake. It outdid any coach

scene I have ever seen in a Western Film.

Once the USA became involved in the war in Europe, Ireland was used as a venue for

rest for US soldiers suffering from battle fatigue. I saw many of them at the Dunraven Arms

in Adare: they seemed to be always handing out ballpoint pens to the boys who acted as

caddies for them on the golf course. In fact, it was then and there that I saw the first ballpoint

pen.

Seán Ó Riada, who later led a revival in Irish music and is celebrated as one of our

great modern composers of Irish music, was about my own age and lived across the street

from my aunt’s house. We met occasionally, but I considered him bookish and he rarely, if

ever, joined us in our informal football games. I could, however, hear him practising his

violin from across the street.

Another venue for my summer holidays was my cousins’ farm near Sixmilebridge,

county Clare. The O’Mullane family, of which my maternal grandmother was a member,

lived at the northern side of Gallows Hill. We could easily see Gallows Hill from our house,

but the river Shannon came between us. The easiest way to get to O’Mullane’s house was to

take the Windy Gap road from Limerick city over Gallows Hill. I often did this journey on

my bicycle, though, since I did not have a set of gears, I had to walk the last half mile to the

top of the hill. Once I reached the top, however, I could freewheel down the far side, using

my brakes when I came to a twist in the road, until I reached O’Mullane’s house in the

townland of Coolecasey. The household consisted of Nora Mullane, my mother’s cousin, and

her three sons, Peter, Paddy and Johnny.

The O’Mullane home was an old house, which had formerly been one storey high and

thatched. Peter, the eldest son, was, however, a ‘handy man’ and he had replaced the thatch

and raised the new roof so that, when I first arrived there, the house was two-story and slated.

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In the guest bedroom, where I slept, there were two items that dated from former times. One

was a home-made feather mattress, often known as a ‘thick’. Though this type of mattress

was very soft, I found it inferior to the shop mattresses we had at home, since it was more

mobile and less firm. Moreover, when you leaned on the ‘thick’, the feathers tended to move

away from you inside the outer cover. The other item on the bed was an old-fashioned hand-

made patchwork quilt. This was very warm and was an excellent covering for a cold night.

Since my stay was usually in mid-summer, however, I found it somewhat heavy and

excessively warm. I was particularly glad, however, to sleep on a traditional ‘thick’, since I

had heard about them but had not hitherto seen one.

One of the chores I usually performed for Nora was to take tea to her sons working in

the bog in the afternoon. First they cut the turf, using a slán (a type of spade), then they laid it

out on the grass to dry and then put the sods standing in small groups of three to permit it to

dry further. Finally, the turf was piled into small heaps before being carted home. Though I

usually had my tea, including all the bread and jam I could eat, before I left the house, by the

time I had walked a mile across the bog to the men, I was feeling hungry again. This hunger

got worse as I watched my cousins eating, while I secretly hoped they would offer me a

sandwich. Other people have also told me about the special hunger a person can experience in

a bog. While my own explanation of this peculiar hunger would attribute it to the relatively

long walk and the mountain air in the bog, Irish mythology suggests that it is caused by the

‘hungry grass’. This is a patch of grass planted by the fairies. If a traveller unknowingly

walks on this grass, s/he begins to feel very hungry. In extreme cases, this hunger also begets

physical weakness, which, it is said, could lead to the death of the victim. With this

superstition in my mind, I did not delay once my cousins had eaten but hurried back with the

empty lunch basket to the house, excusing my prompt departure by saying that I had more

chores to do for Nora.

Nora’s eldest son, Peter, liked to talk about their local landlords, the Butlers of Castle

Crine. This family, a branch of the Ormond Butlers, had been in the area since the 1700s and

had an estate of about 11,000 acres, with an annual income of £1,000 in the early 1700s.

Peter showed me an old document stating that, in former times, tenants had to pay duty of 17s

6d on each holding, in addition to rent. The last member of the family to hold the Castle

Crine property was Ms Henrietta Butler, whom Peter said was a tartar, and who devoted her

later years to maintaining her traditional rights and jealously guarding her property. She

absolutely forbade the common practice in the countryside of gathering up rotten sticks for a

fire from any of her properties.

As landlord of the tenanted farms in the area, Ms Henrietta refused permission to any

tenant to build a house on the side of the road, even though the house would be sited on their

own property. They could, however, build a house on their property provided the building

was hidden out of sight. There was a distance of three miles between O’Mullane’s house and

the town of Sixmilebridge and there was not a single house along that stretch of road while

Ms Henrietta lived. When she died on 29 August, 1938, the Irish Land Commission acquired

the property, the tenants got an opportunity to purchase the freehold of their farms and some

of these farmers were allocated additional parcels of land. The contents of the old Butler

mansion, Castle Crine, were auctioned, and the building levelled to the ground. Only the

former kitchen garden and orchard, surrounded by 10-feet high stone walls, and the ornate

entrance survive to this day

Homepage

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Chapter 2

Feheney Side of Family

y father, John Feheney, third son of John Feheney (at times spelled Feeheny) and

his wife, Mary Cahill, was born in the family home at Aghalacka, Askeaton, Co.

Limerick, and baptised in the parish church on 11April, 1874. He was the second

youngest of a family of five boys (Michael, Matthew, James, John and Terence) and four

girls (Margaret, Mary, Honor and Elizabeth). Tragedy, however, struck the family when the

father, John, died in 1878, and the mother passed away three years later, in 1881. Both

paternal grandparents were already deceased, so the eldest son, Michael, who was 21 years

old when his mother died, assumed leadership of the family and supervised the rearing and

education of the rest of the children.

Materially, the family was comfortable since they had 77 acres of land, which was

much more than that of the average tenant farmer at the time. The second boy, Matthew,

served his time in Dublin in a draper’s shop and eventually became a buyer in the firm of

Todd Burns, Mary Street, as well as holding agencies for some overseas clothing suppliers.

He was also one of the founders of the Harold’s Cross Hospice in Dublin. The third boy,

James, immigrated to Western Australia, where he established a sheep-farming station, but

died suddenly and was buried in Perth. He also was unmarried. The youngest boy, Terence,

died unmarried at the age of 35. His sister, Honor, also died young, while another sister,

Elizabeth, died unmarried at the age of 41. Matthew died in January, 1921, of pneumonia. He

was unmarried and was buried in the family burial plot, High Street cemetery, Askeaton.

Only four of the family of nine survived to old age. These were Michael, John,

Margaret and Mary. Margaret married Pat McMahon of Kilmoreen, Kildimo, Co. Limerick,

but died without issue. Mary was educated at Presentation Convent boarding school in

Crosshaven, Co. Cork. On completion of her secondary schooling, she entered the

Presentation Sisters and, in 1890, joined a group of Sisters, who were sent to open a new

house in St Kilda, Victoria, Australia. For several years, she acted as Mistress of Novices, in

charge of the formation of new aspirants, after which she became superior of the Presentation

convent in Windsor, St Kilda. Her community discovered that she had considerable

administrative ability and she was elected Mother General of the Presentation Sisters

Congregation in Victoria. She was noted for her shrewd eye for property and was responsible

for acquiring some of the most useful and valuable sites for Presentation schools and

convents in the state of Victoria. She was a friend and confidant of Most Rev Daniel Mannix,

Archbishop of Melbourne. She visited Ireland in 1932 for the Eucharistic Congress. She died

at the Presentation Convent, Windsor, St Kilda, on 7 April, 1945, and was buried in the

cemetery attached to the convent. Archbishop Mannix officiated at her graveside.

While my father, John, worked with his brother on the farm at Aghalacka, Askeaton,

he also held an appointment as rate collector for the Limerick County Council in the

Askeaton/Ballysteen area. He took up this appointment about 1900 and retired about 1932.

His cousin, Terence Moran, held the job after him and my younger brother, Matt, held it after

Terence. For years, my father seemed to be a confirmed bachelor, but a friend of his, David

Naughton, made a match for him with my mother, whose sister, Annie, was married to David.

By the time he got married in 1929, however, my father was 55 years of age. His brother,

Michael, had married a decade earlier and had three children, something, which, I expect,

also nudged my father towards matrimony. In the early 1920s, my father had also purchased a

M

19

medium-sized farm of about 50 acres in Toomdeely, on the outskirts of Askeaton, and he

kept dry stock on this farm.

In 1927, however, my father purchased Ballinacourty House and farm, about which I have

written in the previous chapter. The same year, he moved to Ballinacourty and was initially

somewhat bewildered by the size of the house and farmyard. Everything in Ballinacourty was

designed for a member of the gentry and the efficient operation of the house, grounds and

farm was all predicated on the presence of a cohort of servants. Most sections of the

operation - orchard, kitchen garden, lawns, fowl, pigs, cows, calves and dry stock - required

time and personnel to care for them adequately. I fear that my father had also overlooked the

fact that most members of the gentry put money into their country seats, rather than taking it

out. Many members of that class, in fact, had other sources of income, such as pensions from

the armed forces or business interests. My father soon found that, because of the cost of

labour, Ballinacourty, though not without its charm, was not a gold mine and he was glad to

have the second farm in Askeaton, which he stocked with dry cattle and which required only

a part-time herdsman to ensure its smooth operation.

While he was alive, my father could scarcely go anywhere without my brother,

Michael, and I, insisting on accompanying him. Close as I was to Michael, I found his desire

to be also with my father irritating at times. In retrospect, I can see that it was probably a case

of sibling jealousy. While Michael was content with father’s presence, I wanted to be asking

questions. As we drove along the road in the horse and trap, I would keep asking my father,

‘Who lives there?’ or ‘Who is that man?’ or ‘Are they related to us?’ or ‘What is the name of

that place or that hill or that lake or that river?’ It came as a dreadful shock, therefore, when I

got up one morning to find my father still in bed and my mother waiting for the doctor to

arrive. Neighbours and relatives began calling to our house and, with the arrival of each

visitor, my mother began to cry. We children were not permitted into Dad’s bedroom, but I

overheard my mother telling visitors that he had suffered a stroke. Evidently, the doctor felt

that nothing could be done for him and he was not removed to hospital. After being ill for

about a week, he died on 28 November, 1940. After his death, the house seemed to be

crowded, and I was distracted by relatives and neighbours, who took pains to keep us,

children, entertained. I only vaguely remember the funeral Mass and the interment in the

family burial plot in Church Street, Askeaton. But I remember well the empty feeling

afterwards, especially when all the kind relatives had departed. I also remember my mother’s

occasional reminder that we would have to be especially ‘good’, now that our father was

dead.

The death of my father left an empty space in my life. My hero and mentor was gone

and I naturally sought other heroes and other mentors. Though, in addition to my brothers and

sisters, I had a number of school friends, I seemed to be always seeking an adult mentor. This

is probably why, in the previous chapter, I have written at length about older men, whom I

sought out as mentors. Among these were Jack Griffin, one of our day labourers, my

grandfather, Michael Ranahan, Jim Nealon, the local carpenter, and, finally, my stepfather,

Jim Sheehy. I seemed to have a great intellectual curiosity, which neither siblings nor peers

were able to satisfy, but which drove me towards friendly and knowledgeable adults.

Going to the Fair

While my father was alive, one of the great events for me was going to the fair of Rathkeale

with him. Fairs were also held at Askeaton, but these were small compared to the big fairs in

Rathkeale, of which there were eight every year. Usually, my father only attended these fairs

when he wanted to purchase or sell animals and, though both my brother, Michael and I,

wanted to attend, only one could be excused from school for this event. So, we took our

turns. Attending a fair, meant rising early in the morning and arriving at the fair not later than

20

7 am, when the business of buying and selling got underway. At this time, the shops were still

closed and the cattle, their drovers and buyers had the streets to themselves. The shopkeepers,

had, however, made preparations to keep the animals away from their premises and this was

assured by placing crush barriers on the inside of every sidewalk. The animals, themselves,

stood quietly in the street, with mournful eyes, but required at least one person in attendance

to prevent them mixing with other animals. There was fresh cow dung everywhere, but all

connected with the animals wore high boots, with or without gaiters, and ignored the filthy

streets. With the shops still closed, and no place to purchase sweets, it was a bit boring

standing around waiting for the buyers to arrive.

I asked Dad if I could stroll around and he agreed. The various lots of cattle seemed to

be arranged according to age. Thus the largest, I was told, were 4-year olds, each up to 1400

lbs in weight. My dad later told me they were intended for butchers or for shipping to the

United Kingdom. Then came the 3-year olds, each up to 1,000 lb, and also intended for

killing, though these medium-sized animals were preferred by butchers in smaller towns.

Smaller cattle were usually purchased by farmers who had excess grass and wished to fatten

them for sale later for the beef market. The smallest of all were the calves, usually in creels

atop carts. These would be purchased by farmers who wished to feed them to maturity. I also

came across ‘strippers’, which were cows that their owners failed to get in calf. I was familiar

with this type of animal because Dad sometimes purchased them for fattening and subsequent

sale to butchers. Even when fat, they fetched a lower price than a bullock of corresponding

weight, because of their age, and the fact that their flesh was likely to be tougher than that of

a younger animal. A fat stripper, however, was attractive to some butchers, since the cost was

reasonable and the meat from them sold well in the meat stalls.

Later, the shops opened and the fair grew noisier with people raising their voices as

they bargained and made sales. Then a ballad singer, who had a sheaf of printed ballads

nailed to a blackthorn stick, made his appearance. He offered to sing any of the ballads, the

words of which he was offering for sale. Somebody purchased the popular ballad, ‘The Rocks

of Bawn’, and he launched into the song, though he confined himself to the first two verses.

The singing was intended to give the purchaser an idea of the tune of the song. Somebody

else wanted the ballad, ‘Skibbereen’, and he also sang two verses of that. He was selling the

ballads at two for one penny and I bought four for tuppence. I had earlier discovered that I

had a singing voice and I was keen to expand my repertoire. There was another man selling

‘ash plants’. He had a bundle of them under his arm and people could take their pick at four

pence each.

When I got back to Dad, I found that he was talking to a potential buyer. Dad had

twelve three-year old bullocks, nine of which were large and in good condition, while the

remaining three were smaller. The buyer, who wore brown boots and matching gaiters, asked,

‘What do want for the nine big ones?’

‘They will all have to go together’, replied Dad.

‘How much?’

‘I will let you have them for £18 each’, said Dad.

‘You must be joking!. I’ll give you ten and you won’t get better!’

‘Two tens would be more like it’.

‘You’re a decent man. Look, I’ll go to eleven’.

‘I’m afraid that you will have to go a lot higher’.

‘Will you take twelve and I’ll pay you the minute the bank opens’.

‘No thanks, not a penny less than eighteen’.

‘Come now and be reasonable. You won’t get eighteen even if you keep them another year.

My best offer is thirteen’.

By now a little crowd had gathered, eager to see a sale concluded and someone

21

shouted, ‘Yerra, can’t ye split the difference?’

A friend of my father shouted, ‘Make a move towards him, John’.

‘I’ll tell you what’, replied my father, ‘I’ll let them go for £17'.

‘Make it fourteen’, said the buyer, ‘and it’s a deal’.

‘I can’t do it’, said my father’.

‘Look, my final offer to you is fifteen.’

‘No, not a hope’, said my father.

At this, the dealer made as if to go away, but one of the bystanders caught him by the

shoulder. ‘Are ye out of yer senses, or what? Ye are two sensible men and there is only two

pounds between ye. Come here, John. Come here, Mr Crowley’.

He took the right hand of each man and joined them together, saying, ‘Will ye now

split the difference?’

‘I’m willing’, said my father

‘Ye’re a terrible man’, said Crowley with a smile, ‘I suppose I’ll have to agree’.

My father and Mr Crowley then shook hands solemnly, after which Crowley took out

a coloured marker and marked the forehead and rump of each animal with his own logo.

‘Take them to the railway and put them on the Cork train. I will meet you at the bank when it

opens’, he said.

By now I was glad that our business had been concluded. I helped to drive the animals

to the train and put them in the Cork wagons, then returned to Cahill’s on Main Street, which

was both a bar and an ‘eating house’. Mrs Cahill, who was related to my father, gave me a

big hug and soon we were eating a lovely breakfast of sausages, fried eggs and black

pudding, with plenty of bread and jam. When the bank opened, Dad was paid for his animals

and, soon afterwards, we were trotting home in the horse and trap. On the road to Askeaton,

we passed the entrance to Stoneville House, where the Massey family lived. On the gable end

of a building there, I saw a stone carving of a man working at an anvil. Dad said that this

figure was popularly known as the ‘Stony Man’. Later, I learned that the figure was that of

the Roman Deity, Vulcan, patron of fire, who was usually represented standing beside an

anvil. The figure had been carved by a local sculptor, Martin Scanlan, who also carved the

lions and eagles on the walls and piers of the entrance gates to Stoneville.22

Singing on the Stage

I mentioned above that I had purchased some ballads at the fair of Rathkeale with a view to

expanding my repertoire of songs. I had discovered that I could sing solo and, in the days

before widespread radio and television, I got plenty of practice in this. I was by no means a

great talent, but, from a young age, I did have the gift of being able to stand up in a crowd,

automatically choose the correct key, stay in tune for the duration of a song and be quite

relaxed and ‘normal’. My readers must also remember that this was a period when there was

some singing, and occasionally music and dancing, at most gatherings in the Irish

countryside. The principal exception to this custom was in those houses where card games

were regularly held and where nothing which might distract attention from the cards was

permitted. As our neighbours became aware of my ability and willingness to sing, I would

often be asked to sing a song. Gradually, therefore, I began to collect songs and have them

ready for singing at any time. It was also a custom at the time for people to sing while they

milked, finding, from experience, that this calmed the cows and, it was believed, made them

give their milk more freely. So, every evening, as I hand-milked my allocated number of

cows, I practised my songs with enthusiasm, something which also helped me forget the

tedium of this particular work.

In the matter of ballads, I benefited from the experience of one of my mentors, Jack

Griffin. Jack’s idea of a good song was a serious, even melancholy, ballad, moving slowly,

22

with only a faint beat and a complete absence of bounce. With Jack, lyrics were as important

as melody and a ballad had to tell a story, paint a picture or conjure up a situation. Among his

favourites were ‘Skibbereen’, ‘The Rocks of Bawn’ and ‘Avondale’. Every time I called on

Jack, he would ask, ‘Any new song?’ If I said yes and named a song, he would ask me to sing

a verse. I remember starting to sing, ‘Far away in Australia’ for him. I had barely completed

the first two lines, when Jack interrupted with a wave of his hand, saying, ‘No good, no

good!’ In the case of another ballad, called, ‘The Bold Galtee Boy’, he allowed me to

complete the entire first verse, before saying, ‘There might be something in that one’.

Evidently, the sad tale of the capture and exile of the rebel ‘Galtee Boy’ met at least some of

the criteria Jack required in a good ballad. Other ballads that got Jack’s approval were

‘Boolavogue’ and ‘Carrickfergus’.

With Jack’s affirmation, I was ready to take the stage when, during World War II

years, Ballysteen turned to amateur theatricals. Towards the end of 1941, the Ballysteen

Dramatic Society was formed and its first production was in March, 1942. This production

featured a variety concert, ending with a 3-act play, ‘Come Back Paddy Reilly to

Ballyjamesduff’. This production, and others like it, was designed to raise funds for the

building of a separate house for the Catholic curate in the parish. My song was part of the

variety concert section of the programme. I got through the first performance without any

problem and the entire production was considered a success. A decision was then made to

bring the production to any of the neighbouring villages in the area that possessed a suitable

hall. So, that season, we played at Askeaton, Rathkeale, Foynes and Coolcappa and I got to

know the other participants in the production. When we had to travel to another village, we

usually went in a truck, which was capable of accommodating both players and props.

In subsequent years, the Ballysteen dramatic society produced other popular 3-act

plays, including, ‘The Mountain Dew’ by George Shields, ‘The Money Doesn’t Matter’ and

‘Paid in his own Coin’ by Thomas King Moylan. Each time, there were a few warm-up

variety items and I was always included. My self-confidence gained enormously from these

appearances and helped overcome my fear of large audiences. They also helped me learn to

relate to other people and blend into a team. I think the experience also helped to give me a

more realistic appreciation of my own talents. I was not unusually gifted, but I could play my

part in entertaining a crowd. Later, when I learned to strum a guitar and play a keyboard, I

was able to make a useful contribution in leading young people in singing for religious

worship, especially at youth retreats.

The Rockites I am going to devote some space to the Rockite rebellion in West Limerick, because this

movement cast a fateful shadow over my extended family and was the cause of the deaths of

my paternal great grandfather and great grand uncle. The Rockites were the lineal

descendants of the Whiteboys that came into being in the later decades of the eighteenth

century. The first recorded Whiteboy incident happened in county Limerick in 1761.

Whiteboys were so called because of the long white shrouds or dresses members wore over

their clothes to prevent them being identified. They also blackened their faces to complete

their disguise. They were the cutting edge of agrarian protest by subsistence farmers against

what they considered to be the unreasonable demands in rents and tithes in the early 1820s.

Among their regular activities were: raiding houses of the gentry for arms; posting

threatening notices to landlords, especially those who evicted tenants for failure to pay rent;

attacking tithe proctors and process servers; damaging, especially ‘houghing’, animals;

burning ricks of hay and corn and assembling threatening mobs. Though they are called

Rockites by historians, many people at the time called them Whiteboys, partly because the

latter word was embedded in popular ‘speak’ and partly because the disguise of both groups

23

was similar.23

The name Rockite came from the first leader of the movement in West Limerick,

Patrick Dillane, a blacksmith, who, on being called a ‘rock’ because of his powerful displays

in pelting rocks at opponents, adopted the self-styled name, ‘Captain Rock’. The name caught

on and soon public notices and threats were being signed by Captain Rock. After Dillane’s

capture and trial, the leadership of the movement was taken over by Walter Fitzmaurice, also

from West Limerick, who, after many daring, but lawless, exploits, was captured by Major

Thomas Vokes, a magistrate and chief of police in the area. Fitzmaurice, however, to the

disgust of members of the establishment, escaped execution by turning state’s evidence. The

name, Captain Rock, persisted, however, and was used by different local leaders to signify

that they were following in the violent tradition of the first two holders of the title.24

A bitter conflict with a new and irascible agent, Alexander Hoskins, on the 34,000-

acre estate of Viscount Courtenay in Newcastle West is generally regarded as the beginning

of the Rockite agitation between 1821 and 1824. Historians, however, are careful to note that

the trouble on the Courtenay estate would have remained local, had it not coincided with the

most ‘punishing economic crisis’, manifested particularly in the collapse of grain prices

following the Peace of Paris in 1815 and the consequent downsizing of the armed forces. The

price of oats fell by 42%, while that of wheat and barley fell by 56%. A fall of some 20% in

the price of cattle followed in 1820. Rents, however, remained at the conflated level they

attained during the first decade of the nineteenth century when, mainly owing to the

Napoleonic wars, there was a period of great economic prosperity. By 1820, however, not

only the small subsistence farmers, but also the larger ‘middlemen’, were in serious economic

difficulty. 25

The burden of tithes, payable to the clergy of the Church of Ireland, was a close

second to high rents in making life difficult for the subsistence farmer. Up to 1823, when the

Tithe Composition Act was passed, the full burden of tithes fell on the small farmer, whose

main cash crop was agricultural produce, pasture being up to that time exempt from tithes. In

the Askeaton, area, however, the order was reversed and the tithes burden was top of the list

of grievances for the small farmer. This was the background to the ‘Tithe Affray’ in Askeaton

on 15 August, 1821, that had such serious consequences for my extended family.26

The tithe proctor, being the person who estimated and collected tithes, in the

Askeaton area was John Ivess, who lived in Craigmore, Askeaton. On the night of the 15

August, 1821, a large group of Rockites, dressed in white robes or dresses, with faces

blackened, assembled for the express purpose of attacking Ivess’ house, seizing the tithe

books and burning them publicly. The leader of this group was Terence Moran, brother of my

great grandmother, Margaret Moran. Unknown to the Rockites, their plans were betrayed in

advance to the police and a detachment of Peace Preservation police were lying in ambush at

Ivess’ house waiting for the Rockites, who numbered about 200, many mounted on

horseback. The attackers were first challenged before both sides opened fire. One constable,

Thomas Manning, was killed while Moran and three other assailants were wounded. The

attackers then dispersed, Moran being helped from the scene, while the other three seriously

wounded men hid in a ditch. Moran died of his wounds and the other three, also near death,

were discovered next morning and brought to Rathkeale, where they were buried in a Croppy

grave near the bridge. A rumour went about, denied by the police, that one of the three was

still alive when buried in quicklime and this inflamed public opinion and moved the Rockites

to form a conspiracy to murder Major Richard Going, magistrate and commander of the

Peace Preservation Police in the area. He was subsequently murdered in Curaheen, near

Cappagh, Co. Limerick, on 14 October, 1821.27

Following the Askeaton ‘Tithe Affray’, some men were arrested. They included

Michael Moran, brother of Terence, together with Michael Halloran and Michael Fitzgerald.

24

The three were tried at Limerick Assizes on 18 December, 1821. Several establishment

figures, including some local Protestant landowners, gave evidence testifying to Michael

Moran’s law-abiding disposition and general good character. In his own evidence, Moran

testified that he did not willingly go to Ivess’ house, but was forced to go there by some

Rockites. There was also a suggestion that he turned state’s evidence at the trial. At the

conclusion of the trial, Michael Moran was found not guilty and set free, while the other two

men were convicted and hanged.28

The mortal wounding of Terence Moran, while leading the Rockites in Askeaton,

when combined with the discharge of his brother, Michael, at the trial in Limerick, led to

some ambivalence in the way the Moran family was subsequently regarded. The Rockites and

their sympathisers cast Terence as a hero and were sceptical, if not derisive, of Michael. The

local landlords and the people who were not caught up in the Rockite movement, on the other

hand, regarded Terence as misguided and led astray, while they regarded Michael as decent

and anxious to obey the law. Their sister, Margaret, my great grandmother, if judged by her

actions, seemed to fall into a median category: she refused to pay tithes on her farm, but tried

to distance herself from local events by subsequently taking a husband from outside the

parish.

My great grandfather, Michael Feheney, was a son of a medium-sized farmer in

Killoughteen, Newcastle West, Co. Limerick. About 1829, a marriage was arranged between

Michael and Margaret Moran. Following the usual custom at the time, as she had a farm, it is

probable that he brought some money with him. The couple were very happy and their only

child, John, was born and baptised in 1830. The tithe agitation, which had died down in

1824, now came to the fore again, this time spreading out from Munster and finding its most

violent expression in Leinster, especially in county Kilkenny. Though the first clash of the

Tithe War took place on 3 March, 1831, at Graignamanagh, Co. Kilkenny, the first casualties

occurred at Bunclody, Co. Wexford, when the police opened fire on people who resisted tithe

collection. Twelve people were killed and twenty wounded. On 14 December, 1831, a group

of tithe resistors ambushed a patrol of 40 members of the Constabulary at Carrickshock, Co.

Kilkenny, killing twelve constables, including the Chief Constable, and wounding many

others.29

After these events, opposition to the collection of tithes spread throughout Munster

and Leinster. The Government, now concerned at the increase in confrontations with agents

of the law, released figures showing that enforcement of tithe orders had led directly to the

following catalogue of crimes and outrages: 242 homicides, 1,179 robberies; 401 burglaries,

568 burnings, 280 cases of cattle maiming, 161 assaults, 203 riots, 723 attacks on property.

One of the worst confrontations occurred in Rathcormac, Co. Cork, in 1835, when armed

Constabulary, reinforced by British army troops, reportedly killed 17 people and wounded 30

in the course of collecting a tithe order, valued at 40 shillings. The Government became even

more concerned at the violence and the employment of such large numbers of police to

collect relatively small amounts of tithe money. In 1833, parliament passed the Tithe

Commutation Act, whereby the tithes payable were reduced by about a quarter and the

landlord paid the remainder, reclaiming it with the rent from tenants, if he so wished. This

ended the violent aspect of the tithe collection. Finally, with the disestablishment of the

Church of Ireland by the Gladstone Liberal Government in 1871, tithes for the maintenance

of the Church of Ireland Clergy came to an end.30

My great grandmother, Margaret, before her marriage, was also active in resisting the

payment of tithes. The Tithe Composition Act of 1823, however, permitted the Tithe Proctor,

who collected tithes for the local clergyman, to distrain farm produce or stock and sell them

at a public auction, thereby recouping his tithe money. Since only cattle in a field could be

distrained, while those in a shed were immune from seizure, tithe proctors found that seizure

25

of corn was the easiest way to recoup the tithe money. It so happened that, in the mid 1820s,

Margaret, after getting her corn cut and stacked in the haggard, in preparation for threshing,

was, without warning, visited by the tithe process server, who handed her a document stating

that her corn would be distrained in settlement of a demand for unpaid tithes. Meantime, two

members of the Peace Preservation Police would stand guard beside the corn until

arrangements could be made to remove it. Margaret, however, managed to get word of the

situation to some neighbours who spread the word to other anti-tithe protesters. That night,

while the two constables nestled at the butt of the corn rick, a couple of neighbours hit them

over the head and then locked them in a stable nearby. On a signal from the assailants, about

half a dozen horses and carts drove into the haggard and removed all the corn, transporting it

to another farm in nearby Cappagh. This farm was very secluded, being so far from the road

that people had to pass through five fields and five separate gates to reach it. There the corn

was unloaded and the carts departed, while, next day, all the corn was threshed and the grain

stored in sacks to be sold for Margaret to the grain merchants in Limerick. When the

constables awoke next morning they found the stable door unlocked but the corn gone.

Margaret had to disappear for some time after this, so she packed a few clothes and

made her way to some friends a few miles away in Borrigone, near Foynes, where she

remained until interest in the affair had died down and the police had other matters to occupy

them. After her marriage, her husband, Michael Feheney, was anxious to dissociate himself

and Margaret from the anti-tithe movement, so he paid his tithes when they became due.

Their son, John, was born in 1830 and Michael began to look forward to a peaceful existence.

He kept in touch with his relatives in Newcastle West and sometimes, when he had to attend

a fair in Rathkeale, he would go on to his old home and spend the night there, returning to

Askeaton next day. Michael went to one of these fairs in 1832, riding his saddle horse, and

driving some cattle before him. He did not return that night, but Margaret was not worried,

assuming that he had journeyed on to Newcastle West to spend the night with his relatives. In

the early hours of the morning, however, she heard a horse trot into the yard, then stop and

begin to neigh. She dressed and went outside, where she found Michael’s saddle horse,

complete with bridle and saddle, but without its owner. Later in the morning, she got her

brother, Michael, and some helpful neighbours to traverse the road to Rathkeale and then

further to Newcastle West, but they found no trace of her husband. People, who had attended

the fair at Rathkeale, confirmed that they had seen or met Michael there and that he had sold

his cattle, but could not say what happened to him. Neither had his relatives in Newcastle

West seen him. Margaret informed the police of her husband’s disappearance and her fear

that he had been injured or killed, but the police had no reports of any such event, nor,

indeed, did they succeed in discovering any helpful information about him or his travels.

Over the following months a rumour began to circulate to the effect that Michael

Feheney had been set upon, robbed and killed by people associated with the Rockites. Given

the social and political circumstances of the time, robbery was unlikely to have been the sole

object of the attack. It is possible, if not probable, that Michael got on the wrong side of

Rockite supporters and that he had paid for this with his life. Moreover, Michael’s body was

never found.

Local Politics

In 1898, the British Parliament passed the (Irish) Local Government Act and elections for the

First Limerick County Council were held in April, 1899. Askeaton was one of the electoral

divisions for county Limerick and the declared winner of this seat was Lord Thomas Spring-

Rice, 2nd

Baron Monteagle of Mount Trenchard, Foynes. The runner-up was Michael

Feheney, my uncle. Though family lore states that, on appeal, Monteagle was disqualified on

the grounds of irregularities and the seat awarded to Michael Feheney, I have, as yet, found

26

no documentary evidence to confirm this. Monteagle, who was a member of the House of

Lords, as well as a former member of two county councils in Wales, represented the Unionist

interests. Feheney, on the other hand, represented the Nationalist interest, and the fact that he

succeeded in having Nationalist Members of Parliament, including Michael Austin, attend his

election rallies, indicates that he was regarded as a strong candidate. His guns were spiked,

however, when John Hogan from nearby Shanagolden entered the race, thereby splitting the

Nationalist vote and giving Monteagle an easy victory. Analysis of the election results,

however, show that, even despite the split Nationalist vote, Monteagle only managed to

defeat Feheney by 60 votes.31

Elections for the second council were held in 1902 and, this time, my uncle topped the

poll and was declared the winner. By now, he had identified himself as a member of the anti-

Parnellite faction of the Irish Party, led by Justin McCarthy and William O’Brien. The Earl

of Dunraven, who represented Adare in the Council, described the excitement caused by the

first County Council elections:

It was very amusing and exciting. No contested parliamentary election had taken

place for years and the County Council constituency was wild with excitement. We

drove all about the district, speaking from brakes in the villages and at crossroads.

There was much chaff - all the humours of old fashioned elections, considerable

consumption of porter and some little fighting.32

It would probably be true to say that the new County Councillors, such as my uncle, saw

themselves, not so much as legislators or policy makers, but as consumer representatives,

concerned with complaints and grievances. They also fulfilled an important role of mediation

between constituents and the new county administrative bureaucracy. The role of county

councillor also meant meeting and dealing with a large number of people. My father, as

assistant to his older brother, also got to know a great number of people in West Limerick.

My uncle was returned to the council in 1905 and 1908, but, in 1911, he declined to stand,

having by then begun to think of getting married. Though my father accompanied his brother

to most of his political rallies, he had no political ambitions himself and never gave an

election speech. In fact, he was a rather shy man.

My Generation and the Next My uncle Michael, who died in

1939, married Catherine O’Sullivan

from Templeglantine, Co. Limerick,

and they had a family of one girl,

Mary, and two boys, Johnny and

Bill. They were more than a dozen

years older than me and were

always helpful and supportive of me

and my family. It was from them

that I learned the family history of

the Feheneys. None of the three

married, however, and all three are

now deceased, so their branch of the

family has died out. Of my own

family, my two brothers, Michael

and Matt, had sons, but, in the present

generation, only one of my nephews,

6: Immediate family: Matt, Paddy, JMF, Michael, Mary,

Elizabeth and Ann, 2000

27

8: JMF with nieces and nephews, 2000

Michael, has male heirs. Moreover, the Killoughteen, Newcastle West, branch of the family

has also died out, so, in the island of Ireland, there are to date only two male children who

might possibly continue the surname, Feheney. I should add, however, that, in contemporary

Ireland, where many men in rural areas neither marry nor produce offspring, the Feheney

case is not anomalous.

As I mentioned in the previous chapter, in

addition to two sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, I also

have a half-sister, Ann Sheehy, who married Mike

Downes, from a well-known family in Ballysteen.

Ann and Mike have three daughters, Āine, Brigid

and Maureen, as well as a son, Michael. My sister

Mary, who was married to Paddy O’Shaughnessy,

died suddenly on 15 August, 2004, aged 71 years.

She and Paddy had no children and they lived in a

now abandoned but historic house, Castlegrey,

Kilcornan, which had formerly been the property of

the Waller family. Paddy died three years later, in

2007. Mary was a wonderful aunt to all her nieces

and nephews and her sudden passing was mourned by all members of the family. My sister

Elizabeth married Dick Stack from Broadford, Co. Limerick, and they had three daughters,

Elaine, Bridget and Ailish, together with a son, John. Ailish married Paddy Moriarty from

Annascaul, Co. Kerry, and they have two children, Pádraig and Aoife, while John was

recently married to Georgina Frawley, from Rockhill, Bruree. Bridget died in 1995, while

Elaine is still unmarried.

My elder brother, Michael, who died in 2005, married Mary Madigan and they had a

family of two boys, John and Vincent, and two girls, Stephanie and Edel. Neither John nor

Vincent has children, while Stepanie, who lives in Australia, has one son, Conor, Edel and

her husband, Alan Sheehy, have one son, Hugh, and are expecting twins.

My brother, Matt, married

Catherine Jones from Askeaton and they

have a family of four girls, Anne, Bríd,

Catherine and Sarah, together with a son,

Michael. Anne married Gerard Neville

and they have two daughters, Laura and

Emir. Brid married Riad Hacini and they

have four children: Tariq, Inez, Ameen

and Aya. Catherine married John

Kennedy and they have four children:

John, Síafraidh, Patrick and Kealan.

Sarah married Tom Culhane and they

have one daughter, Margaret, and are

expecting another baby. Michael married

Claire Fox and they have two sons: John and Matt.

I think that it would be true to say that I am the recipient of much love and affection

from all members, immediate and extended, of my family. This is something that I, in turn,

try to reciprocate. In addition, I have had the great pleasure of being the family historian and

genealogist. My first book, The Ranahans of Iverus (1987) was devoted to my mother’s

family, the Ranahans. I have also completed family trees of the Feheney family, though,

compared with the Ranahans, it is a relatively small family. Moreover, I have researched the

family history of several other families in Ballysteen, not a few of which are connected with

7: Members of Extended family with JMF

28

me. I hope that, soon, I will be able to make this information available to those interested and

concerned.

Feheney Surname

Though the surname Feheney, sometimes spelled Feeheney or Feaheney is a variant of

Feighney, and comes originally from county Roscommon, our branch of the family has been

in West Limerick for at least 200 years. This minor sept was a branch of the Síol

Muireadhaigh (Silmurrray) clan in Roscommon. The name Feeney, more common in Galway

and Mayo, comes from a genealogically different sept. Feeney was part of the powerful Hy

Fiachrach, and was originally located in Easkey, Co. Sligo.33

Homepage

29

Chapter 3

Towards Adulthood

s I came near the end of my time in 6th

class in primary school, I began to think of

secondary school. At this stage, my mother had confidence in my decisions and, in

most matters, including my secondary education, she was content to let me do the

research and to make recommendations, while she reserved the final approval to herself. The

Salesian College nearby in Copsewood, Pallaskenry, would have been ideal, but, admission

there was not possible. At the time, there were two separate sections in Copsewood. One was

an agricultural College for older students, who had completed their secondary schooling,

while the other was a scholasticate for aspirants to the the Salesian congregation. The

scholasticate was moved elsewhere in later years, and a secondary school came into being in

its place, but this change came too late for me. Next, I considered two boarding colleges in

Limerick, Mungret College, operated by the Jesuits, and the diocesan college, St Munchin’s.

While I was considering the matter, the parents of my school friend, Jim Hayes, who was also

a cousin, completed arrangements for Jim to attend the Presentation Brothers Juniorate,

Coláiste Muire, in Douglas, Cork.

Boarding School

At this time, games, especially hurling and football, occupied much of my spare time and Jim

proved an eloquent advocate for the promised facilities for these games at Coláiste Muire.

The Presentation Brothers were not completely new to me, either, since there were two

Brothers from the area, both of their families well known to me. Moreover, a friend of mine,

Sean Culhane, had attended this college for a couple of years, but had then immigrated to the

USA. As the summer of 1945 progressed,

Jim’s arguments in favour of Coláiste Muire

became more persuasive, so, on 28 August of

that year, I registered as student there.

The College bursar and household

administrator was none other than Brother

Aquinas Neville, who knew my mother and

came from a farm near us. A practical, down-

to-earth, hard-working man, he was very kind

to Jim and myself and we soon settled into

the school routine. One thing that I had

forgotten, though I must have been told

beforehand, was that Coláiste Muire was an ‘A’ class secondary school. This meant that Irish

was the medium of instruction for all subjects. To ensure that all students were fluent in Irish,

this language was the official medium of communication between staff and students.

Moreover, students were also expected to use Irish when talking among themselves. Though

this seemed strange and artificial at the beginning, with the excellent example of the teaching

staff, it soon became second nature to us.

The curriculum at Coláiste Muire was the usual one in Irish secondary schools of the

period, with two public examinations, the Intermediate (now Junior) Certificate after three

years, followed by the Leaving Certificate after a further one or two years. The teaching was

sound and, since ours was a boarding school, there was plenty of time for study and home

work. If the programme had a fault, it was that it had a very narrow focus on the examination

subjects. Public examination results were generally good and there were few instances of

A

9: Coláiste Muire, Presentation Brothers Juniorate

30

failure. Though students were usually confident in the subjects they had formally studied,

there was a certain deficiency in their general cultural acumen. Thus, for instance, debate

through the medium of Irish was encouraged, even emphasised, whereas debate in English

tended to be neglected. There was, of course, an immediate pay-off from the use of Irish in

our debates, because when the time came for us to sit our Irish oral examinations for primary

teaching, we secured high marks. However, lack of wide reading and exposure to cultural

interests and activities meant that our English essays sometimes revealed a paucity of ideas.

There were between eighty and ninety students in the college in my time and

participation in games, mainly hurling, football and handball, was encouraged. Only

occasionally was hot water provided for washing, but this was not greatly missed in that era,

since the general atmosphere was Spartan and we were proud of the fact that we could stand

under the cold shower without flinching. I remember an announcement in the dining room

one evening stating that the war was over. This announcement gave a false impression to

some of us, because we got the idea that this would signal the end of food rationing and food

scarcities. But this was not the case. Thankfully, the Presentation Brothers had their own

bakery in Cork and they produced lovely bread, so, with this, and plenty of the basic foods,

including meat, potatoes, vegetables and rice, we were, generally speaking, well fed. The

college had its own orchard and kitchen garden, so we had plenty of vegetables and locally

grown fruit. Fruit from overseas, however, such as bananas, oranges and grapes, were not to

be had. I remember the first oranges in the shops in Cork after the war. I purchased one and

ate it on the street outside the shop.

Early in 1947, there was a ‘big freeze’, during which the snow remained on the

ground from 27 January to 15 March, and, because of the frozen ground, we were not

allowed out on the playing fields. In place of games, and to ensure that we had exercise, we

were made to go on long walks, something which most of us hated. We prayed fervently for

an end to the frost, but week after week, it seemed to get worse. Finally, two days before St

Patrick’s Day, a thaw set in and, by the time the feast day of Ireland’s national patron

dawned, all the frost and snow had gone. Then it was back to games again. Every year, the

students were divided into a number of teams, each captained by one of the senior students,

and these teams competed in a league to find the best captain and the best team. Each team,

of course, had players in the age range 13-18, and quite a number, including myself, had

ambitions to play for local clubs or counties. These ambitions had to be realised during

school vacation since permission was not granted to students to play with any team, other

than that of the college, during term time. My personal ambitions were partly realised when I

was chosen to be a member of the Askeaton minor team, which won the West Limerick

Minor Hurling championship in 1947. Though I was only fifteen years at the time, I was tall

and, even then, was well on my way to my final height of six feet four inches.

As the summer holidays in 1947 drew to a close, we were informed that, with the

increase in numbers, Coláiste Muire was being reserved for junior students, while the senior

students, including myself, would return to a new venue, Park House, Passage West, Co.

Cork. Like Coláiste Muire, formerly known as

Tramore House, Park House, newly named

Coláiste Treasa, had formerly been the residence

of a member of the gentry. Both houses had been

adapted and extended to make them suitable for

use as residential colleges. There were only two

classes in Coláiste Treasa, the Intermediate

Certificate class, of which I was a member, and

the Leaving Certificate class. During the first

three weeks after our return in 1947, we enjoyed

10: St Teresa's College, Passage West

31

glorious sunshine and, in addition to field games, we went swimming in the tidal Lee estuary

in Passage West. It was then I learned to swim, though, at the time, I did not get far beyond

the basics of moving about and staying afloat in the water. We also had a croquet lawn and

learned the basics of the game of croquet. Unfortunately, some of us mistakenly got the

foolish impression that the Irish climate had changed and that we would be able to play

croquet and go swimming throughout the year. But we were brought back to reality in

October, when the rain came and the wind began to blow. Then we discovered that the

location of Coláiste Treasa, built as it was on a hill overlooking Cork harbour, which was a

scenic but windswept site, was cold, bleak and windy for about nine months of the year.

The academic programme, as at Coláiste Muire, was very focussed on the

examination syllabus. The teaching varied from superb to sound, and there were ongoing

heavy homework assignments. I was greatly aided by my good aural and visual memory. This

was particularly useful for memorising poetry, which had to be done in Irish and English. As

the year progressed, I began to value academic achievement and, by the time the Intermediate

Examination was held in June, 1948, I felt very well prepared. In fact, my main fear was that,

when answering the examination questions, I would not have sufficient time to write down all

that I thought I knew. Meantime, the summer and the sunshine had come around again and

we had time for croquet and swimming. We were not, however, going home for summer

vacation that year. This development came about as a result of a change of policy by the

Presentation Brothers in respect of aspirants to the Congregation.

Though Coláiste Muire and Coláiste Treasa were both juniorates for aspirants to the

congregation of the Presentation Brothers, it was understood that boys needed time to

understand the significance of the decision they would make at the end of their secondary

schooling. In general, between half and three quarters of the students in the Leaving

Certificate would decide to enter the novitiate. The students in my group, consequently, did

not expect to have to make this decision until they had completed the Leaving Certificate,

but, in 1948, the major superiors decided that students would have to make this decision after

Intermediate Certificate. In accordance with this new policy, when I received the results of

my end-of-term examination during the Christmas holidays, I also received a letter informing

me of this change of policy and asking me to think carefully on its implications for me and

my life.

Religious Life Following her normal procedure, my mother told me that this would be my decision and that

she would be happy with whatever I decided. So I went for a walk in our wood and weighed

up the pros and cons and decided that I would return to college and, subsequently, enter the

congregation of the Presentation Brothers. Granted, I was some months short of sixteen years

of age at the time, but I, nevertheless, felt comfortable making this decision. I will also grant

that what I did during my Christmas holidays was merely to formalise a resolution that had

been maturing quietly in my mind for some time. I had felt very comfortable and happy in the

school up to that. Moreover, I related very well to my companions and the students that I

admired most were choosing the same lifestyle. I was happy dealing with intellectual

concepts and I felt that the profession of teacher would suit me. But, even more important,

especially in the formalising of my decision, was the conviction that life was short and that

any decision as to how I would spend my life had to be taken in the context of eternity and

the life to come after death.

One of the Brothers who had a decisive influence on my life and on my decision to

become a Presentation Brothers was Brother Aquinas Neville, whom I mentioned earlier and

whose family was well known to me. When we were in First Year, he gave each of us a little

hard-cover notebook, approximately A6 size, in which he encouraged us to write our

32

favourite prayers. He also gave us prayers for specific occasions e.g. before and after Holy

Communion; before starting study; before an examination; when ill; for a favour; for parents

and loved ones and so on. I remember keeping this little notebook with me for years, until

finally I mislaid it, but I continually use some of the prayers it contained.

In accordance with the new policy, in July, 1948, I and about 25 of my classmates,

made our way to the Presentation Brothers Novitiate at Mount St Joseph, a large imposing

building on Blarney Street, on the northern suburb of Cork city. The first month was very

pleasant and relaxing. Before lunch we did some maintenance work on the grounds or around

the house and in the afternoons we played games or went swimming. The venue for

swimming had to be within walking distance, and apart from the public open swimming pool,

known popularly as ‘the baths’, we had a choice of a part of the river Lee, known as ‘Hell

Hole’, or a smaller tributary of the Lee in Kerry Pike. On 12 August, 1948, I received the

habit of the Presentation Brothers, together with a new name, Brother Matthew, and was

formally inducted as a novice. The novitiate lasted two years and the first year was devoted

almost exclusively to religious studies, including a study of the life of Christ; the New

Testament; the Rules and Constitutions of the Presentation Brothers and the three vows,

chastity, poverty and obedience.

At the end of the first year of novitiate, we were told that, the following year, we

would study for the Leaving Certificate. Personally, I found that, by this time, I had an

enormous intellectual appetite. Again, our course was very focussed, since we all had to do

the same subjects: Irish, English, Latin, History, Geography, Mathematics and Technical

Drawing. I liked every subject and my only problem was that I felt that I did not have

adequate time for homework and study. Brother Evangelist Griffin was a superb teacher of

mathematics and Latin, less so of English and history. The year went quickly and I continued

growing and, by the end of the year, had reached my full height of six feet four inches. Food

was good, but now, owing to the pressure of study, games were confined to Saturdays. I

found Sunday to be a boring day, partly because the day was tightly organised and lacked

adequate change from normal routine, which most people associate with Sunday. Moreover,

we usually had one of those unpopular formal walks in the afternoon.

After a preparatory 8-day retreat, I made my religious profession on 12 August, 1950, and

was assigned to teach at St Joseph’s primary school, Mardyke, Cork, during the following

year. After that, it was assumed I

would begin teacher training or

university studies.

For me there were two notable

events during the year, 1950-1951.

The first was that the furnace broke

down at the beginning of December,

1950, and, after a thorough

examination, the engineer

recommended that not only a new

furnace, but also a complete new

central heating system would have to

be installed. There were, of course,

open fires in the study halls and

common rooms, but no heating in the

chapel or in the bedrooms. In bed, we piled all the blankets we could secure on our beds and

then generated our own heat. I remember times during the day when I was studying with an

enormous overcoat over me. After a time hands and feet would get very cold but I had a

strategy to warm myself. This was to go outside and walk vigorously up and down the avenue

11: JMF, centre, back, after 1st Profession, 1950

33

until I was warm again. Then, it was back to my bedroom to study.

The second event that year was an arrangement whereby, to help some of us to brush

up our science subjects and prepare for entry to the faculty of science at the nearby National

University of Ireland, Cork, we had tuition in chemistry and physics. Though some of my

colleagues regarded these classes as a burden, I welcomed them, since, at secondary school, I

had studied general science rather than the full course in these subjects. Despite the absence

of heat in my bedroom, I persevered with the textbooks in chemistry and physics and slowly

they began to reveal their secrets. At the end of the year, the tutor gave an examination and,

since I scored high in this, it was decided that I would study for a degree in science.

During the three years of temporary profession, we were taken to the West Kerry

Gaeltacht each year for two weeks, during which we combined a vacation at the seaside with

an opportunity to acquire greater fluency in spoken Irish. We had accommodation at

Granville’s Hotel and the two weeks were a very pleasant experience. All the staff, including

old Pádraig, the general dogsbody, spoke Irish fluently. Every morning, even if the rain was

coming down in bucketfuls,

Pádraig would invariably

greet us with ‘Lá brea bog!’

(A lovely soft day). The

Parish Priest, an tAthair

Tomás Moriarty, looked

forward to our annual visit,

partly because our visit

provided him with more

people with whom he could

chat. Once you stopped to

chat with him on the road, it

was difficult to escape from

him. Sometimes, as we

walked to the beach, we had

to make a sudden diversion

to avoid him, and the consequent lengthy chat. I renewed acquaintance with Garóid Ó

Ciomháin, who was in Coláiste Muire with me, but who had returned to work on his small

farm and to continue the family tradition of lobster fishing. I often helped Garóid launch his

naomhóg, or flat bottomed, canvass-covered ketch, which, I found, was quite heavy for two

people to lift and carry to the water. I would row while he checked the lobster pots, removing

lobster, crayfish and larger crabs.

Later, Garóid acted as my guide during a visit to nearby Dún an Óir, now a ruin, and

the site of a famous massacre on 10 September, 1580. A force of 600 Italian and Spanish

troops, under the command of Sebastiano di San Giuseppe, had been sent by Pope Gregory

XIII, to aid the Irish during the Desmond Rebellion. After Richard Bingham had blockaded

the force from the sea at Smerwick Harbour, Giuseppe had no alternative but to take refuge in

the ancient fort, Dún an Óir. Grey and the Earl of Ormond, however, bombarded the fort with

heavy artillery and the defences of the fort collapsed under the fusillade. Giuseppe seems to

have been given to understand that his troops would be given quarter if they surrendered, but,

once they capitulated, Earl Grey ordered the massacre of all the entire Papal force, sparing

only the commanders. In his report to HM Queen Elizabeth I, the Earl wrote, ‘Then I put in

certain bands, who straight fell to execution. There were six hundred slain’. Some Irish

historians, have found evidence that both Walter Raleigh and the poet, Edmund Spencer,

were also present.’34

12: JMF, centre, back, with colleagues in hurling team, 1952

34

Cultural Activities One of the projects which I initiated while I was at Mount St Joseph was the annual

production of an in-house journal, called Iriseán an Chnoic. Like most of the issues, the first

number, produced in 1951, was duplicated, using a ‘gestetner’, rather than printed. The cover,

however, was printed and featured a pen and ink drawing of the building at Mount St Joseph

by Brother Jarlath Linehan (1907-1992). This building was designed by Samuel Francis

Hynes and completed in 1894. The journal featured articles, reports and poems about the

history and work of the Presentation Brothers. Copies were sent to each Presentation House

and articles were also invited for future issues. Since neither I nor my colleagues were able to

touch type, we relied heavily on two older volunteers. These were Brother Albertus Reen

(1889-1990), who typed the material in English and Brother Leopold O’Mahony (1924-

2011), who typed the Irish material. I edited the issues for 1951, 1952 and 1953 and, I am

happy to say, the journal continued until the 1970s. Years later, when I returned to Mount St

Joseph as assistant to the Superior General, I founded another journal, Presentation Studies,

which I have been editing ever since.

Another cultural activity in which I became involved was amateur theatre. During the

Christmas holidays, we usually produced a concert, including a 3-act play. This was the era

of amateur dramatics and there was a good range of suitable plays. Though I also acted, I was

particularly interested in production. Among the plays in which I acted and/or produced were:

‘Professor Tim’ by George Shields; ‘Tomorrow Never Comes’; ‘The Bishop’s Candlesticks’

a dramatic adaptation of Victor Hugho’s Les Misérables; ‘Shadow and Substance’ by Paul

Vincent Carroll and ‘The Whip Hand’ by BG McCarthy. In these productions, men had to

play women’s parts and the provision of appropriate female clothing was usually a big

challenge. In the provision of stage props, the producer also got many opportunities to be

creative.

The play was usually preceded by a short variety concert. The first variety item was a

performance by our resident (makeshift) ensemble playing a selection of tunes, starting and

ending with the signature tune for the then popular BBC programme, ‘Music While You

Work’. We had a variety of instruments: keyboard, violins, a mandolin, a guitar and a button

accordion, while I acted as. One of the instrumentalists, Steve, had the gift of being able to

write down any tune he knew or heard and this proved a valuable asset to the group when we

wished to add to our repertoire. Old habits tend to die slowly! To this day, I still conduct a

little musical ensemble that plays at our liturgies

University Studies In the fall of 1951, I began studies at the National University of Ireland, Cork, popularly

known as UCC, for a BSc degree. In the first year, each student had to study five subjects and

I chose Chemistry, Physics, Mathematics,

Botany and Science French. Since there

was an option to study Chemistry through

the medium of Irish, I was one of only a

handful to make this choice. Though,

studying the subject through Irish did

entail greater effort, this was

counterbalanced by the fact that, owing to

the small number of students choosing this

option, we could get more individual

attention from the lecturer, Raimon Ó

Cinnéide. In the second year, we could

drop some of the subjects and, since I was doing a double honours degree, I chose to

13: UCC, JMF's Alma Mater

35

concentrate on Chemistry and Botany. Partly because of my relationship with the lecturer, I

got to love Botany and, subsequently, completed an MSc in this subject. The morphology

section of the Botany course involved a great deal of classification, something in which I was

able to use my retentive memory.

At the beginning of our practical botany classes, I experienced some difficulty in

cutting sections of plants sufficiently thin to enable me to see all the cells. Eventually, I

discovered a way to obtain excellent sections. This was simply to cut ten sections whenever I

wanted one. I then put the ten sections in the staining solution. When I removed them and

shone a light on them, one could immediately see the sections that were virtually transparent.

These were the ones to put under the microscope, while the others were discarded. The

Botany course also involved the collection, drying and pressing of flowers to form a flora

collection. I greatly enjoyed this, and would go around spying out samples for possible

inclusion in my flora collection. Years later, when I went to the Caribbean, I joined the

Institute of Tropical Botany in an attempt to understand the topical flora. Even today, I find

myself taking note of flowers and herbs as I walk along.

Teaching

I completed my BSc degree

in the autumn of 1954 and

was immediately assigned

to teach at Presentation

College, Mardyke, Cork. I

was to reside in nearby

Mardyke House, where I

now live. This Georgian-

style house was built about

1809 by Major-General Sir

Robert Travers, a ranking

officer in the 95th Rifle

Brigade of the British army.

Born in County Cork, he

had the unusual distinction

of having five more

brothers, who were also officers in the British army. Moreover, three of the five brothers had

been knighted for their services. Even more significant, perhaps, was the fact that seven of Sir

Robert’s sons served in the British army, one, General James Travers VC CB, winning the

Victoria Cross. At the time there were about five acres of ground attached and the house,

which was bounded by the road on the south side and by the northern channel of the river Lee

on the northern side.

Mardyke Walk, on which the house was located, was originally a semi-private avenue

and even when I arrived there in 1954, there was no through traffic. At the lodge, beside the

present UCC Granary theatre, there was a barrier, permitting only pedestrian traffic

westwards. Vehicular traffic had to enter midway in the avenue, opposite the UCC gate.

Along the stream, which was then the only remaining relic of the original sea dyke, was a

row of elm trees, immortalised in the ballad, ‘The Banks of my own Lovely Lee’. The

relevant words were, ‘My heart was as light as the fair wind that blows down the Mardyke

through each elm tree’. These elm trees also formed the background to a short story by Sean

Ó Faolain, one of Ireland’s great men of letters. It will be remembered that Sean’s first home

was 1 Mardyke Place, before the family moved to more spacious accommodation at Half

Moon Street, Cork. These famed elm trees fell victim to Dutch Elm Disease in the 1970s and

14: JMF, 3rd, back row, with BSc Hons. class, UCC, 1954

36

had to be cut down.

Next door to Mardyke House was Mardyke Cottage, originally on the same plot of

ground. This was built as a ‘dower’ house for Harriet Laetitia, nee Belford, wife of Sir Robert

Travers, about 1818. The dower house was a provision made by some members of the gentry

for a widow, after the death of her husband. With this arrangement, the eldest son, who

usually inherited the father’s property, could, if married, take up residence in his father’s

house, confident that provision had been made for his mother. This, therefore, was the

rationale under pinning the building of Mardyke Cottage as a Dower House.

There have been several owners of Mardyke House, following General Travers,

whose widow sold the property after his death in 1838. We note here only a few of the

owners, including Samuel Bleazley (1835), William Tomkins (1873-1879), Dr PJ Cremin

(1879-c.1900) and Mr HT Wright (c.1900-1922). Mr Wright, a British official, was ‘collector

of taxes’ in the south of Ireland and resident at Mardyke House when the Anglo-Irish Treaty

was signed in 1922. British officials were then given a choice: either remain in Ireland under

the new administration in the 26 counties or return to the United Kingdom. In the UK, there

was a further option, namely, to go to one of the British colonies and take up an appointment

at a higher grade. Mr Wright declined to work with the new Irish administration, opted to

return to the UK and put the Mardyke House property on the market. It was then purchased

by the Presentation Brothers as a residence for the Brothers who were teaching at nearby

Presentation College.

The grounds at Mardyke House were very pleasant and the younger members of the

community, like myself, derived special pleasure from having the northern channel of the

river Lee at the rear of our garden. There was a slip from which a boat could be launched, but

our preferred activity was fishing. Though the trout we caught were small, they tasted

beautiful.

Tuberculosis During the year 1954-1955, in addition to teaching, I also attended evening classes at UCC

and, at the end of the year, obtained a Higher Diploma in Education, which was a

requirement for registration as a secondary teacher. The satisfaction I felt at this, and the

successful completion of my first year teaching in secondary school, was overshadowed,

however, by a medical diagnosis, which revealed that I had active tuberculosis in my right

lung. At the time, Ireland was just coming to terms with the scourge of tuberculosis and the

current treatment could only be had in a sanatorium. I was, accordingly, packed off to

Heatherside, a sanatorium on the lower reaches of the hills north of Doneraile, Co. Cork. The

main part of the sanatorium was built in 1909, in accordance with the practice of the period to

expose patients as much as possible to fresh air. This practice was still in operation when I

arrived there and one door of my bedroom opened out on a lawn and was left open all day.

Antibiotics had come into use in the treatment of the disease in 1946 and I was put on a

course of streptomycin. In 1949, another drug, para-aminosalycilic acid or PARA, was found

to be effective and I was also treated with this. Subsequently, they tried isoniazid or INA and,

finally, pyrazinamide on me. I made excellent progress, but, since the minimum stay in a

sanatorium was six months, I was not released for a year.

At that time, there were still traces of the fear of tuberculosis in Ireland, since, in the

past, it had generally proved fatal. Moreover, there was also a lingering stigma attached to the

disease. When somebody was diagnosed with it, members of that family often felt

embarrassed, even ashamed. As a result of this, following a positive diagnosis, most patients

initially tended to minimise their condition. One poor man, for whom the disease was in an

advanced condition when he arrived in Heatherside, kept saying, ‘I’m lucky, I was caught in

time!’ Even the man’s physical appearance suggested that this statement was arguable, but

37

the other patients merely nodded and promptly christened him ‘Caught in Time’. I have to

admit that, initially, I felt the same way towards the disease and I did not tell my family about

my condition for several months.

While I was in Heatherside, I was joined by another Presentation Brother, Ferdinand

Guckian, who was a great reader. Now one thing every patient had in a sanatorium in that

period was plenty of time and I chose to devote my time to reading. Ferdinand introduced me

to the great Russian novelists, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Gogol and Maxim Gorki and, with his

encouragement, I persevered in reading the better known works of these famous authors,

often discussing them with him later. At the end of the year, we were both released from the

sanatorium with clean bills of health and, after a holiday at home, I was sent to Coláiste

Treasa, Passage West, to recuperate.

Recuperation

The house in Passage West had been closed as a juniorate the previous year and it never

operated as such again. My stay there was pleasant, though I became ambivalent about the

advantage of the house being located on top of a hill overlooking the village. Pleasant as it

was to freewheel down the hill to the church and the village, I had to pay for this indulgence

when pushing the bicycle all the way back up again.

In the quiet of Passage West, I devoted my spare time to two new activities. One was

studying privately for a BA external in English and Latin from the University of London.

This was a valued qualification at the time and was a wonderful path to a university degree

for people who did not have access to a university. It was a prestigious qualification in

overseas British Colonies and there is a story of a teacher in India who listed a qualification

after his name as, ‘BA (London External), Failed’. In my case, I continued the course only as

far as ‘Intermediate Arts’, approximately first year level, before abandoning it in favour of

research for an MSc. The other activity I took up was shooting. While the study kept me at

my desk, the shooting took me out walking along the estuary, through the fields and woods. I

fear, however, that I did as much bird watching as shooting and my game bag was generally

empty on my return from shooting expeditions.

Back to ‘Pres’ In August, 1957, I was judged ready to return to full-time teaching and I was assigned to

Presentation College, Cork, to teach science, while residing in my old room in Mardyke

House. At the time, science teachers in Ireland were trying to put pressure on the Department

of Education to provide laboratory assistants in schools with science laboratories. School

inspectors were advocating, even insisting, that science teachers facilitate students in

performing science experiments themselves, rather than merely watching the teacher do

demonstrations, but this was impossible, unless there was a laboratory assistant to set up the

equipment and lay out reagents. In those days, secondary teachers taught 22 hours a week

and, for most of the day, moved from one class to another, without a break. Moreover, some

of the laboratories were occupied throughout most of the school day, though there was

usually a small secure room off the laboratory where specialised equipment and chemicals

could be stored. While a laboratory assistant could use this area to prepare materials for

different classes, the teacher could not do this work, since it would mean leaving a class

unattended. I mention this matter here because almost sixty years later, this problem has not

yet been solved: science teachers are still calling for a laboratory assistant and in significant

sections of the school science syllabus, students do not an opportunity to do relevant

experiments themselves.

In ‘Pres’, I got involved in several extra-curricular activities. One from which there

was no escape was school rugby. In my class, I had some great rugby players, especially:

38

Jerry Walsh, later capped for Ireland 26 times; Tom Kiernan, who was capped 56 times and

captained Ireland on 24 occasions. Perhaps one of Tommy’s greatest achievements, however,

was his coaching Munster to defeat the All Blacks in 1978. He was also Irish coach when

they won the Triple Crown in 1982. I remember playing against Jerry and Tommy in a staff

versus students game. One incident in that game stands out for me. Jerry was running at full

tilt for the line to score a try when I confidently intercepted him, fully expecting that I would

bring him to the ground. However, Jerry managed to feint and gave me the most violent

‘hand-off’ into the nose! With flashing lights in my eyes, I scarcely saw him as he touched

down for a brilliant try. The ‘Pres’ rugby coach at the time was Pat Barry, who trained a

couple of generations of players.

As a means of fostering the literary talents and inclinations of students, I founded a

Wall Magazine, on which I posted drawings, cartoons, poems, essays and reports on school

sporting and cultural activities. I built up a network of student contributors and every

Monday morning I would post a fresh edition, around which students would crowd to read

the new material. I also renewed my interest in drama, especially in production. In the late

1950s and early 1960s, ‘Pres’ produced some good school shows, starting with ‘Snow White’

and going on to Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. My colleague, Tom O’Brien, was music

director and I was responsible for scenery, props and general backstage management. Among

the schoolboy stars were Robert Carlile, who later moved to the Abbey Theatre, and Michael

Casey, later musical director at RTE, who was the backbone of the orchestra.

Dan Donovan

At the time, Dan Donovan, a teacher at ‘Pres’, was active in the Presentation Theatre Guild,

of which he was co-founder in 1942. This group of past students of the school, initially under

the direction of Dermot Breen, founder of the Cork Film Festival,

enjoyed great success in drama competitions in the 1940s and 1950s.

They were frequent winners at drama festivals, including Cork (1946)

with RC Sherrif’s Journey’s End; Cork (1947) with Black Stranger by

Gerard Healy and Thunder Rock (1950) by Robert Audrey. Among the

religious plays which the Guild presented were Behold Your King

(1949), The Trial of Christ (1952), Caesar’s Friend (1954) and Murder

in the Cathedral (1956). When I returned to ‘Pres’ in 1957, I asked Dan

Donovan, now producer of all the Guild’s shows, if I could understudy

him, watching his direction from the wings, with a view to picking up a

few tips. This Dan readily and generously agreed. That is how I came to be an insignificant

part of the Guild’s production of Alessandro Manzoni’s I Promessi Sposi in 1958 and Ugo

Betti’s, The Queen and the Rebels, in 1959. This latter production was winner of the A class

in the Cork Drama Festival and received enthusiastic praise from the adjudicators. Michael

Twomey, who later became well-known as an actor and producer in Cork, was a member of

the cast.

My association with the Presentation Theatre Guild was interrupted in 1959 when I

was assigned to the Caribbean. Dan Donovan went on to found the Everyman Theatre in

Cork and to act in and produce a great variety of wonderful shows. Though he retired from

acting and producing in 1985, he continued as a member of the management team of the

Everyman Theatre until 1998.

Scientific Research On my return to teach at ‘Pres’, I made contact with Oliver Roberts, professor of Botany at

UCC. We had remained friends since the days I was a part-time member of his staff as

director of practical classes for the year, 1954-1955. He invited me to join in a research

15: Dan Donovan

39

project he was directing at the time. This research project involved a search for a suitable

method of ‘blinding’ drains, at the bottom of which concrete pipes had been laid to drain

away excess water from low-lying farms.

At the time, the Irish Government was giving generous grants to farmers to drain land

and make it more productive. Within a few years, however, it was found that, on many farms,

the concrete pipes had been infiltrated by plant roots. Moreover, the moist conditions within

the pipes facilitated enormous growth of these roots, so that, eventually they completely

clogged up the drainage pipes and led to a renewal of winter flooding of the land. It was

agreed that the problem was primarily a botanical one and Roberts accepted the challenge to

devise a solution. I, as a part-time researcher, was asked to make this problem the focus of

my research. My final Master’s thesis would consist of a description of my experiments,

together with a literature review, an analysis of my results and some practical

recommendations. Fortunately, I included a statistical analysis of my results, because I found

that the external examiner regarded this as essential for the validity of my findings.

My research involved the examination of a range of carriers for known and effective

herbicides. If a cheap and suitable carrier for the herbicide was found, then the pipes could be

covered with a layer of this treated medium before blinding with soil. My work involved not

only experiments in the laboratory and in the University glass house but, also, visits to farms

to inspect both the effects of the root growth, and review various unsuccessful previous

attempts to solve the problem. After two year’s work, I found two herbicide carriers that were

suitable. The first and best was sterile white clay from Kilkenny and the second was peat

dust, both cheap and available in great quantities.

The Irish Department of Agriculture was so pleased with the work of Professor

Roberts and I that they decided to offer a scholarship for a three-year research project on the

topic. The research could form the basis of a PhD degree. At the time, I was writing up the

final draft of my MSc thesis, and Roberts, who had read a preliminary draft, advised me to

apply for this scholarship. He also made the point that, if I wished, there would also be a part-

time lecturing post for me in his department. My reply was that I would personally be very

interested, but, as a member of a religious congregation, the final decision would rest with my

superior. So I completed and submitted my thesis and put the proposal about the scholarship

and doctoral degree to my provincial superior. The provincial’s reply came back within two

weeks. The doctoral proposal was turned down, and, instead, I was assigned to teach in a new

secondary school, for which the congregation had assumed responsibility, in Chaguanas,

Trinidad, in the English-speaking Caribbean.

Though I was somewhat disappointed that my proposal for doctoral research had

been turned down by my superior, I was not devastated. One of the first things instilled into

young religious in my day was that the religious superiors always know best and that,

ultimately, they mediate the will of God for the individual religious. A more cynical friend of

mine put it another way, remarking that one of the purposes of the religious life (in the

middle of the twentieth century, at any rate) was to cut right across an individual’s personal

desires. I think that the decision of my superior must also be seen in the context of the

religious thinking of the period. Part of this thinking was the idea that the individual exists

mainly for the furtherance of the ministries of his religious congregation, not, as might be

held today, to use his own particular talents in the task of realising the kingdom of God on

earth. During the remaining weeks of the mid-summer vacation of 1959, I began to clean out

my bedroom. I passed on my classroom notes to a colleague and did some preliminary

reading on the English-speaking islands of the Caribbean.

Homepage

40

Chapter 4

Sojourn in the Caribbean

ollowing a leisurely voyage in a French boat, I arrived in Port of Spain, Trinidad,

towards the end of August, 1959. There were three other Presentation Brothers with

me: Anthony Sheehan, who immediately left for the island of St Lucia; Ferdinand

Guckian, who went on to the island of Barbados, and John T Curran, who remained in

Trinidad, but moved to the southern city of San Fernando. I was assigned to the staff of the

college of SS Philip and James in Chaguanas in the centre of Trinidad. Shortly before I

arrived, the college had moved to a new building and the principal, Brother Harry Kelly, took

me to see the campus the next day. Not only Harry, but the entire college staff, was

immensely proud of the new building.

Chaguanas, Trinidad

After touring the library, the principal’s office, the staff room and a few classrooms, we went

to see the playing fields. It was then in the middle of the wet season and the first thing I saw

in the middle of the field were two giant water buffalo, sunk to their heads in two large water

holes, which they had made for themselves. My readers will remember that these animals

love soft ground and that, in the rainy season, if permitted, they will always make holes for

themselves, allow them to fill with water, and then relax. Nearby were some goats, two of

which were tethered in a nice patch of savannah grass, while, some distance away, a skinny

cow was also tethered. There was no fence around the campus and I noted that the animals

did not confine their perambulations to the so-called playing field, but, instead, wandered all

over the campus, the goats eating any shrubs that did not have thorns.

That evening, Harry and I had a conference. We agreed that, since the academic work

of the school had to go ahead, I, as Deputy Head, would give my full attention to this, while

Harry, who liked anything to do with building, would see to the erection of fences and the

creation of a playing field out of the swamp at the rear of the college buildings. During the

following months, Harry worked marvels: using daily paid labour, he erected a fence

enclosing the entire campus and made arrangements with the local sugar estate to borrow

their tractors and graders to dig up and then grade the playing field. Since the entire campus

was little above sea level, levels were critical to ensure run off of rain water. But, with

generous help from a surveyor at the sugar estate, for which the parents of most of the

students were working, Harry installed suitable drains. Then came the challenge of planting

grass and here both Harry and I learned something important about the botany of tropical

grasses.

The two most useful grasses in the tropics are Pangola grass for feeding animals and

savannah grass for lawns and playing fields. Both of these grasses, however, are not normally

propagated by seed. Instead, they spread by vegetative propagation. We wanted savannah

grass for the playing field, so we had first to gather handfuls of grass with roots attached, and

then plant them in the field, allowing one clump per square foot. Then, lo and behold, with

rain and sunshine, each clump spread out to cover the intervening space, thereby forming a

beautiful green carpet. Harry also planted lots of trees and flowering shrubs.

On the southern side of the college building, he planted a line of Royal Palms

(Roystonea Regia), which can grow to one hundred feet in height. Around the playing field,

he planted a selection of trees, chosen for both beauty and shade. In between the giant

Samaan trees were pink and yellow Pouia. The Samaan (Samanea Saman) or Rain tree is a

dome-shaped evergreen about seventy feet high that provides superb shade. The pink

F

41

(Tabebuia Pentaphlla) and yellow (Tabebuia Seratifolia) Pouia were chosen for their

flowers, as well as for shade. They flower in January, before the new leaves appear and, in

combination with the Samaan, form a delightful picture. Since no tropical grounds would

appear complete without the glorious Poinciana or Flamboyante tree (Delonix Regia), some

samples of this tree were also added.

While Harry was giving a good deal of attention to the grounds, I was giving my

attention to the school. One of the problems we faced at that time was the fact that, whereas

the school year began in January and ended in December, the university year began in

October. This meant that teachers, who had planned to go to university, would leave in

September, and new teachers had to take over classes that were already supposed to have

completed their examination syllabus. It took some years, and then only after the local

campus of the University was established, before the school year was altered to start in

September. In the matter of public examinations, the Cambridge General Certificate of

Education (GCE), at Ordinary and Advanced level, were well established in Trinidad and

most of the islands of the British Caribbean. I found these examinations very satisfactory, not

least because they constituted a widely accepted academic currency. When our students

applied to a British University, the admissions office there was immediately able to evaluate

our students’ qualifications and signify acceptance or otherwise without delay.

When I arrived in Chaguanas, the college was known as the College of Ss Philip and

James, but, because it had come under the ownership and management of the Presentation

Brothers, it was renamed Presentation College Chaguanas or PCC. In the south of Trinidad

was our sister college, Presentation College San Fernando. Whereas Presentation College San

Fernando had an enrolment that was about 45% Catholic, the corresponding figure in

Chaguanas was only 27% when I arrived in 1959. The religious affiliation of the remainder of

the students was approximately as follows: 45% Hindu, 15% Muslim, 8% Anglican and 5%

other Christian. Though the majority of the teachers were Catholic, there were also

representatives of other denominations among them. We had a short school assembly each

morning, including a brief prayer, which different students, of different religious affiliation,

in turn, led. We agreed that the best well-known common prayer was the Lord’s Prayer and

this was used, in association with a short prayer, written by the student leader. Ethnically,

more than 60% of the students, including Muslims, were East Indian, whose ancestors had

come to Trinidad as indentured servants, to work in the sugar cane estates during the

nineteenth century.

Though the Presentation Brothers and Most Rev Finbar Ryan, Archbishop of Port of

Spain, were happy to operate a Catholic school in which only 27% of the students were

Catholic, not every Catholic clergyman was in agreement. The latter would argue that, with

limited resources, the school should be located in an area where

there was a higher proportion of Catholics. That, however,

involved ignoring some facts. The first and most basic was that a

parish priest, Fr Max Murphy, founded this school in the 1940s, as

a relatively small project, to provide second level education for the

children of Catholic parents in his parish. There were then no

objections to this small benevolent project. However, divine

providence took a hand in the matter and the school grew and

improved and its reputation spread. Non-Catholic parents then

began to request admission for their children and, gradually, the

school expanded and flourished to the point it had reached when I

arrived in 1959. I must admit that my intention, and that of my

fellow Presentation Brothers, was to build on the foundations

already laid and to go on to greater success. In other words, in

16: Fr Max Murphy, Chaguanas

42

place of a second level school of merely local significance and reputation, we had ambitions

to make the school into an academy of national standing. This is what we did and there was

national recognition of this ten years after I arrived when one of our students won the

Jerningham Gold medal for being the candidate with the highest marks in the country in the

Cambridge GCE Advanced level examination.

But even this achievement did not settle the argument as to whether non-Catholic

students should be made welcome in significant numbers in Catholic schools. This debate,

however, was not new. Something similar raged in the early Christian Church, with Origen in

the third century opting for openness and Tertullian advocating separateness and expressing

fear of other cultures and religions. Moreover, the same argument moved from the theoretical

to the practical in Birmingham in 1993, when the Oratorian Fathers decided to close the

renowned St Philip’s College on the grounds that it was no longer viable as a Catholic

institution because the number of Catholic students had fallen to 19%, the remainder being

non-Catholic. Catholic parents and some school governors protested the threatened closure

and appealed the matter to Rome. After due consideration, Cardinal Pio Laghi, Prefect of the

Congregation for Catholic Education, sent a reply. He stated that, in the first instance, the

Church did not like to see any Catholic school closed and, in the second, throughout its entire

history, the Church had regarded schools as one of the most effective means of

evangelisation. Moreover, he said, the Catholic Church, in a spirit of friendship and

humanity, is happy to share its educational facilities with people of other religions. I venture

to suggest that this, in effect, is still the rationale underpinning the educational policy of

Presentation College, Chaguanas, which, though no longer owned or managed by the

Presentation Brothers, continues its ministry in the name of the Catholic Church.35

I established good relations with the local Maha Sabha Hindu school, especially with

the principal, whose sons were attending our college. He always invited me to functions held

at his school, which often included demonstrations of classical Hindu music and dancing.

There were local organising committees in every village in 1962 in preparation for the

declaration of independence of Trinidad and Tobago, within the British Commonwealth. I

was a member of the Chaguanas committee and one of my duties was to visit the outlying

villages to witness their cultural presentations, which often took the form of variety concerts.

There was great variety in the concert items, the producers striving to reflect the different

cultural elements in the local community. As Independence Day (31 August, 1962) drew

near, we all made an attempt to decorate our buildings. Since the college was a comparatively

large building, we ran out of bunting and had to make an emergency purchase of some hastily

manufactured decorative material. It consisted of a large roll of cloth, printed in horizontal

bands of white, red and black, the colours of the new national flag of Trinidad and Tobago. It

was one of my first experiences of a scam in Trinidad, because the manufacturer opted for a

quickie job with inferior dye. The day before Independence, there was heavy rain and, when

it cleared, I found that the new Trinidad and Tobago colours had ‘run’ in the cloth and the

flag material across the top of the college was a multicoloured mess.

Chaguanas was close to the famous Caroni Swamp, a tidal mangrove wetland,

covering some 15,000 acres along the western coast. Harry and I decided to purchase a small

flat-bottom boat and an outboard engine and we had many pleasant Sunday afternoons in the

swamp. One of the chief attractions was a colony of Scarlet Ibis (Eudocimus Ruber), which

roost and breed there. The birds derive their brilliant colour from the shrimp and red shellfish

which they eat in the swamps. Many other species of bird are to be found in the swamp also,

including cattle egrets, snowy egrets, little egrets, roseate spoonbills, herons, wood duck and

birds of prey. Since the swamp is tidal there is also an abundance of fish and shellfish. I

remember, on one occasion, fishing there with two of the boys attending the college. One

time, when we pulled in a line, we found a sting ray hooked, which the boys promptly

43

released, having a healthy respect for its vicious sting. On numerous occasions, we saw

alligators, which are common in Trinidad.

During the first year in Chaguanas, we did not have our own house, so Harry and I

resided in the presbytery, with Canon Max Murphy, the parish priest. Though he had a

common Irish surname, Max was an American Negro from Texas. He had opted for the

priesthood long before the era of civil rights, at a time when very few, if any, Catholic

dioceses in the USA were accepting black aspirants. The consequence of this was that Max

and another black colleague were sent to Czechoslovakia to complete their seminary training

before World War II. After ordination, he came to minister in the archdiocese of Port of

Spain, Trinidad. It was he who first envisaged and established the college. Living at the

presbytery enabled us to meet and get to know a large number of parishioners.

Our New House

Some months after our arrival in Chaguanas, Harry was given approval by our major

superiors for the building of a residence for the Brothers. Though he chose an experienced

builder, he insisted on acting as

architect himself. One of the features

in Harry’s design was a perforated

outer wall on the southern side of the

house. In order to ensure a permanent

breeze through the house, Harry used

perforated bricks from top to bottom.

The rationale unpinning this strategy

was excellent and the design looked

attractive on paper. He had, however,

forgotten about snakes and insect life

in the topics, and, after taking up residence there, almost every morning when we came

downstairs, we found a couple of small snakes curled up at the foot of the wall. Most of these

snakes were not only small but harmless and, once we got accustomed to them, we disposed

of them by getting them on to a stick and throwing them out on the grass. Occasionally,

however, we found a coral snake (Micrurus circinalis), which is poisonous and which can be

identified by its concentric rings of black, yellow and red. To complicate matters, there was

also a ‘false’ coral snake (Anilius Scytale), which mimics the red and black, while lacking the

yellow of the true coral. When I consulted old Tan, our night watchman, he gave me a rule of

thumb to distinguish one from the other. It was in the form of a children’s rhyme, ‘Red on

black venom lack; black on yellow, dangerous fellow’.

In addition to the snakes, there was another poisonous insect which sometimes made

its way mysteriously to our bedrooms. This was the centipede, which loves to hide in dark

corners, such as shoes or socks left lying on the floor. We soon learned that the secret of

controlling centipedes in the house was regular cleaning and sweeping of floors. Scorpions

are also common in Trinidad, but they are usually found in sheds, storerooms and anywhere

they have protection from the elements.

The perforated bricks also gave free entry to mosquitoes and flying insects. Since the

land in Chaguanas is flat and is adjacent to the Caroni swamp, it is infested with mosquitoes.

Every evening, at the onset of darkness, the mosquitoes appeared in clouds. One could hear

the combined sound from thousands of these insects, all, apparently, ravenous for a white

man’s blood. The period between sundown and bedtime was a hazardous time, when

considerable energy had to be given to evading bites from mosquitoes. One solution was to

lie on my bed reading, with the mosquito net spread over me. It will be recalled that this was

17: Our house, Chaguanas, built by Harry, 1960

44

the era before television, so reading was the main leisure activity at night. As soon as I got

careless, however, and allowed an arm to rest on the headboard of the bed, lo and behold, a

clever mosquito smelled my flesh and deftly stung me through the net. I always associate

being stung by mosquitoes in Chaguanas with the beautiful tropical plant, Lady of the Night

(Brunfelsia Americana). This plant was in a pot under my window, but I rarely noticed its

beautiful perfume during the day. On a still night, however, the odour was strong and almost

intoxicating as it came wafting through my bedroom window. This was one of the few times

that I felt thankful for Harry’s perforated bricks.

Birds

I was not long in Trinidad when I met Richard ffrench, the naturalist. At the time, Richard, in

his leisure hours, was doing work for the World Wild Life Trust, especially ringing birds that

passed through Trinidad during migration. I offered my services and we worked together for

some years. One of the first flocks that I helped to ring were the Dickcissel (Spica

Americana), finch-like seed-eating birds, that breed in the mid-western USA, but which

migrate to central and south America. Flocks would stop off in Trinidad for a few days while

on migration and feed on the rice fields. They travelled in huge flocks and, when coming in

to roost in the evening, would darken the sky. We used mist nets to catch and ring them.

Another group of birds we studied were terns, which bred on an uninhabited small

island, Soldado, off the south coast of Trinidad. There we founded several species of tern,

including the Roseate (Sterna Dougallii), the Noddy (Anous Minutus), the Common (Sterna

Hirundo) and the Sooty (Sterna Fuscata). In one of our ringing expeditions, a group of

entomologists from the Rockefeller Research Station in Trinidad came with us, and, while we

ringed the terns, the scientists collected parasitic lice from the birds’ webbed feet. These lice

were taken away to undergo laboratory examination to see if they were hosts to bacterial

strains that carried diseases, especially fevers, which were endemic in Trinidad.

Richard was, meantime, working on a book on the birds of Trinidad and Tobago. At

the time, I was keeping a sharp lookout for birds on our grounds to alert Richard to the

presence of any strange species. There was one bird that visited our playing fields at night

and which I could not identify, mainly because the flock did not arrive until sundown and

was gone before sunrise. These birds, however, did have a distinctive call, which resembled

the sound a small animal would make. Richard, in fact, later described the call as a

‘penetrating, high-pitched squeal’. I kept asking him to call at the college, but, each time he

came, the birds had gone. Finally, I asked him to come for afternoon tea and to wait until the

birds arrived. Fortunately, the birds came early that evening and he was able to get a look at

them through binoculars. He finally identified them as Southern or Cayenne Lapwing

(Vanellus Chilensis), which spent their days on the sea shore, but came at night for the tasty

snacks in our playing field.36

Before I leave this section on birds, I must mention the pleasure I got twice a year

when swallows stopped off for a rest in Chaguanas on their migration from North to South

America and vice versa. Since our playing field was the largest clear green area for some

distance, the swallows made it their collection area. While some of the birds crowded the

goal posts and roof of the college building, others quartered the field feeding on flies. Far

above them, circling in the sky, would often be a peregrine falcon, attracted by the flock and

waiting its opportunity to dive on one of the little birds.

Snakes and Cricket After two years and with the house completed, Harry was transferred to Presentation College,

Barbados, and three new Brothers, Liguori O’Mahony, Cyril O’Sullivan and Bosco Stack,

joined me in Chaguanas. The first two have sadly passed to their eternal reward, while Bosco

45

is still with us. Cyril had always been a sports enthusiast, though not an athlete himself. Soon,

however, he acquired a great love of cricket and was passionate about the college cricket

team. Though a big energetic man, he had a horror of insects and snakes, something which is

integral to the following story. The story is also obliquely connected with Harry’s perforated

wall. As I acquired more and more practice throwing out the snakes that came into the ground

floor of our residence, I began to experiment with putting the smaller ones into bottles. I

discovered that snakes can go for weeks, even months, without eating. I then put one into a

cigar case, added a couple of drops of water to ensure a moist atmosphere, made a little hold

for air, and replaced the cap. I then put the cigar case into a jam jar, in which I kept pens and

markers and forgot about the little snake.

All our bedrooms opened on to a balcony on the north side of the house and faced the

cricket pitch, giving an excellent, even a grand-stand view of cricket games. One afternoon,

while I toiled at my desk marking student assignments, Cyril was seated outside watching our

senior college team playing a colleges’ league game. Our best batsman, Ram, a special

favourite of Cyril, was at the crease with a score of 96 not out. If he could reach 100, it would

be the first century ever scored in college cricket and our supporters were supportive and

encouraging, even vociferous, calling out, ‘Four more runs, four more runs’. The best bowler

for the opposing team took the ball and walked back to the mark from which he would begin

his run. Ram took his stance, hoping for a boundary.

Just before that, however, Cyril got up to stretch and looked in at my desk. The cigar

case immediately caught his eye, and, being curious, he stretched out his hand and took it,

remarking, ‘I like your taste in cigars, Matt’. He then unscrewed the cap of the cigar case,

whereupon the little snake darted out its head, baring its fangs. Cyril screamed and dropped

the cigar case and the little snake disappeared. There were, however, much more serious

consequences at the cricket crease. At the very instant that Cyril screamed, the bowler had

released the ball and Ram, who would normally have his eyes glued to the ball as it looped

towards him, took his eye off the ball, and, instead, glanced up to the balcony, where his

mentor stood. Poor Ram was clean bowled and the umpire raised the dreaded finger,

signalling that he was out. Cyril was extremely annoyed. I suspected that, secretly, he was

angry with himself for creating the distraction that deprived Ram of a century in College

cricket. But the nearest tangible object of Cyril’s frustration was my poor self, who, as far as I

could see, had done nothing wrong, but who, in Cyril’s eyes, was the remote cause of the

entire debacle. So he blurted out, ‘Blast you, Feheney, you and your bloody snakes’, as he

strode out on to the field to console poor Ram.

Meantime, I had been appointed principal of the college and I nominated Cyril as

games master. He was a tower of strength and became a central figure in sport in the local

community. Wes Hall, the legendary West Indian fast bowler, was, at that time, coaching

under-age cricketers in Trinidad and Wes and Cyril struck up a great partnership. Moreover,

Cyril was also responsible for fostering the talents of some young cricketers, several of whom

were later picked for the Trinidad and Tobago national team, with two making the West

Indies team.

Catholic Education Policy In 1962, I was elected secretary of the Association of Principals of Assisted Secondary

Schools (APASS), something which led to my involvement in the formation of Catholic

educational policy in Trinidad and Tobago for the remainder of my time there. This

association catered for all denominational secondary schools, which were in receipt of

financial aid from the Government. The Government, led by Dr Eric Williams, had, in 1960,

signed an agreement with representatives of religious denominations in respect of the

management and financing of these schools. This document, signed on behalf of the

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Government by the Minister of Education on Christmas Day, 1960, became known as the

‘Concordat’. One of the provisions in this agreement was that, in return for payment of staff

salaries and maintenance grants, the Ministry of Education would have the right to select

80% of first year entrants to assisted secondary schools, from an order-of-merit pass list,

based on the results of a national Common Entrance Examination. This arrangement was

already in operation when, in 1962, the Government began preparations for new

comprehensive legislation, designed to govern all aspects of public education in Trinidad and

Tobago. I was chosen as the representative of APASS to work on a small Government-

appointed committee that would review a preliminary draft of a new Education Act. The draft

was significantly amended in the light of our discussions and was finally passed as The

Education Act 1966.37

I

In subsequent years, a good deal of the activity of the APASS had to do with attempts

to get the Government to raise capitation grants for maintenance so as to keep pace with the

rise in the cost of living and to induce the Ministry of Education to expedite the appointment

of staff. In 1921, the amount of money each student paid in school fees was fixed at $16 TT

per term. This figure was left unchanged by the Hammond Committee of Inquiry in 1956.

When the Government began to pay salaries of teachers, the figure of $16 TT was retained,

but now earmarked for operational expenses. This figure was again reaffirmed in 1960 and,

up to the time I departed from Trinidad in 1975, I was involved in negotiations to have this

amount raised to a more realistic figure. One of my last memoranda, on behalf of APASS, to

the Ministry of Education, was on this very subject. Yet there was no change in this figure for

another two years, but, by that time, I had left Trinidad.38

In1973, the Archbishop of Port of Spain appointed me as chairperson of a Conference

on the Future of Catholic schools in Trinidad and Tobago. Together with a central advisory

committee, we organised the country into regions and got principals and managers to hold

preliminary conferences in their areas. The regions then sent their reports and delegates to a

plenary conference held in Port of Spain on 11-13 October, 1973. About 200 people attended

and the proceedings were subsequently published in book format.39

It became obvious that the Catholic Church in Trinidad and Tobago had a long history

of involvement in Catholic education, dating from the 18th century. The numbers of Catholic

schools, primary and secondary, had steadily increased during the nineteenth and twentieth

century and the Catholic community was a beneficiary of this Trojan effort. Though

Catholics only constituted 36% of the population in 1973, 37% of all teachers were Catholic.

At primary level, 48% of all children in private primary schools were Catholic, while the

figure for public primary schools was 34% and that for intermediate schools was 70%. At

secondary level, 48 % of all students in public secondary schools were Catholic, while 34%

of all students in private secondary schools were Catholic. The 1973 conference concluded

that this huge investment in Catholic schooling warranted serious planning for the future,

with special emphasis on long-term policy. It is arguable whether these objections were

achieved in the intervening forty years between then and now.40

After the conclusion of the conference on Catholic education in 1973, I gave some of

my spare time to researching the history of Catholic

education in Trinidad. The results of

this research were incorporated in my

MA thesis on that subject, submitted to

the University of the West Indies and,

subsequently published in the volume,

Catholic Education in Trinidad in the

Nineteenth Century (Four Courts Press,

2001). More recently (2010), I

47

published a companion volume, Catholic Education in Trinidad and Tobago in the Twentieth

Century.

Arising from my work as secretary to APASS, I became involved in the early 1970s

in the teaching of religious education at secondary level. To this end, I formed a core group,

including Fr Terence Julien, Sr Gloria D’Ornellas SJC, Sr Patricia De Freitas SHF, Paul

Borelly and others and began to offer short courses to Catholic teachers during weekends and

vacation time. It was a period of transition in the use of texts for religious education at second

level, with the older apologetics-type texts being discarded, but new suitable texts not yet

written. The more experienced teachers were able to create their own teaching material, but

the younger less experienced ones were finding it difficult to keep going. Within this context,

our catechetics courses not only gave practical help in providing copies of material that could

be duplicated and used in class, but they also greatly improved the morale of teachers of

religious education at second level. I published papers from these conferences in Catechetics

Bulletin Nos. 71/1, 71/2, 72/1, 72/2.41

Academic Success

In the intervening years, academic work progressed steadily at Presentation College,

Chaguanas. I introduced science subjects and soon we had well-equipped laboratories, with

two Government-paid laboratory assistants. Soon we were offering a science option at GCE

Advanced level, and, with success in this area, our students began to win university

scholarships. At the time, there were more university scholarships available in science than in

modern studies or languages, partly because local science graduates were required for a

flourishing oil industry in Trinidad. In addition to the scholarships offered by the

Government, oil and chemical companies were also offering them. Our notable academic

breakthrough came in 1968 when one of our science students won the Jerningham (now the

President’s) Gold Medal for obtaining the highest marks in the country at GCE Advanced

level. This medal was and still is the gold-standard in secondary school academic

achievement in Trinidad and Tobago. That student had to offer four subjects to qualify for

this award and I was his tutor for two of these subjects. It was also probably the summit of

my own achievement in my teaching career at second level. Since that first Gold Medal in

1969, Presentation College Chaguanas has, to date, won the same award on six subsequent

occasions.42

Following the conclusion of Vatican II, there was a perceptible energy in the Catholic

Church and one of the developments to which this led in Trinidad was extramural theology

classes for lay people. I was a member of a core group that organised these sessions in Port of

Spain and San Fernando, the two largest centres of population. The majority of the lecturers

came from the Seminary and we had weekly sessions in each place. Over two years, there

was a good basic course in scripture and Christology. There were also shorter courses on

comparative religion and psychosynthesis. In general, we used the gifts and specialities of the

people we had to hand. The scripture lecturer, Fr Tom Brodie OP, is still active forty years

later and is now director of the Dominican Biblical Institute in Limerick.

Other Caribbean Islands In 1967, I was appointed to the Province Leadership Team of the Presentation Brothers in the

British Caribbean. In addition to the two secondary schools (generally called colleges in the

Caribbean), which the Brothers operated in Trinidad, they had corresponding secondary

schools in St Lucia, Grenada and Barbados. My new appointment, apart from quarterly

meetings, did not take up much time. However, it did mean occasional visits to the other

three islands to formally review progress. This was a valuable opportunity for me to get to

know these islands and their people. As was my custom, I usually briefed myself on the

48

history, geography and sociology of these islands before I made a visit. The first time that I

visited Grenada, I travelled by schooner. Schooners were locally-made wooden vessels,

approximately the same size as the three vessels, La Nina, La Pinta and La Santa Maria, used

by Columbus during his first voyage to the Caribbean. Whereas Columbus’ vessels were

wind/sail driven, the one I travelled in had an engine, as well as sails.

Half-an-hour before sundown, we left Port of Spain harbour. The water in the inner

harbour was smooth as a pond, while the fiery red sun was sinking low in the west. Above us

passed flocks of beautiful Scarlet Ibis, on their way to roost in the Caroni swamp, after a day

feeding on shrimp and red shellfish on the deserted beaches of Tobago. I was up on deck,

amazed at how calm the ocean was. Then we passed the Bocas, or Serpent’s Teeth, a group of

rocks in the outer harbour, and suddenly the large waves hit us. An elderly white American,

who was an experienced sailor, said to me, ‘better lie down, if you don’t want to be sick’. So

I spread my coat on the deck and lay down, while he explained the rationale underpinning

that posture to me. ‘You see’, he said, ‘the higher your centre of gravity is, the greater the arc

through which your body will swing with the rolling of the boat. You have minimum arc

when you are lying down, and, consequently, there will be least movement of your guts in

that position. And the less your guts move, the less likely you are to be sick’. I never forgot

his advice, but I had few opportunities afterwards to apply it. I must say that the next couple

of hours were uncomfortable, as I lay on the ground, with my head on my small travelling

bag, while the schooner pitched and bucked with the waves. However, as we sailed into the

harbour of St George’s, Granada, the sea became suddenly calm and the rising sun made

everything look bright and cheerful again.

Grenada Geologically, Granada, like St Lucia, is a volcanic island, and one of the consequences of this

is the great depth of water at the quay side in St George’s, the capital. With a draft of up to 30

feet, large cruise ships can sail right into the centre of the city, the passengers walking off the

boat and straight into the big stores. Another striking feature is the volcanic lake, Grand

Etang, in the centre of the island. It is surrounded by mountain peaks and, because of the

mineral rich soil in the area, the lush vegetation creeps right to the edge of the lake, which is

very deep, some locals asserting that it is bottomless. The wonderful sandy beaches,

including Grand Anse, on the outskirts of St George’s, however, surpass everything else and

extend for miles.

Since Grenada was under French rule for a long time, having been captured in 1650,

many of the surnames and place names are French. The French, however, met stout resistance

from the resident Caribs during the invasion. The invaders, however, pursued the natives

relentlessly, eventually isolating them in the northern tip of the island. It is related that the

surviving Caribs, rather than surrender, committed mass suicide. The elevated rock, from

which the Caribs jumped into the sea, was called by the French, La Morne de Sauters (The

Leapers’ Hill). Today, the village nearby is simply called Sauters. In the treaty of Versailles,

in 1783, Grenada was ceded to the British, but many of the place names remained French,

such as Point Salines, Calliste, Gouyave, La Taste, D’Esterre, Maquis, Fontenoy, Champs

Fleur and Ka-Fe Beau. One of Grenada’s most valuable products is nutmeg, which is the

reason why it is sometimes called, ‘Spice Island of the West’.

Presentation College, Grenada, was opened in 1947, without Government aid, in

response to a request from Most Rev Finbar Ryan, Archbishop of Port of Spain. The college

49

has made a very significant contribution to the development of Grenada, the Prime Minister,

Maurice Bishop, being a past student. As time went on, modest maintenance grants began to

be paid by the Government, but, even to the present day, the provision of adequate funding

continues to be an ongoing worry for the principal of the College.

St Lucia

Like Grenada, St Lucia is another volcanic island, also containing beautiful beaches, and

nowadays frequented by cruise ships. Both the Brothers’ house and the college were located

on an elevated promontory in Vigies, overlooking the Caribbean sea. The college building

had once been a barracks of the West Indies Regiment and the Brothers’ house was the home

of the commanding officer. Due north of the college, and easily discernible with the naked

eye, is the French island of Martinique, while, nearby, is Pidgeon Point. This was the

stamping ground of the great Admiral Rodney, during the Anglo-French wars. It will be

recalled that it was Rodney who captured St Lucia from the French in 1762. Less well

known, however, is the fact that one of Rodney’s sailors was the celebrated Irish poet, Eoin

Rua Ó Súileabháin. When Rodney defeated the French, under Comte de Grasse, in 1782, Ó

Súileabáin wrote a poem, known as Rodney’s Glory, to celebrate the event. When Rodney

sought to reward him, Ó Súileabháin asked for his freedom to return home, but, this was

flatly refused.

The college in St Lucia is known as St Mary’s College and has had an unusual

distinction in having two past students who were both Nobel Prize winners. These were Sir

Arthur Lewis (Economics, 1979) and Derek Walcott (Literature, 1992). Though the College

was founded by the French Congregation FMI, the Presentation Brothers assumed direction

of it in 1947. Two of the Presentation Brothers (Canice Collins, 1949; Macartan Sheehy,

1974), who were principal and examinations officer, respectively, in the college, were

awarded the MBE. The Presentation Brothers continue to minister in St Lucia, but are no

longer associated with St Mary’s College.

One of my most memorable experiences of a visit to St Lucia occurred in the early

1970s, when I spent my long vacation with the Brothers there. We spent a good deal of time

exploring the coast, as well as visiting different beaches and remote villages. One day, as we

travelled down the eastern side of the island, we came to a lovely secluded beach at Des

Barras and stopped for a swim and a picnic. After coming out of the water, I noticed a group

of men with two bulldozers clearing a strip of coconut plantation near the beach. I went to

chat with them and they told me that they were clearing space for a small airfield, to be used

later when constructing a golf course. As we turned to walk back to the beach, I noticed what

looked like axe heads on the ground. I began to quarter the cleared patch carefully and soon

became convinced that the machines had ploughed through an ancient Arawak midden and

had scattered the contents far and wide. Readers will remember that a midden is a prehistoric

mound, resembling a refuse dump, usually containing bones, fish shell and lost or discarded

objects, including tools. The Arawaks were the main pre-Columban Amerindian settlers in St

Lucia. Their settlements were mainly on the eastern coast, suggesting that they came by boat

from nearby islands, using the trade winds to facilitate their journeys.

The disturbed site at Las Barras was littered with shells, bones and a great variety of

axe heads, including some made from conch shells. I picked up about a dozen of the prettiest

50

ones, though I am sure I could have found a hundred. Moreover, it must be remembered that

the axe heads in the midden were only those that got lost or mislaid or were discarded. In

addition to the practical use to which axe heads were put, it would appear that they were also

used as objects of trade, ornaments and symbols of social position. Some of the samples

which I picked up were so smooth, beautiful and well shaped that I doubted that they were

ever intended for practical use, but, perhaps, designed as ornaments. There were no marks on

the beautiful polished stone, which varied greatly in colour, including, green, blue, black,

brown and red. I was not sufficiently familiar with the geology of St Lucia to identify the

types of stone from which all my samples were made, but I did note that one of them was

made of flint, giving it a fearsome sharp edge. The great variety in the type of stone used,

suggested that all the axe heads were not made in St Lucia, some of them, perhaps, coming

from other Caribbean islands or from the South American mainland.

In normal circumstances, that site, following my reporting the matter, would have

received temporary protection to facilitate an archaeological examination and the collection

of artefacts. However, when I mentioned the find to an official from the Education

Department, which, at the time, also catered for culture and heritage, he advised me, in effect,

to forget the matter. His department had more demands on its slender budget than it could

accommodate. Moreover, he said, there were far more important archaeological sites waiting

for attention. It was within this context that I packed the Arawak stone axe heads in my bag

one week later and returned to Trinidad. At the customs, when asked, I replied that I had

nothing to declare and was immediately waived through with a smile.

Barbados

Presentation College Barbados was founded in 1958 and located in the parish of St John, in

the centre of the island. Unlike, Grenada and St Lucia, Barbados is a coral island, which, in

the past, was famous for its sugar plantations. Catholics constitute only about 4% of the

population in Barbados and the majority of these Catholics are located in the capital,

Bridgetown. Though the entire College campus was, in part, a gift from a kind benefactor, as

a venue for a Catholic school, its location was problematic from the outset. There were few

Catholics in the immediate area and the majority of students had to travel to and from the

school. Though the school managed to cover operational and salary costs in my time, due in

part to the introduction of boarding, in the long run, it failed to become financially viable and

closed in the 1990s.

Close to the College was a colony of ‘redlegs’, a term which traditionally referred to a

class of poor whites that lived in poverty on small sugar-cane farms in Barbados. Since few

of them managed to acquire a good education, or became involved in business, they failed, as

a group, to become absorbed into the middle class, to which the majority of white people on

the island belonged. Their ancestors were brought as slaves, or indentured labourers, from

Ireland in the seventeenth century. In this respect, O’Callaghan refers to a definite policy of

the sons of Oliver Cromwell, following the defeat of Irish forces in 1649, to forcibly round up

and transport poor Irish people to Barbados to work in the sugar cane plantations. One

explanation of the name ‘redlegs’ comes from the fact that, under the heat of the sun, their

skin began to burn and eventually settled into a light brown colour. On the road from

Presentation College to the beach, I often encountered members of this group. Physically,

51

they looked undernourished, and were not very sociable. They held themselves aloof from

neighbouring blacks and it was alleged that some members were involved in the sex trade,

especially in providing white girls for middle-class blacks in the city of Bridgetown. Among

the acknowledged ‘redleg’ surnames was Goddard, one member of this clan, John Goddard

(1919-1987), becoming captain of the West Indies Cricket team in the 1940s.43

San Fernando

In 1971, I was transferred as principal to Presentation College, San Fernando, which had been

in existence since the 1930s. The Presentation Brothers had taken over administration of this

college in 1948 and, in the intervening years, had built up a great academic reputation. It had

some prominent past students including two Prime Ministers, who were leaders of contending

political parties. One of the first things I did was to introduce morning assembly every

morning and to include the singing of two hymns, one at the beginning and one at the end.

When I heard that musical instruments

from a youth band were for sale, I

purchased the lot and set up a school

band or ‘combo’, that began to play at

morning assembly. Gradually, the

hymns got livelier and more jazzy, and,

while the students seemed to welcome

this development, some of the teachers

favoured tunes with more gravitas.

I then found a very talented part-

time music teacher and, before long, the school was producing annual concerts and entering

for the famous Trinidad music festival, success in which was the objective of every ambitious

young singer and musician. The additional work required in the staging of school concerts is

often overlooked and there were times when I had doubts about the wisdom of initiating it all

with the purchase of the band instruments. Yet, when the applause burst out at the end of a

good performance, it more than made up for the work involved. Moreover, at any school

function thereafter, there was always a little group of students that one could call on at short

notice to perform the National Anthem or the School Song. The college also had a scout

troop that, under the guidance of its founder, Brother Jerome Kelly, had achieved victory in

several competitions, wining prestigious trophies.

One of the exasperating things, however, about societies that are over-focussed on

material results is that people expect on-going, even never-ending, improvement. If a school

had fifty distinctions and 5 university scholarships last year, the public seemed to expect the

school to do better this year. I remember a reporter for the local newspaper, who was also a

good friend of mine. As soon as the results of public examinations were released, he would

call to my office and his first question always was, ‘In what way are your examination results

this year better than last year?’ The varying abilities of students in different years or the

changing social and staffing conditions were not relevant. My friend wanted his column in

the newspaper to start off with the sentence, ‘A new record in academic results were set this

year by Presentation College, San Fernando, ...’

18: JMF with College 'Combo', Prize winners, 1973

52

Every year, the school held a special function called

Speech Day, a term borrowed from the public schools in

England. At these functions, the principal delivered a report

on progress and achievements in the school during the

previous year; the archbishop came and affirmed the work of

the staff in Catholic education; a representative of the

Ministry of Education came and, sometimes, gave advanced

notice of changes in educational policy; the successful

students received certificates and prizes. Afterwards, a select

group was entertained and treated to refreshments, with

finger food. I remember, on one occasion, in addition to the

finger food, I supplied chicken roti, which my reader will

remember consists of spiced portions of chicken rolled in

chapatti. It is served warm. The official from the Ministry of

Education and his wife were delighted with the roti,

considering it delicious. I invited them both to have a second

roti, whereupon the gentleman put one in his pocket and his wife put one in her purse. The

teachers were watching this and, I suspected, resented the visitor taking a second roti, since it

was the custom that all leftovers, both drinks and eats, would be reserved for the teachers and

consumed to the last bottle, once the visitors had left. Next day, one of the teachers came to

me to say that I should not invite that official and his wife again, since they displayed poor

taste in accepting an extra roti!

The Less Fortunate

In addition to school administration and supervising the normal academic work of the school,

my role as principal also involved attending to unusual visitors. Among the casual visitors, I

found those seeking help to be among the more challenging. Soon after my arrival in

Trinidad, I noted that a significant proportion of the people who came seeking material help

were also suffering from mental disorders. As I write these lines, I am looking over my diary

for the first of January, 1975. Though it was a school holiday, I was in my office attending to

some ‘paper work’ that I had neglected over the Christmas period, when I had been struck

down with a dose of ‘flu. My ‘paper work’ that day, however, was interrupted by several

callers. The first of these was ‘Coaldust’, aged about forty years, who, as far as I could

determine, suffered from permanent delusions. He was an East Indian vagrant, who came

about twice a week for ‘a little charity’. Usually, he would come into my office, stand in front

of my desk and, though making absolutely no sense, would harangue me for about five

minutes. That day, in the course of his introductory speech, he said that he wanted ‘a brown

suit, short pants and short-sleeve shirt’. He also added that he had not bathed ‘for two years’.

This latter, I was inclined to believe. Normally, he was barefoot, but that day he wore a pair

of brown boots. Once he finished his harangue, he seemed to forget the substance of it and

held out his hand to receive the change that I usually gave him. I never discovered his real

name, but everyone called him ‘Coaldust’.

19: 18: JMF with Joel Edwards, PPU, San Fernando, 2007

53

The same day, before lunch, an elderly East Indian, whom I knew as Mr Mohammed,

also called. He requested ‘some Christmas cheer...a little cake and ‘ting’. I explained that I

did not have anything to eat in the office but he readily accepted a couple of TT dollars. In

the afternoon, one of my regulars, Mr Roberts, an elderly negro, came. Mr Roberts had to get

his half-monthly allowance, plus his Christmas ‘box’ and a bar of soap. At his request, I gave

him one bar of soap at the end of every month. He was quite inoffensive and spent his days

on the college campus, going elsewhere at night. He said that he liked to stay in the college

campus because it was ‘quiet’, something for which he apparently longed. He said his

‘nerves’ are not good and I noted that he had a compulsion to wash his hands many times

throughout the day. I expect that all three should be on regular medication, but, unless they or

their caring relatives, demanded this, nothing would be done for them. Though attending to

such people was irksome, especially when I was busy, I never turned them away and found

that they were satisfied with a little attention and some small financial help.

Sabbatical

In the 1970s, a system of sabbaticals for the Brothers was introduced by the Higher

Superiors. My turn came in 1975 and I made arrangements to use the year to begin a research

degree at Kings College, University of London. It was arranged that a native Trinidadian

Brother would act as principal, while I was away, and, if I did not return, would succeed me.

Before the end of June, I began to pack my bag. I had accumulated a number of books, which

I considered necessary for my anticipated studies in London and I was loath to leave these

behind. The only other items I was keen to bring with me were the polished Amerindian axe

heads that I had brought from St Lucia. In my fantasy moments, I pictured myself during my

retirement, with these symbols of a vanished civilisation, into which I had got a brief glimpse,

holding a place of honour on my bookshelf. They would also be mementos of some of my

pleasant and carefree days in the Caribbean. But, unfortunately, I had to choose between my

books and my axe heads, and the former won the day.

Before I handed the axe heads over to the Brother-in-charge for safe keeping, I

labelled them carefully, hoping that I would soon return to collect them. As matters turned

out, I did not return to Trinidad for fifteen years. When I then entered our house in San

Fernando, the first thing I inquired about was my collection of Amerindian axe heads. I was

met by puzzled looks. Not one of the Brothers knew what I was talking about. Nor did a

thorough search of the house reveal my vanished treasures.

Homepage

54

Chapter 5

Part of the English Province

In July, 1975, I moved from Trinidad to England. Though I had been assigned to Dartford

for the duration of my study leave, my room there was being decorated, so the provincial

superior suggested that, meantime, I should stay at Presentation College, Reading. Before

that, however, I had some other business to which I had to attend. I had been elected a

delegate to the General Chapter of the Presentation Brothers by the Brothers in the

Caribbean. The venue for the chapter was Cork and I arrived there in good time for the

chapter, about which I will write later. After the chapter, I had a couple of weeks holiday at

home in county Limerick. On my return to England, I took up temporary residence in

Reading.

Presentation College, Reading The Presentation Brothers came to Reading in July, 1931. With the help of some Catholic

friends, including Dr George Murphy-O’Connor, whose son, Cormac, the recently-retired

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster, was one of the first pupils, they found a suitable site for

a Catholic college in Oakland Hall, Bath Road, on the outskirts of Reading. With about 25

acres of land and beautiful gardens, it seemed an ideal location for a boarding school. The

house was purchased from General Hulicatt, but had previously belonged to the Sutton

family, whose firm, Suttons English Seeds, was formerly well-known all over the world for

seeds, bulbs and other horticultural products. This firm, founded in Reading in 1806, by John

Sutton, acquired Royal patronage in 1858, and has maintained the royal connection ever

since, being currently suppliers to HM, Queen Elizabeth II.

The Suttons left their mark on the gardens and grounds of Oakland Hall where may be

seen two beautiful examples of the giant sequoia, Sequoia Gigantica, together with excellent

examples of Atlantic Cedar, Thuja, and various species of cypress. In front of the house is a

sunken rose garden, embellished with a central fountain. The house itself was built of

Cotswold stone and, at the time of my arrival, was comfortable and, generally, in good repair

. There were bus stops outside the gate for buses going to and from the centre of the city.

There were also spacious playing fields on the eastern side of the house. Though the college

accommodated a limited number of boarders when I arrived there in 1975, boarding was

discontinued shortly afterwards. The college continued to be operated by the Presentation

Brothers as an independent Catholic second level day school until 2003, when operation and

management were handed over to a parent’s committee. Within a year, however, the College

went into administration and it was then purchased, together with the accompanying grounds,

by the Licensed Trade Charity. This organisation renamed the college Elvian School and

continued to operate it as a co-educational second-level school until 2010, when it was

closed. I have discussed history and achievements of the college at some length elsewhere.44

Postgraduate Studies at Kings College

Though I was made very welcome by the community in Reading, and the accommodation

and grounds were excellent, I found Reading somewhat distant from London, to which I had

to travel daily for lectures. Some months later, I moved to Dartford, between which and

Waterloo BR station, I found a frequent and convenient rail service. In the early months, after

my arrival from the Caribbean, I found it hard to adjust to the cold. By English standards, the

weather was normal, and there was no need for central heating in the month of October. But

my feet were often cold and I had to put on the electric fire in my room. I also had to don

I

55

thermal underwear rather early in the autumn. Gradually, however, I became accustomed to

the English climate and soon disdained the use of thermal underwear.

King’s College, London, on the Strand, was ideally located and easily accessed on the

underground. I registered for an MEd in Science Education. Since I had taught science all my

life, I welcomed the opportunity to update and up-skill myself, especially in areas such as

new methods of chemical analysis, including spectroscopy and chromatography. I also opted

for a course in environmental chemistry, something that was just then becoming popular.

There were the usual essays to be written in connection with units in educational psychology,

philosophy and sociology of education, but all our lecturers were excellent and I found the

course very stimulating. For my short thesis, I decided to do a critical study of the history of

science teaching in the United Kingdom, with special reference to the contribution of the

great JJ Thompson, one of the pioneers in atomic chemistry. It may be recalled that he was

appointed chair of a committee to evaluate the teaching of science during World War I. My

supervisor was Professor Kenneth Charlton, under whose supervision I subsequently went on

to do a PhD.

One member of the teaching staff, with whom I subsequently collaborated, was

Professor Gerald Grace, who was then a young lecturer in the sociology of education.

Subsequently, he held appointments in the University of Cambridge, University of

Wellington, New Zealand, and the University of Durham, before becoming Director of the

Centre for Research in Catholic Education, with offices in the Institute of Education,

University of London. He is one of the most prominent scholars working in the field of

Catholic Educational Research and is co-editor of the two-volume International Handbook of

Catholic Education (2007). He is also editor of the International Studies in Catholic

Education, to which I have contributed articles.

Favours for Friends Following my transfer to England, I initially kept in touch with Trinidadian friends and

colleagues. As is well known, Trinbagonians (inhabitants of Trinidad and Tobago) are a

warm and friendly people and often maintain their extended family networks, even when they

leave home and take up residence abroad, including England. To a certain extent, I became

part of this network and occasionally would be requested to do a little favour for a friend of a

friend. On one occasion, I remember being asked by a very religious lady to >pick up’ a set of

>small’ Stations of the Cross, which had been discarded by a convent in London, and to take

them to a warehouse in the London docks. The warehouse regularly exported goods to the

Caribbean, including Trinidad. Glad to oblige, I set off and reached the location, where the

Stations were to be collected. Imagine my surprise, however, when I saw the size of the

Stations. They were each about 12x8 inches, made of plaster and there were 14 of them.

Moreover, I did not have a car, but was travelling by train, bus and underground. With some

ingenuity, I got the Stations packed into two bags, each weighing about 20 lbs. Fortunately,

with the two bags, I was well balanced. Using, a bus, the underground and my two feet, I

eventually managed to get my load to the warehouse and hand it over to the courier. I

adjourned to the nearest pub to draw my breath and try to recover enough energy to travel

home.

Some years later, when I visited Presentation College, San Fernando, the lady who

organised the acquisition of the Stations of the Cross proudly showed them to me erected on

the walls of the college oratory. By that time, she had almost forgotten my role in the getting

them to Trinidad.

>Aren’t they lovely?’, she inquired.

>Yes, indeed’, I replied.

56

>And I seem to remember that you had something to do with them?’

>Just a trifle’, I replied, remembering the ache in my arms, years before, as I trudged

along with the same Stations in two loaded bags.

Another experience I had in >helping out’ a colleague in Trinidad concerned the

musical score for a school performance of an operetta at Presentation College, San Fernando.

I was asked to act as >London representative’ for the college, especially in securing

performance rights and musical scores for the operetta. I put a good deal of work into this

task and sent off the material to San Fernando, including an invoice for the cost of

performance rights and scores. It will be remembered that, at the time, I was on study leave

and was operating on a tight budget. I was no longer principal of a school, with funds at my

disposal. Picture my dismay, and consequent embarrassment, when I received a reply from

Trinidad stating that the materials had safely arrived and that everyone was grateful for what

I had done, but that, because of Government restrictions on sending money out of the

Trinidad, I would have to wait some time for a refund of the money I had advanced. The

College financial controller, whom I knew well from former days, added that, in the light of

the difficulty involved in transferring money out of Trinidad at the time, perhaps I would like

to regard my financial outlay as a contribution to my old college!

After months of waiting, I eventually received a sterling bank draft reimbursing me.

But I made a resolution there and then that, in future, I would ask for money in advance,

whenever I was requested to purchase something on someone’s behalf.

St Vincent’s, Dartford

Following my transfer to Dartford in November, 1975, I began to observe and learn

something about the boys, who were all aged

between fourteen and sixteen years. Each of

them had come through the juvenile courts

and had an assigned social worker. Each

student was a nominal Roman Catholic and

had been judged to be in need of residential

training and supervision. There was

absolutely no physical punishment, though

physical restraint was permitted if the safety

of staff or other students was likely to be

endangered. Boys had occasionally to attend

court, accompanied by a residential social

worker from the school. At these court hearings, not only might they face charges pending

since before their arrival at St Vincent’s, but also charges arising out of offenses committed

while they were away from the school, visiting their homes at weekends or during vacation

time.

Since St Vincent’s was celebrating its centenary in 1976, I volunteered to do research

on the history of the school during the previous hundred years and to produce a centenary

record. This was released in May, 1976, under the title, St Vincent’s Community Home

Centenary Record, 1876-1976 (Dartford: 1976). I also contributed an article on the history of

the school to the journal, The Community Home Schools Gazette (June, 1976). Though I was

more conversant than most people with the history of St Vincent’s, I, nevertheless, found

myself inadequately prepared for the post of Head of Care, which I accepted in September,

1976. It so happened that the previous Head of Care, who already had seventeen years

service, was being given study leave, and I volunteered to step into to his place during the

two years of his anticipated absence. In retrospect, I think this was far from being one of my

wiser decisions. As the reader will see in the following pages, the enterprise was a learning

20: Former St Vincent's School, Dartford, Kent

57

experience for me and one in which the intellectual and managerial skills I had earlier

acquired, and hitherto successfully used, did not always seem to have practical application.

Treatment of Juvenile Delinquency

While this memoir is not the appropriate place to look in any detail at the history of the

treatment of juvenile delinquency in Britain, I feel that it is necessary to say a few words

about it if the reader is to understand some of the pages that follow. But, before I enter into

this discussion, I would like to describe in some detail the organisation of St Vincent’s, when

I took up a post there in September, 1976.

Both Certified Industrial Schools and their successors, Approved Schools, catered for

large numbers. St Vincent’s, for instance, up to the 1960s had 200 students. Following the

passing of the Children’s and Young Person’s Act, 1969, however, larger schools were

reorganised into two or more smaller units, usually called Houses. Each House had a House

Warden and several residential social workers to care for about 20 boys. Boys from different

Houses came together for classes, which, again, were much smaller than usual, generally

containing a maximum of a dozen boys, who, following testing, were placed in groups

working at approximately the same academic level. While the morning and forenoon was

devoted to academic work in the classrooms, there were practical sessions in the afternoon.

The trades, which were available in the afternoon, included gardening, painting and

decorating, brick laying; carpentry/ woodwork and pottery.

If their homes were able and willing to receive them, the boys went home for several

weeks during the summer, and for a week or two at Christmas and Easter. Moreover, if

acceptable to parents/ guardians, the boys also went home for weekends every month.

Outside of school time, boys had the usual leisure facilities, including table tennis, snooker,

basket ball, tennis, gym work and football. In general, apart from kicking a ball around the

yard, and occasional organised games, football was not popular, mainly, I suspect, because it

required too much expenditure of energy. Each House also had a minibus at its disposal for

trips outside the school. These trips included visits to a local skating rink, occasional discos,

together with canoeing and caving expeditions. Arrangements were also made for special

tuition for those with specialised hobbies or interests, such as one boy who was a gifted

flautist and who had ambitions to play with a classical orchestra. In general, it would be

difficult to design a more holistic programme designed to provide stability, care, education

and training for delinquent students up to the age of sixteen years.

Every student in St Vincent’s was placed there by his local social services, after a

detailed assessment of his needs. Virtually every student had also passed through the juvenile

court, sometimes several times, and had been convicted of some crime. The types of crime, of

which the boys had been found guilty, were, in order of incidence; theft and handling;

violence against a person; criminal damage; motoring offenses; domestic burglary; robbery;

public order and vehicle theft. The children’s courts were, in general, very supportive of

efforts at the rehabilitation of young offenders, and social services rarely hesitated to fund

special tuition for any student interested in preparing for a specialised later career.

While it is generally acknowledged that the causes of juvenile delinquency are

diverse, virtually all authorities agree that the parents and the home are critical in the matter.

It is not rare to find that, in the case of single parents, or where both parents are working full

time, the supervision of children tends to be neglected. It is also the case, unfortunately, that

some juvenile delinquents come from delinquent families, where either a parent or an older

sibling has become involved in crime. In such cases, there tends to be a cycle of delinquency,

which is difficult to break. Recent research has revealed that 25% of boys and 40% of girls in

youth prisons have suffered violence in the home. Similarly, close association with a

delinquent peer can also lead to involvement in juvenile crime. Progress or lack of it in

58

school is regarded as a good indicator of a student’s social adjustment and close association

with a teacher generally has a beneficial effect. Since crime is a young man’s game, the

typical criminal is male and starts at the age of 14 or 15.

Though we do not have the space or inclination to go deeper into the matter here, it

must be noted that research indicates a connection between delinquency and mental health.

Up to 85% of young persons in prison displayed a personality disorder, while 10% were

found to be suffering from psychotic illness. Moreover, boys, aged 15-17, in prison, were

eighteen times more likely to kill themselves than their peers in the community.45

In tackling juvenile delinquency, there are two general strategies in England and

Wales. The first is treatment in the community, which involves putting a child on probation.

The other alternative, institutionalisation, is the one concerning which I have some

experience. Up to the time of my taking up employment at St Vincent’s, institutionalisation

was the preferred option of social services for young people in trouble with the law.

Gradually, however, doubts began to grow about the suitability of this option from the point

of view of both effectiveness and cost. While it would cost ,100,000 p.a. to keep a young

offender in prison, and ,42,000 p.a. to keep him in Young Offender’s Institution, like St

Vincent’s, it would only cost ,3,000 p.a. for a one-year Community Rehabilitation Order for

the same young person.46

In the matter of recidivism, recent research has shown that 68% of all young

offenders, under the age of eighteen , are reconvicted within one year, while, for boys alone,

the reconviction rate is 75% within the same period. While the effectiveness of the

programmes at Young offender’s Institutions, like St Vincent’s, compared to corresponding

local community programmes, takes more time and skill to evaluate, the elected

representatives of the British public were much more easily convinced by the cost figures.

Without any doubt, local community programmes were much cheaper. It is within this

context, therefore, that local authorities began to send fewer and fewer juvenile delinquents to

Young Offender’s Institutions and these institutions, in consequence, began to close. At the

present moment, only 3.4% of all young offenders are placed in residential care. But we are

getting ahead of ourselves. We must go back to the position in 1976.47

In the Firing Line

I took up duty St Vincent’s Community Home on 6 September, 1976. The following are

entries from my personal Diary.

26 September, 1976,

>This has been my first weekend on duty (as Head of Care), and it has been an

uncomfortable, if not unpleasant experience. The main trouble has been in Augustine

House, where the boys have been in a bad mood. Four black boys, Jason, Elroy,

Stephens and St Pierre, absconded and the police, according to standard procedure,

were notified. Earlier, Ashworth and Harold had absconded from Charles House.

Erith Police Station phoned about 11 pm to report that the latter two had been picked

up and were in custody. These two were returned by the police about midnight and

put to bed. Sometime after 11 pm, the night watchman, Jonathan, reported that some

boys in Augustine House had turned on the fire hoses and had drenched some beds,

also flooding the corridor outside the dormitory. This morning, Gerry Browne, the

horticultural instructor, reported that some panes of glass in the greenhouse had been

broken, apparently with bars of soap, because some bars were found lying around.

Boys from Augustine House were suspected.

This morning, before Mass, some black boys refused to go to service because

they said that they were feeling >tired’. Then two white boys said that they wanted to

59

act as acolytes at the Mass, but, when the sacristan informed them that he had already

made other arrangements, the first two refused to attend service at all.’

15 November, 1976

>On Friday, Leroy John, a black boy, had a >blow up’, and while being physically

restrained by the staff, managed to deliver some powerful blows to Walter and Dan,

two members of staff, who were trying to restrain him. I was called and, since he was

being held in wrestler’s lock by Walter, and this could not continue indefinitely, I

asked that he be released. Leroy then went on the rampage, running around the house.

In the waiting room, he hurled a large glass ash tray at the wall, breaking it in bits. He

then broke off a piece of the hat stand and smashed a lovely glass lamp shade with it.

We had to send for the police, who removed him at our request. Next morning, he was

brought before a magistrate, who remanded him in custody to Latchmere House, a

secure Assessment Centre.’

29 November, 1976.

>This afternoon, there was a serious incident. Gabriel Charles, a black boy, attempted

an assault on Marianne, a white female member of staff. Fortunately, she handled the

matter very well, kept her head and getting him out of the room, which was some

distance from the main part of the school. Subsequently, she broke down and wept,

while I tried to comfort her. Later, this evening, in the presence of Oliver and Charles,

two senior members of staff, I confronted Gabriel. At first, he tried to pretend that it

was all a lark, but, later, he broke down and confessed. This matter will have to go on

his report sheet and will probably affect the outcome of a court case that he pending

on Monday next.’

Sunday, 16 January, 1977

>This evening, I took a telephone message for one of the boys, Paul, from his girl

friend, Katerina, who said that she was pregnant for Paul. Paul comes from Stevenage

and his father is a member of the Irish Traveller community. Paul is now fifteen, but

Katerina is only fourteen. Later, after he had spoken to her on the telephone, Paul told

me that Katerina hopes to go into the maternity hospital to have the baby during the

coming week.’

Monday, 17 January, 1977

>Today, one of the boys, Jack Daly, son of an immigrant Irish father, was found with

car keys, including a key for a Mini, which, a member of the staffs tell me, is Jack’s

favourite car. Earlier, the woodwork instructor had reported that the door to his secure

room had been forced and tins of Evostick were missing. Since Jack and his friend,

Bob, were reported missing for a short period, both were suspected of the theft. Jack

is also said to use Evostick when he can get hold of it. The boys were questioned

separately, and, while Jack denied everything, Bob admitted the theft and added that

Jack also had a stolen car stashed in the car park across the road from the school.

Apparently, Jack stole the car when returning from a visit home the previous weekend

and had parked it nearby in case he wanted to abscond in a hurry. Jack and Bob are

both fifteen’.

Sunday, 6 March, 1977

>This morning, James de Silva went on the rampage, after arming himself with two

sharp kitchen knives. He demanded his >money’, with a view to absconding. This

60

money is the pocket money allowance that each boy gets every week. Sometimes,

there are deductions for breaches of the school rules or for bad behaviour. Earlier,

James had seized a billiard cue and had threatened the House Warden in the latter’s

office. The warden was rescued when one of the black boys came into the office on a

personal matter, immediately took in the situation and, on his own initiative,

manhandled James out of the office. James then took up his stance outside his House,

still demanding his money. Somebody rang for the police, fearing that James might

injure either another boy or a member of staff. I was also called and I began to engage

James in conversation, assuring him that he would get his money, if he would come to

the Head’s office. Meantime, the police arrived in a Panda car and James, on seeing

them, ran off across the playing field. A young policeman followed and caught up

with James and brought him back. The police then took him away to the regional

Assessment Centre.’

Post Script: James, while still in his teens, was later involved in an armed robbery,

during which he killed the watchman on duty. Being a juvenile, James was sentenced

to youth prison to be detained >at Her Majesty’s pleasure’.

Sunday, 2 July, 1977

>Yesterday, together with a group of boys and staff, I arrived here in a campsite in the

Forrest of Dean, Gloucestershire, for a holiday camp. The location is absolutely

breath-taking, with the river Wye flowing beside us and Tintern Abbey a mile down

the river. The forest seems to consist entirely of broad-leaved trees, many of them,

especially the oaks, veritable giants. In the depths of the forest, I have come across

charcoal pits. This seems to be a cottage industry here, though it would appear that

scrub wood, rather than trees, is used for the fires. The weather is dry and sunny and

the ground very hard. I experienced this last night when I lay down inside my tent to

sleep, with just a ground sheet beneath me. I never realised how big my hip bones are.

Every time I turned over on my side, I felt my hip grating against the hard ground and

my body out of sync. A possible solution is to make a hole in the ground, so that my

hip will fit comfortably into it, when I lie down to sleep. I look forward to the result of

this experiment tonight.

So far, the boys have behaved reasonably well, though their language is bad, if

not awful, and no subject seems to be taboo in their conversation. However, they

irritate one another more that they do the staff, and I am glad there are no other

visitors near us to disturb the boys - or vice versa!’

22 September, 1977

>Last evening, at 6.10 pm, as I was coming out of the oratory, I ran into two senior

members of staff who were trying to restrain a very angry Negro boy, George Henry,

who had a blood-soaked left shirt sleeve. George had been stabbed with a penknife

during a dispute with a white boy, Mark O’Regan. The bad blood between the two

had been simmering for some time. Both were big strong, brawny fellows.

Fortunately, I had a relationship of sorts with George, since we both played the organ

and, on occasions, I would arrange organ practice for him. While he could not read a

note of music, it was obvious that he had talent and was a natural musician. Though I

was off duty that evening, I volunteered to >babysit’ George. He kept screaming about

Mark, vowing that he was going to kill him. The police had to be called and they took

O’Regan away, while I drove George to the local hospital, where he was given an

injection to relax him and two stitches in the cut in his upper arm. Since he was still

upset, I could not return him to his own dormitory, in case he would cause further

61

uproar, so I arranged for him to sleep in a separate room that night. It was late by the

time I got to bed myself.’

2 May, 1978

>This evening, I drove Elroy, a delinquent black boy, to his music tutor for his flute

lesson. When I learned that he was good on the tin whistle, I arranged that his social

services would pay for the cost of a concert flute and regular lessons for him. His

tutor tells me that he is gifted, though not always biddable. Nevertheless, over the past

year and a half, he has made excellent progress and, if he continues practice, there is a

real chance that he will win a place in the local youth orchestra. I have had hints that

he appreciates what I have done for him.’

20 July, 1978

This afternoon, Elroy, the boy, for whom I arranged the special lessons on the concert

flute, came to me with a farewell gift. It was an ash tray that he had made during his

pottery classes and inscribed with my name. It was an excellent job, with a beautiful

glaze on it and, arguably, good enough to go on the shelf of a gift shop. He also gave

me a card, and expressed his thanks for what I had done for him at St Vincent’s. It

would appear that he had heard that I was finishing work here tomorrow. I was

touched by Elroy’s gesture. Though he is no angel, and can be a handful at times, he

has shown gratitude and appreciation. I asked him to stick at the flute and that I hoped

to see him playing with the London Youth Symphony Orchestra in the future. I did

not tell Elroy that I had given up smoking, but I will, nevertheless, keep the ash tray

as a memento of my time in St Vincent’s. I feel that it is a reminder of the possibilities

for doing good, in what are sometimes the least promising situations.’

Intimidation Techniques

Britain defines a child as a person under eighteen years of age. Every boy at St Vincent’s

School, Dartford, and at similar institutions, came under that heading. All advertisements for

staff were classified under the heading of Child Care. The management of St Vincent’s

always tried to have a gender balance in the staff looking after the education and care of the

boys. In this respect, many of the women, who applied for work, especially when care duties

were involved, were young. Moreover, they were generally idealistic and enthusiastic young

women, in their early twenties, who had been attracted by the ideal of child care. They

usually envisaged their future work as caring for younger children, and, at least sometimes,

had hopes that these same children would be appreciative and grateful for tender and loving

care. Though we had an interview and initiation system in the school, nevertheless a

significant number of these girls were unable to reconcile the reality of working at St

Vincent’s with their prior expectations of care work and many of them left within a year of

taking up employment.

It always made me sad to see these idealistic young women leave the school,

disappointed, after failing to find fulfilment in the work. Part of the problem was that the

boys were adept at intimidating staff. In the case of female staff, the process of intimidation

often began by shocking them. Boys would deliberately recount stories, which were often

fantasies, of their sexual exploits within the hearing of female staff. The boys would watch

carefully for a reaction and if the female staff member showed signs of embarrassment, they

would immediately know that such talk was a potential weapon of embarrassment and

ultimately of intimidation. While such talk seemed to roll off older women, especially those

who had teenaged children of their own, like water off a duck’s back, it often had an adverse

effect on younger women. Of course there usually was a male member of staff on duty with

62

each female, but any attempt to openly shelter the female member from such embarrassment

was not a long-term solution. They had to learn how to cope with it themselves.

One could also occasionally see instances of some boys intimidating others, secret

beatings being the usual technique used. Of course, members of staff were always on the look

out for any indication of bullying, and there would be few, if any, open instances of this. But

there was no doubt that there was some secret bullying. And the perpetrators seemed to

quickly master the techniques required to achieve this.

The net effect of bad behaviour from the boys sometimes made one doubtful about the

efficacy of any education or treatment that would cure or eliminate what appeared to be

inherent viciousness in some teenagers. I expect that Fr Edward Flanagan (1886-1948),

founder of Boystown in Nebraska, USA, would disagree that any child could be >inherently

vicious’, since he is reported to have said that there was no such thing as a bad boy. But not

everyone would agree with him. I often came back to what I considered a basic tenet in child

care: if the parents, who love and intimately know a child from infancy, fail to effectively

manage and control him/her, then the chances of anyone else doing it are slight. Of course, an

extremely gifted person could achieve this, but, even with this person, perhaps, not always.

Taffy and Tom Overall, I was very impressed with the loyalty and dedication of the staff at St Vincent’s. In

addition to the professionals, who made a career of working in schools like St Vincent’s,

there were also idealistic people that came for a short period to lend a hand in the

rehabilitation of young offenders. I remember two people in particular. One was Taffy

Williams, a middle-aged Welshman, who, after spending most of his life running his own

business, came to us saying that he wished to take a job where he could >do some good'. An

honest, generous and obliging man, he had one weakness that was very difficult to correct.

All his life, he seemed to have made his own decisions and solved problems his own way.

Teamwork, however, was new to him and long experience had shown that teamwork was the

only way to manage the boys at St Vincent’s and survive. An operational procedure was laid

down by the House Warden, after consultation with staff, and everyone was expected to stick

to every detail of this procedure. Take, for instance, getting boys out of bed in the morning

and getting them down to breakfast at a specific time.

When Taffy’s turn came to call the boys in the morning and get them down to

breakfast, some boys would be inclined to linger in bed, mainly out of sheer cussedness. Of

course, they would try this with most members of staff, but especially with a new member.

The normal staff approach was something like that of the typical mother: keep calling in a

cheerful and confident voice and the culprit usually gets our of bed, even if reluctantly.

Taffy's solution, however, was to bring up a cup of tea to these boys. Of course, this was

absolutely taboo and infuriated other members of staff, because a concession given by one

member of staff would immediately be demanded of the others. When I, as supervisor,

discussed this matter with Taffy, he found it very hard to accept that his random acts of

kindness to the boys would have to be done within the context of a detailed policy designed

to maintain discipline and good order in the House. He was convinced that little acts of

kindness, like an early-morning cup of tea, would bring out better qualities in the boys and

help to counteract their random cussedness and, according to some, their inherent

viciousness.

Another idea Taffy had was to save his change and to give it to the boys. This, of

course, was worse, in fact it could, metaphorically speaking, be dynamite. Much attention

was given in each House to collecting money from the boys when they returned from home

leave. The money would be kept for them in their account, but they were not permitted to

have money in their possession, since it was a vital factor in any boy’s preparation to

63

abscond. So, again, I had to ask Taffy to cease this practice. Finally, he came up with

something that seemed a workable suggestion. As a Welshman, he was a great rugby fan, and

said that he had played this game in his youth. So, all the staff in the House approved his plan

to take the boys out for rugby practice. Unfortunately, none of the boys ever played rugby

before, so the first practice on the field was chaotic.

The boys seemed to think that rugby was a game where you both crashed and lashed

into anyone on the opposing team. Taffy blew his whistle and got the boys to face one

another in groups of eight for a >scrum’. The first attempt was another disaster, ending in

copious punches being exchanged. Taffy blew his whistle again and said that he would

demonstrate how the hooker should operate in a scrum. The two eights got down again and

the boy, playing as scrum half put in the ball. Poor Taffy yelled >push!’ to his pack and

suddenly seemed to go lifeless. The boys pulled apart and went to help Taffy up, but he lay

on the ground without moving. I called a doctor and an ambulance, but Taffy was

pronounced dead. A subsequent post-mortem revealed that he had died of a massive heart

attack, probably brought on by his efforts in the scrum.

Taffy’s death had a sombre effect on the boys and they subsequently came to me to

request a Mass for the repose of his soul. This I arranged and I do not think Taffy, though a

life-long Methodist, would have objected, as long as it made the boys happy.

Another character I had to deal with was Tom Cunningham, a university-educated

young man in his early 20s, who was a past student of our college in Reading. Tom, a

practising Catholic, was very idealistic and asked if he could come and work for free. After a

week or so, I found that he was quite useful and could relate well with the boys, so I

employed him for the summer holidays. When the end of the month came, Tom did not want

to accept his wages, like everyone else, but said, 'Give me a tenner and keep the rest!' He was

very unworldly and told me he was trying to detach himself from the use of money. He

neither drank nor smoked and all his clothes were purchased in charity shops. When he had to

travel, he thumbed a lift. We could not, of course, keep Tom’s wages, so I had to persuade

him to accept his monthly cheque and, afterwards, do what he wished with it. He had a good

effect on the boys because nothing seemed to faze him and he was always cheerful. At the

end of he summer, Tom drifted away and I later learned that he had entered the Carthusians, a

semi-hermetic religious Order outside Paris. This order, founded by St Bruno of Cologne in

1084, was first established in the Chartreuse Mountains of the French Alps. The famous drink

of that name was, in fact, first made by these monks. The monastery is a community of

hermits, each monk living alone in his own little apartment with access to a communal

garden. As far as possible, the monks strive to have no contact with the world. Some years

later, I learned that Tom had found his true home with the Carthusians and was very happy

with them. I was glad that a young man as idealistic and generous as he had found his true

vocation.

Farewell to St Vincent’s

In June, 1978, my two-year contract with St Vincent’s Community Home came to an end and

the former Vice-Principal (Care) returned from two years of study leave. St Vincent’s

struggled on for a further four years and then closed in 1982, like several other similar

institutions. The entire site, amounting to about 25 acres, excepting one acre for a new

Catholic church, presbytery and car park, was sold to a developer. He knocked all the

buildings connected with St Vincent’s school to the ground and built a new housing estate

there. The little cemetery at the corner of the field, where staff and boys were buried from

1876 onwards, was excavated and the interred bones transferred to a new communal grave

near the new church.

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There is little doubt that, as a Certified Industrial School and as an Approved School,

St Vincent’s was of immense benefit to a large number of mildly delinquent and needy boys,

giving them a sound education and the opportunity to learn the basics of a useful trade. Its re-

designation as a Community Home with Education, and the new caring approach to the

treatment of delinquent children promoted by the Department of Social Services, seemed to

fail the generation of boys that attended it in the 1970s. Coming from a permissive society,

and from homes that failed to provide appropriate care and discipline, they were adrift when

they arrived, did not significantly change while they were in residence, and continued adrift

after leaving. My fear is that a significant number of them re-offended and came before the

courts again. Their most significant characteristic to my mind was not their low educational

attainment, which the school generally remedied, but the absence of any determination to

learn a useful skill or trade, as a means of earning a living, and a conviction that, no matter

what they did, the state would always make provision for them. Since these residential

institutions were arguably no longer fulfilling the purpose for which they were envisaged, it

was inevitable that social planners would look elsewhere, especially to community projects,

in their quest to help juvenile delinquents.

Strawberry Hill

After summer vacation, I transferred to the

Presentation Brothers’ house in Strawberry Hill,

Twickenham, to continue my studies for a PhD

degree. This house was virtually across the road

from St Mary’s College of Education, now St

Mary’s University College. The original Strawberry

Hill House and property, around which the college

developed from 1925 onwards, at one time belonged

to Horace Walpole, son of Britain’s first Prime

Minister. In the second half of the 18th

century,

Horace (1717-1797), who had a great collection of

objects d’art, built the Gothic castle to house his

treasures. Even in Walpole’s own life time, it was a

tourist attraction, with pinnacles, battlements and a

round tower. It prompted Horace to write his own

Gothic novel, Castle of Otranto, which, in turn,

inspired Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. My visits,

however, were more often to the St Mary’s College

library than to the Walpole’s restored gallery

nearby.

There was a great choice of parks around Strawberry Hill. Across the river was

Richmond Park, with its 2,360 acres, the largest royal park in the country. Red and fallow

deer roamed freely through the woods. There were two interesting houses in the park. The

first was Pembroke Lodge, the home of Lord John Russell, Prime Minister of the United

Kingdom in the middle of the nineteenth century. Whenever I come across Lord John’s name,

I remember two things, in which he played a leading part. The first was the Great Irish

Famine. The second is of particular interest to Roman Catholics. Following the restoration of

the Catholic hierarchy in 1850, Lord John instigated the controversy known as the Papal

Aggression. As part of the latter, Lord John’s Government passed the Ecclesiastical Titles

Act, which imposed a penalty on any non-Anglican bishop (in practice Catholic bishop) who

took a territorial title. This act was repealed in 1871. Another interesting building in

21: JMF, King's College, London, at PhD

graduation, 1983

65

Richmond Park was the White Lodge, which was the headquarters of the British Ballet

Association.

Bushy Park, the second largest park in London with over 1,000 acres, was another

wonderful facility. I often walked down its mile-long Chestnut Avenue, the formal approach

to Hampton Court Palace. My memories of Bushy are usually of beautiful sunshine, children

fishing in the artificial ponds and of sitting on the grass under the shade of a tree. I rarely

went into Hampton Court Palace nearby, for the simple reason that any visit to this

architectural jewel and repository of English history, required more time than I was prepared

to steal from my studies. Two of the most tragic historical personages, whom I associated

with Hampton Court, were Cardinal Woolsey, who built the palace, and Anne Boleyn, whose

family had landed estates in county Clare.

Irish Club While I was on study leave and residing at Strawberry Hill, Twickenham, I became involved

with a group of Irish expatriates in setting up the Thames Valley Irish Club. Most of the

executive committee came from the Twickenham area and meetings were usually held in a

pub, >The Cabbage Patch’, in Twickenham. The general aim of the organisation was to

provide social support for Irish immigrants and, in keeping with this objective, the initial

emphasis of the club was on social activities. We were fortunate to have the use of the parish

hall in St Margaret’s parish, Twickenham. This room could accommodate about 150 people

and was ideal for a medium-sized group like our club.

Since I played the piano accordion and my colleague, Mike Rooney, played the guitar

and sang, we were >roped’ in to provide music at some of the sessions. Jack Lynam, who was

stationed at St Vincent’s, Dartford, at the time, also joined us when his duties permitted. Jack

played bowran and tin whistle. The preferred music was Irish Country and Western, with

occasional Irish Set Dances, such as The Siege of Ennis, thrown in. We, musicians, greatly

enjoyed the sessions, which were interspersed with occasional songs from members of the

audience. Provisions had to be made for a bar, since the male section of the audience would

gradually melt away to the nearest pub, if alcoholic drinks were not on offer. Our chairman

was Jack Condon from Westmeath and we had a good sprinkling of immigrants from Mayo.

Jack christened our 3-man combo the >Presbro Trio’, since each of the three musicians was a

Presentation Brothers. When we wanted to make provision for a larger crowd, we rented a

large room in the pub, >The Cabbage Patch’ in Twickenham and, for even larger crowds, >The

Winning Post’, in nearby Whitton. During the summer, we organised a family-orientated

sports day, with a combination of athletic, novelty and sporting events. I remember that, one

year, I volunteered to organise a >Throwing the Wellington’ novelty event. By evening, I was

exhausted from running around and gathering Wellingtons after they had been thrown

enormous distances by brawny Irishmen. What especially surprised me was the huge

distances some men could throw the Wellington and how seriously they took the competition.

I subsequently got into a serious discussion with an Irish-born priest on the benefit of

Irish Clubs in England and the validity of such a ministry for a Catholic priest. This priest,

Father Jack, came to me seeking my advice, following a complaint made to him by a

Methodist clergyman in his parish. The Methodist clergyman had his Meeting House near an

Irish club. The Methodist said that he was disgusted and scandalised to see the clergy of the

Catholic Church condoning, if not encouraging, the consumption of alcoholic drink in these

clubs and this not infrequently in the presence of children.

He argued that the Irish Club in his area fostered a culture of alcohol use and abuse

and that a significant number of patrons behaved in a drunken fashion, especially when

leaving the premises late at night. He also pointed out that it was not unusual for the entire

Irish nuclear family, father mother and children, to adjourn to the Irish club, especially after a

66

late Sunday morning Mass. The usual pattern then seemed to be that the men would adjourn

to the bar, while the women had tea and chatted and the children played. If the club provided

lunch, the entire family would stay to eat their midday meal and delay their departure home

until evening. He also questioned the wisdom of the strategy of providing Irish clubs for

expatriate Irish people, especially since it seemed to have the effect of slowing down, if not

impeding, the integration of the Irish with their English-born neighbours and their absorption

into the local community. Moreover, the Irish Club provided indirect encouragement to its

members to continue to listen to Irish radio, to purchase and swap Irish newspapers and it

also provided a stage for Irish entertainers when they came to tour Britain. All this was

delaying, if not hindering, their absorption into the English society in which they lived. The

campaign of the Methodist clergyman was so animated that the poor priest wondered if he

should take steps to sever, or at least weaken, the connection between his church and the local

Irish Club.

While I could understand the feelings of the Methodist clergyman, especially in the

context of the historic advocacy of teetotalism by Methodists, I felt that the matter was

complex and deserved careful consideration. In the first instance, there could be no objection

to an Irish Club per se. Clubs for groups of like-minded people were part of the fabric of

British society and prominent British citizens advertised their membership of prestigious

social clubs, such as the Garrick, the Athenaeum, the Carlton, and so on, in the Who’s Who

listings. At the other end of the social scale were the British Working Men’s clubs, which

began and spread widely during the nineteenth century. Though initially these had a strong

emphasis on education and culture, the social and entertainment components were there from

the beginning. The Irish Club in Britain was a form of Working Men’s Club, though,

obviously, the membership consisted largely of Irish working men. Moreover, the supply and

sale of alcoholic beverages had historically been a feature of virtually all British Working

Men’s Clubs. There could be no suggestion, therefore, that the Irish Club, as an instrument to

promote the general welfare and entertainment of its members, was other than rooted in a

very British tradition.

It could not be denied that, occasionally, a member of the Irish Club overindulged and

took a drink or two too many. It would not be generally true, however, to say that the

management of Irish Clubs encouraged this behaviour. In fact, my experience indicated that

the officers of the Club did not hesitate to ban individuals whose behaviour fell short of a

minimum standard. Moreover, I was doubtful that the incidence of drunkenness was

significantly higher in Irish Clubs than in ordinary working class pubs. The Irish Club could

be a great support for Irish individuals or families who had limited self-confidence in a

foreign country, and who, consequently, had limited social skills, especially in mixing and

playing their part in the body politic. The Irish club provided opportunities for making

contacts for Irish people seeking a job or information about employment or social security

entitlements. It provided useful opportunities for women to acquire and exchange information

about schools and child rearing. It also provided a safe environment for lonely Irish people,

still struggling to come to terms and feel a part of a new culture. Moreover, the membership

of the average Irish Club in Britain was supportive of the Catholic Church and was a place

where potential volunteers for church-related charities and activities could be recruited. And

it could not be argued that the average British pub would achieve all, many, or even any, of

these objectives. Moreover, many Catholic commentators had stated unequivocally that there

was a growing hostility to the public profession of faith in contemporary British society.48

The Archbishop of Westminster, Most Rev Vincent Nichols, made the same point recently

when he stated that, >Such perspectives, as religious belief and every horizon of eternity, are

not readily given their place in our public culture, whether in the form of prayer or religious

symbolism’.49

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At the end of our discussion, Fr Jack turned to me and said, >I’m glad I discussed the

matter with you. I was more or less bowled over by the vigour and zeal of my Methodist

colleague, but now I may be able to help him see another side to what he considers a

problem’.

>Fair enough’, said I. >You will usually find me at The Thames Valley Irish Club in St

Margaret’s Parish Hall, Twickenham, if you want to discuss the matter further’.

So much for plans! Soon, real life intervened. My study leave came to an end and I

left Twickenham and moved to Grove Park SE 12, near Lewisham, which was too far away

to continue my association with the Thames Valley Irish Club in Twickenham. Moreover, my

budding musical career slowly ground to a halt and was soon only a happy memory.

Destitute Children in London

While I was reviewing the history of St Vincent’ Community Home, Dartford, as part of my

research for the production of the school’s centenary record, I got an insight into the

enormous challenge of providing education for Catholic orphan and destitute children in

London during the nineteenth century. I must confess that, as I read some of the great

Victorian sociologists, like Henry Mayhew,50

I began to have great compassion for these poor

Catholic children and I decided to make them the focus of my PhD research, under the

direction of Professor Kenneth Charlton, at King’s College. Mayhew has given a vivid

picture of the crowded tenements, like the >Rookery’ of St Giles, which were teeming with

Irish immigrants. In 1861, the Catholic population of the metropolitan area of London was

estimated to be a quarter of a million. While the Catholic Poor Schools Committee provided

schooling for the upper layer of the Catholic poor, the very poor parents could not afford the

clothes or books which their children would require to benefit from this excellent system of

schooling. These children, from the lower layers of the Catholic poor, worked on the streets

from the time they could walk and talk at tasks such as helping at coster-monger stalls, street

selling and hawking and acting as porters for the transportation of lighter goods.51

Even temporary illness or unforeseen financial difficulty meant that these poorest of

Catholics would have to enter the Workhouse. A Father William Kelly, pastor at the Catholic

Church, Commercial Road, made a very revealing statement in 1864, when he wrote that the

greater proportion of his 15,000 parishioners had, at some time, to enter the Workhouse.52

For decades, the ultra-Protestant Poor Law Guardians of some London boroughs insisted on

bringing Catholic children up as members of the Established church. In 1868, however, a

Poor Law Amendment Act was passed giving the Poor Law Board power to order the transfer

of Catholic children to Certified Catholic schools. Some Guardians, however, sought to evade

the provisions of this act and openly stated that they had no intention of releasing Catholic

children. Moreover, they tried to take legal steps to nullify the relevant provisions of the 1868

Poor Law Amendment Act. As has been noted above, in 1869, the St Marylebone Guardians

persuaded Mr Thomas Chambers MP to introduce a resolution in parliament with the

intention of depriving the Poor Law Board of the power to order the transfer of Catholic

children to schools of their own denomination.53

In spite of this opposition to placing Catholic children in Catholic schools,

Archbishop Manning pressed ahead with what was tantamount to a campaign to provide a

place in a Catholic school for every Catholic child. In 1859, he founded the Catholic Rescue

Society, which raised funds, acted as supervisory agency, and provided financial aid for the

many Catholic Children’ Homes in the archdiocese. The bishop of Southwark founded the

Southwark Catholic Rescue Society in 1887 to perform a similar function in the diocese of

Southwark.

My research took me to a great variety of places around London, including all the

major Catholic archival collections, the Public Record archives and the archives of some

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Evangelical bodies. The bitterness and persistence of the anti-Catholicism of some of the

Evangelical groups came as a shock to me. As the nineteenth century progressed, more and

more Anglican clergymen turned to Evangelicalism. Dean Close, writing in 1879, said,

In 1822, when I was a curate, there were not above a dozen clergymen in London who

would own to the name of Evangelical....clergymen not ashamed to call themselves

Evangelical may now be counted by hundreds.54

What might be termed the cutting edge of anti-Catholicism in London was a well-organised

network of Protestant defence associations. The co-ordinating body for these was the

Protestant Alliance, which had Lord Shaftesbury for President and John MacGregor, a Scots

barrister, as general secretary. All important Protestant organisations in the country sent

representatives to its meetings in London. It published a monthly newsletter, the contents of

which were republished in The Record .55

Many of the Protestant organisations had their own

publications, of which a random selection would include, The Protestant Magazine; The

Protestant Annual; The Bulwark or Reformation Journal; The Ragged School Union

Magazine; The British Protestant; The Record. Apart from journals and periodicals,

Evangelicals also published many books, as well as a plethora of cheap pamphlets. This topic

has been brilliantly researched by Professor Sheridan Gilley and his findings published in

some seminal articles.56

I very much enjoyed my research into the education of delinquent

and destitute children in the London area and was awarded a PhD by Kings College for my

thesis on the subject. Though I did not publish the thesis itself, I did, however, publish several

articles using material from it, notably in the British Journal of Educational Studies (1983,

XXXI, 2); Irish Historical Studies (1983, xxiii, 92); History of Education Society Bulletin

(No 35, 1985); The Clergy Review (1982, LXVII; 1985, LXX); Recusant History (1984, 17,

1); Studia Hibernica, (1984).

Grove Park

At the end of August, 1979, the Presentation Brothers opened a new community in Grove

Park SE 12, in the London borough of Lewisham. We were given accommodation by the

Sisters of St Joseph of Annecy, who had a convent in Sommertrees Avenue, off the A2212

road. The convent was situated on about an acre of ground and contained nice lawns and

gardens. The quarters we occupied had formerly been used by a girl’s orphanage, which had

closed. There were ten sisters, of various ages, in the community. Nearby was a Catholic

church, in which Mass was celebrated on Sundays and Holidays. We had Mass every

morning in the convent oratory.

There were two other Presentation Brothers, Barry Stanton and Owen Harnett, with

me in Grove Park. Owen worked with the Southwark Catholic Children’s Society, while

Barry was a teacher at Bonus Pastor Comprehensive School, nearby in Downham. In January,

1980, I also joined the staff of Bonus Pastor school, teaching mainly science. When I joined

the staff, the enrolment was about 800, spread over two campuses, about a mile apart. Both

staff and students had to travel from one campus to the other, throughout the day. The school

was coeducational and the children were not very academic, with only a tiny fraction having

the desire or the entry qualifications to go on to sixth form and GCE Advanced level. Since it

was always a challenge to hold the attention of the students and to prevent chatting in the

classroom, teachers tended to use a lot of written work, even during class time. This meant

that most teachers arrived in class with a bundle of questionnaires, which, after a brief

explanation, would be given out to the students to be completed there and then.

For junior classes, the student textbooks were very simple, really along the lines of a

Fool’s Guide. Thus, for instance, if the lesson happened to be on magnets, there were two

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pages in the book, with excellent illustrations, about the characteristics of magnets, the two

poles of a bar magnet, the pattern assumed by iron filings when dusted over a sheet of white

paper, with a magnet beneath, and the magnetic nature of the poles of the earth. This material

was taught and explained by the teacher, after which the students would be asked to complete

a questionnaire, with questions like, >what are the two poles of a magnet called?’. Of course

the answers to all the questions were contained in the book, which the students had before

them, but, even with this resource, some of them could not answer all the questions correctly.

Many students left school immediately they reached the minimum school leaving age.

If their birthday happened to be in the middle of the week, they would not even continue

attending until the following Friday.

Soon after arrival, I formed a folk choir to sing in church. Though I had hoped for a

majority of young people, I found that it was the older people who were most faithful in

attending both rehearsals and performances. There was also a traditional choir and it and the

folk choir took turns in performing for religious services. While most people welcomed both

choirs, there was also an occasional worshipper, who disliked folk music, desiring a more

conservative ambience. I should add that during Mass, in the period after communion, I often

introduced an instrumental solo in place of a reflective hymn. As regards choice of

instrument, I usually used what was to hand. Thus, at different times, we had violin, organ,

flute and clarinet solos. The clarinet solo, featuring an attractive teenage girl, playing Bach’s

Joy of Man’s Desiring, was, for one devout elderly lady, the straw that broke the camel’s

back. After that performance, she never again came to the folk Mass, but, instead, rose early

on Sundays and took a train to London to attend a Mass with greater gravitas. The epilogue to

this story is that the same lady had a son, who later became a Jesuit priest. He has developed

into a liberal, even avant garde, theologian, who advocates changes in the Catholic Church,

such the ordination of women. I see his name mentioned occasionally in The Tablet.

Cultural Facilities

There are many advantages in living in the London area. Among these advantages, are the

intellectual and cultural facilities to hand in what some feel is the centre of the civilised

world. Even in the matter of Irish theatre and drama, I found that every major Irish theatrical

production, even if first presented in Ireland, subsequently came to London. It was the same

with popular music. At the time, folk music was in the early stages of revival and all the

major Irish folk and traditional groups played at some time in London. Apart from the Irish

shows, which were usually in large theatres/ centres, I sometimes attended the performances

of smaller folk groups and I have vivid memories of sessions by Ewan McColl and Peggy

Seeger. It was easy to get chatting with Ewan because, being an inveterate smoker, he always

went outside during the intermission to smoke a cigarette. In his later years, when singing, he

always held his head sideways and put his right hand over his right ear. During his

performances, he would accept requests for specific songs, but he sang only his own

compositions.

Return to Ireland In June, 1982, I was elected a delegate, representing the Brothers in England, to attend the

General Chapter of the Presentation Brothers in Cork. As things worked out, this Chapter was

to effectively bring my residence in England to an end. But, more on this later!

Homepage

70

Chapter 6

Return to Cork

returned to Cork for the General Chapter of the Presentation Brothers in July, 1981. As

in the case of the previous General Chapter in 1975, I was elected secretary. In addition to

recording the minutes of the proceedings, reading them out and making amendments, I

also had responsibility for tabulating the various information documents distributed to the

members of the chapter, as well as preparing summaries of chapter proceedings for

subsequent circulation to communities. The chapter lasted about three weeks.

The Chapter elected Brother Jerome Kelly as Superior General, with Brother

Bartholomew Browne, Vicar and first assistant, Brother Simon Sullivan as second assistant,

myself as third assistant, and Brother Terence Hurley as fourth assistant. These five were

termed the General Council of the congregation, a term subsequently dropped in favour the

present name, the Congregational Leadership Team or CLT.

General Chapters The General Chapter of the Presentation Brothers is, in the words of the Constitutions, the

supreme extra-ordinary authority in the congregation. It meets every six years, or more

frequently in a crisis, such as the death of the congregational leader while in office. At the

General Chapter, the congregational leader and province leaders and other officials deliver

reports, which are discussed and considered. Resolutions dealing with the lives or mission of

the members are placed before the Chapter and either passed or rejected. Finally, elections

are held for the office of the congregational leader and his four assistants. During the chapter,

a secretary and a deputy chairperson is appointed to assist the congregational leader in the

day to day management of the chapter. Under existing arrangements, the congregational

leader, his four assistants, together with province leaders are ex officio members of the

chapter. Other delegates are elected, each province sending delegates in proportion to the

number of professed members in the province. So far, I have attended seven General

Chapters (1969, 1975, 1981, 1987, 1993, 1999 and 2005). I have also been secretary for five

of these chapters.

General Chapters usually last for three weeks and an attempt is made to create and

maintain an atmosphere of prayer, reflection, discernment and calm decision making. This

atmosphere, of course, cannot be achieved without careful preparation, including the

circulation of necessary information to delegates in advance of the chapter. However,

circumstances, at times, force the pace and members can reach the end of a chapter in various

stages of tiredness, if not exhaustion. One of the most pressurised General Chapters was the

extra-ordinary one in 1967, summoned for the express purpose of revising the constitutions to

bring them in line with the documents of Vatican II. Though I was not present at this chapter,

I was active in the preparatory work and I found this also exhausting, since the West Indian

province, to which I was then attached, tried, like other provinces, to rewrite the entire

constitutions at its local province chapter. There was also a good deal of work to be done at

the 1969 General Chapter, at which I was a delegate, because the draft Constitutions, written

in 1967, had to be re-examined and confirmed, amended or rejected.

One of the principal issues to be decided at the 1975 General Chapter was the

question of Brothers seeking entry to Holy Orders, while continuing to retain membership of

our congregation. A number of Brothers of excellent character and reputation felt called to

the priesthood and also felt that they would like to remain members of the congregation. The

question before the chapter, therefore, was, could the congregation accommodate both priests

I

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and Brothers, or would ordination of even a small number destroy the lay nature of the

congregation. Though I had no personal wish to be ordained, I was indirectly involved in so

far as one Brother, who was not attending the chapter, had approached me beforehand

making it clear that, while, he felt called to the priesthood, he would prefer to remain a

member of our congregation. He did not ask me to vote in favour of the motion, but did ask

me to ensure that the topic got a fair hearing. Since he was somebody whom I greatly

admired for his character, qualities and achievements, I felt a good deal of sympathy for him.

After lengthy discussion in the chapter, during which different aspects of the matter were

considered, the resolution to allow ordination was defeated. The majority felt that our

congregation was intended by our Founder, Edmund Rice, to be a lay society, and that the

ordination of any members would strike a blow at this basic characteristic of the

congregation. I must admit that I supported this view.

At the end of the 1975 chapter, an abstract of the minutes, together with all

resolutions passed were circulated to the different provinces. My friend was very

disappointed when he learned that the motion in favour of ordination had been defeated, but

he felt that he had to travel his own road. Though he was nearly fifty years of age, he packed

his bags and entered the seminary and was duly ordained. He invited his former Brother

colleagues to his ordination, but I was unable to attend. In a little speech at a reception after

the ordination, he said that part of him still was, and always would be, a Presentation Brother,

and that he, personally, had no intention of allowing ordination to separate him in spirit from

his former colleagues.

Retreat Centre One of the challenges facing the new General Council in 1981 was finding a valid and

appropriate use for the buildings and grounds at Mount St Joseph, Blarney Street, Cork. The

land was acquired in 1891 and the main building was opened in 1894. It served as a

Generalate since its opening, as a novitiate for many years, as a preparatory school for some

years and as a Teacher Training College for about a decade after opening.

Including some later acquisitions, there were about forty acres of land in the property. It was

no longer regarded as suitable for a novitiate, and apart from three members of the General

Council, there were only five Brothers in the community. It was decided to turn the house

into a Retreat and Conference Centre and I was appointed Director. It was clear to everyone

22: Mount St Joseph, Cork, built 1894

72

that this change would involve major physical changes in the layout of the house, as well as

changes in personnel to operate the Retreat Centre.

One of the first challenges was to secure the boundaries of the grounds. Over the

years, fences had either decayed or been knocked down and, in places, there was easy entry

for juveniles bent on mischief. It was not unusual for young people to steal ponies, put them

into one of our fields and ride them almost to the point of collapse. A more dangerous activity

was to chase cattle into a corner and to try to get on their backs with the intention of riding

them. Yet another adventure was climbing the giant Monterey Pines around the house or

suspending flimsy swings from their branches. All these were dangerous activities, likely,

sooner or later, to lead to injuries to the young adventurers. Our insurance company kept

reminding us of our liability for any injuries occurring on our property and it was in part at

their insistence that we gave attention to improving the security of the boundary fences.

One part of the property, the north-east corner, was particularly vulnerable to

intruders and I decided to erect a secure block boundary wall. A contractor was engaged and

he began building the wall, but came to me the next day to say that the section he had built

had been deliberately knocked down overnight by intruders. He said that, while it was easy to

knock the wall while the cement bonding was still soft, if it were given a few days to harden,

then it would be virtually impossible to knock down by pushing or kicking. He recommended

some security personnel to keep watch over the wall for a couple of nights. Later that day, I

engaged a security firm to do the night watch. After the first night, the security people came

to me the following morning to say that, about midnight, a group of about twenty youths,

armed with sticks and hurleys, materialised out of nowhere and knocked down the bit of wall

that had been erected the previous day. I called the contractor for consultation. He told me

that he knew a couple of >boys’ from Northern Ireland who, for undisclosed reasons, had

recently taken up temporary residence in the western suburbs. He assured me that they were

>hardy boys’ and would take care of the security. He added that, as far as he knew, they had

no criminal record and had done security work for friends of his. I told him to engage three of

these men to take up security duty that night.

Next morning, the wall was standing and everyone was in a better mood. I asked the

>boys’ to continue providing security until the wall was completed. There was no more

trouble from nocturnal visitors. Later, I learned that the word had gone out that the

Provisional IRA had taken on security for the new wall. This, of course, was not true, though

it was undeniable that the >hardy boys’ in charge of our security had Northern accents.

>Bonfire Night’ on the eve of the feast of St John, 23 June, was always celebrated with

local bonfires in Cork. The English equivalent would be Guy Fawkes’ Night. Children and

young people from different streets would work assiduously in advance, gathering

combustible materials for their own bonfires. Nor would all the materials be honestly

acquired, and to guard against this, some householders would keep a watch on combustible

materials around their property. A favourite item for a bonfire was an old car or truck tyre.

Now old tyres are used in great numbers by farmers to hold down the outside covering on

silage pits and, since we had both silage pit and accompanying tyres, we were conscious of

the possibility of a raid and, in the days leading up to the bonfire, we kept watch on the tyres.

However, as the following entry in my diary notes, we were caught flatfooted in June 1983:

23 June, 1983

This morning, our farm manager, Maurice, reported that about 40 used tyres had been

stolen from off the silage pit in the farmyard. This had happened last night and was

obviously in preparation for tonight’s bonfire. Since 50 tyres had been stolen last year

for the same purpose, and had later been found stashed in a corner of the western

field, we were initially hopeful that the hiding place for the proceeds of this year’s

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raid might also be discovered. A search was accordingly organised but, though we

covered all possible hiding places on our own property, we found not a trace of our 40

tyres. I fear that all we will ever see of them will be the black smoke stealing skyward

tonight.

I engaged Mr Harry Wallace RHA as architect and soon it became obvious that alterations

would have to include a new heating system, electrical rewiring and changes to the plumbing

system. While there were excellent medium-sized conference rooms, there was only one large

one, capable of seating about 100 people. In the kitchen, scullery and dining rooms, the main

input was new equipment to make it possible to cater for large numbers, while all areas had to

be redecorated. The alterations and renovations took about one year to complete and we were

not able to begin our retreat programme until September, 1983.

While the refurbishing was going ahead, I took the opportunity to visit a number of

Retreat and Conference Centres in Ireland and England. These included Ennismore, Cork;

Mount St Anne’s, Portarlington; Myross Wood House, Leap, Co. Cork; Ardfert Retreat

Centre, Co. Kerry; Marianella Pastoral Centre, Rathgar, Dublin 6; Avila, Morehampton

Road, Dublin 4; Manresa House, Dollymount, Dublin 3; Retreat House, Ballyvaloo,

Co.Wexford; Grace Dieu Retreat Centre, Waterford; Bellinter House, Navan, Co. Meath; St

Cassian’s Retreat Centre, Kintbury, Berks; Cold Ash Retreat Centre, Thatcham, Berks. When

I visited these other centres, in addition to examining the facilities for clients, I also had

interviews with directors and members of staff, all of whom were generous in sharing their

experience. I also visited some Retreat Centres for young people in the Chicago area of the

USA. I found that several of the latter specialised in catering for groups of young people in

the summer months, when dry warm weather generally prevailed. The school retreat

programmes in Ireland, however, were nearly all held between September and May, when

most of the retreat work had to be done indoors and out-of-door activities required special

clothing and facilities.

It was decided to put a retreat team together and to this end, Sr Beatrice Blaine, a

Sister of Jesus and Mary congregation, together with Sr Anthony, from the Bon Secours

congregation, joined us. Two new Brothers also joined the community, Barry Stanton, from

the English province, and Plunket Browne, who had recently retired from school work.

During the first year, though the retreat work went extremely well, we were all trying to find

our feet. There were really three communities in the house at the time: the members of the

Generalate; the former community, headed by the Superior, Brother Fabian O’Donohue, and

including retired Brothers, and the new retreat team. Though we all dined and prayed

together, we worked in different groups and, at times, there were apparent conflicts of

interests that had to be sorted out.

Though there were very generous parking facilities, cars were not always safe and

special attention had to be given to security of cars. There were also several dead elm trees

along the boundaries of what we called the chapel field. These lovely trees had fallen victim

to Dutch Elm disease in the 1970s and, in the interests of safety, had to be taken down. I

found an excellent contractor who did the job quickly and efficiently. Before he started work,

he asked me if there were any trees with nails or wire in them and I assured him there were

not. One day, he came to me to complain that, while cutting a tree, he encountered bits of

wire, which would blunt his chain saw. This came as a surprise to me and I promised to

inquire into the matter. I then discovered that, thirty years earlier, there had been chicken runs

in that area and that some of wire was nailed on to the elm trees surrounding the field.

Apparently, thirty years later, these bits of wire and nails had been covered over and

completely hidden by new growth. I had to apologise profusely to the contractor. There was

also a nice row of horse chestnut trees that I had to take down. These had also become a

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hazard in the autumn, because children came in and began to throw missiles at the chestnuts

in an attempt to knock them down. In the course of so doing, however, the falling missiles

damaged cars parked nearby and constituted a hazard to passersby.

School Retreats

If school retreats were of two days duration, we usually had opportunities for the Sacrament

of Reconciliation and Mass on the second day. If the duration were one day only, everything

had to be fitted into one day. In general, school retreats, involving a single class are a very

effective way of building a good class spirit and breaking down divisions. Classes were

usually divided into groups of ten or less and much of the work was done in these groups,

where the students soon got to know one another well and trust was built up. Mass, the last

item in the programme, was scheduled to end a little before normal school closing time.

Before Mass, there was a period of preparation, during which different groups worked on the

preparation of either, readings, hymns and music, bidding prayers or an offertory procession.

One particular evening in the middle of February, on a bright sunny day, we had a group of

Leaving Certificate girls from a school in West Cork. I was in my group room with my ten

students, who were cheerful, charming and biddable girls. I was feeling very satisfied with

the way the retreat was going, especially the good class spirit evident in the group.

Before working on the bidding prayers, I suggested that we take 10 minutes for quiet

meditation and, to provide atmosphere, I played a track from the >Lonely Shepherd’ by

Gheorghe Zamfir. The girls closed their eyes and sat cross-legged on cushions. You could

feel the relaxed atmosphere as Zamfir’s Pan pipe, with backing from James Last’s orchestra,

wove an almost-perceptible curtain, that cut off the mundane sounds of the outside world.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a mouse emerge from under a central heating pipe

and make her way slowly and tentatively towards the centre of the room. One of the girls,

who looked into my face at that moment, evidently saw something strange in my riveted gaze

and turned around to see what I was looking at. She spotted the mouse and screamed, >look at

the mouse!’

This announcement produced instant chaos, with every girl, attempting to get off the

floor, up on tables or chairs or presses. I tried to restore calm by saying that there was only

one poor little mouse, that was not going to interfere with anyone and that was probably more

scared than any of us. Unfortunately, at that very moment, three little baby mice emerged

from their hiding place and began to follow their mother out into the middle of the room. On

seeing the procession of mice, another girl screamed, >Look! More of them! The place is full

of mice!’ Another girl shouted, >I’m getting out!’. With this the room emptied in seconds, the

girls running out on the walkway. After attending to the mice, I joined the girls outside and

explained that Mass was about to begin and that we need not go back to the group room

again, but go straight to the Oratory for Mass. >No, no!’, they chorused. >We will pray out

here or attend Mass out here, but we are not going back into the house again!’

Meantime, other members of the team were wondering what had happened to me and

my group when we did not turn up for Mass. Since my group had responsibility for the

bidding prayers, and the members failed to appear, others had to hastily extemporise in their

place. However, when the Mass was over, we reunited the class and got them all, still excited

by the mouse incident, into their waiting coach to travel back to their homes in West Cork.

I remember another school retreat, also with a group of girls from a Cork City second

level school. They were well-behaved and biddable and had a great class spirit among them.

Since they were staying overnight, I invited their class teacher, an elderly nun, to stay the

night, thereby giving the girls reassurance. There were two beds in each bedroom and girls

could choose their partners. However, in the interests of health and safety, girls were asked

not to go visiting other bedrooms during the night. Sister Mary, who insisted on leaving her

75

bedroom door open, all the better to supervise, was equally keen to see this house rule

obeyed.

Sister Mary allocated the bedrooms and put the two girls most likely to roam during

the night in the bedroom next to her. These two girls were Chrissie and Anne. Now Anne felt

sleepy that night and refused Chrissie’s invitation to visit some of the other girls in their

rooms. About midnight, with Anne asleep, Chrissie got out of bed and, as quietly as she

could, opened her bedroom door. But Sister Mary was alerted by even the slight noise and, as

Chrissie emerged from her room, Sister Mary confronted her with the question, >What is

wrong? Why are you out of bed?’ Chrissie, however, though not a great student, was quick-

witted and replied, >Sister, Anne can’t sleep and I was coming out to you to get a sleeping

tablet for her’.

>Very well’, replied Sister Mary, >I will bring one to her’. On hearing this, Chrissie

returned to her room and woke up Anne, who was already asleep, by rubbing a wet cloth

across her face. Sister Mary came in and administered the sleeping tablet, together with a

drink of water, and Anne sank back to sleep. After another hour, Chrissie attempted another

excursion, but, again, Sister Mary, who must have been on the watch the entire night, again

met her at the bedroom door with the query, >What is the matter now?’

>Anne still can’t go to sleep’, lied Chrissie and Sister Mary administered another

sleeping tablet to Anne, who had been hastily awakened with another wipe of a wet cloth.

After this, Chrissie gave up and went to bed also. Next day, I had both Anne and Chrissie in

my small group and was greatly perplexed by Anne’s behaviour. She seemed to be falling

asleep, while the other girls were discussing and sharing. I inquired if Anne were feeling ill

and the other girls laughed and Chrissie told me the story of the two unnecessary sleeping

tablets that Anne had to swallow the previous night.

While the ministry of youth retreats, including those for school goers, was not only

valid and worthwhile, but also needed, the fact was that it did not pay its way and had to be

subsidised. Part of the reason for this was that some parents felt that anything to do with

religion should be free and were reluctant to contribute to the cost of the retreat, which was

generally fixed at ,5 per day, including morning coffee/ tea and soup and sandwiches at

midday. Most schools, on the other hand, would be glad to pay on behalf of their students,

but, could not afford it. Some schools also provided retreats within the school, but this

arrangement had obvious disadvantages, especially the fact that it was difficult to generate

the atmosphere of prayer and reflection that were usually part of the ambience of the retreat

centre. Moreover, within the school situation, students tended to associate and behave in a

certain way, something which made it difficult to guide them to new experiences and new

ways of managing their lives.

As long as active, even if retired, religious were available to help in school retreats,

they continued. But, by the end of the 1990s, active religious became fewer and lay people

had to be engaged to do the retreat work. With the additional cost of salaries for retreat staff,

the shortfall between the cost of school retreats and the income generated from them became

larger and larger. This fact, when combined with a fall in the number of religious, mainly

nuns, registering for adult religious courses, finally led to the closure of several retreat

centres.

Adult Courses

During the 1980s, there was a steady demand for courses and workshops for religious. The

majority of those attending these courses were middle-aged or older and among the topics of

special interest were those dealing with the future of religious life, new directions in religious

life and the inner nature of prayer and religious life. Among the popular lecturers and course

directors which I managed to engage, some were from Ireland, while others came from the

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United Kingdom and the USA. They included Rev Gerard W Hughes SJ, author of the

popular book, The God of Surprises; Rev Raynor Torkington OFM, author of the book, Peter

Calvay, Hermit; Rev Len Koffler MM, Director of the Institute of St Anselm, England; Sister

Joan Chittister OSB, author of The Wisdom of the World and numerous other religious books;

Rev Sylvester O’Flynn OFM Cap, author of The Good News of Matthew’s Year and other

similar books; Rev Jack McArdle SSCC, author of Twelve Simple Words and other books;

Rev Loughlan Sofield, author of Building Community and other books; Rev Michael

Hollings, author of It’s me, O Lord. New Prayers for Every Day and other books; Nick

Harnan MSC, author of The Heart’s Journey Home and other books; Rev Michael Paul

Gallagher SJ, author of Clashing Symbols and other books; Rev Peter McVerry SJ, author of

The Meaning is in the Shadows and other books; Rev Gerald Arbuckle, an Australian, author

of Grieving for Change: Spirituality for Refounding Gospel Communities and other books.

A summer school, organised by Retreats International, at the University of Notre

Dame, which I attended, was very helpful in identifying potential lecturers willing to conduct

workshops in Ireland. I found the Retreats International course, involving a series of

simultaneous workshops, each ten hours in duration and spread over a week, a wonderful way

to meet world-famous authorities on different aspects of spirituality and to attend some of

their lectures. Through these contacts, I was able to arrange for some of these experts to come

to Ireland for the first time. I remember that, on one occasion, I booked Sister Joan Chittister

OSB for a weekend and the number of applicants was so great that I did not have lecture

room space for all at Mount St Joseph. So I hired the Cork Opera House, where we had

plenty of room. Altogether we had 250 people, the majority of them nuns, in the Opera

House. Mount St Joseph could only provide overnight accommodation for about fifty, but

others found their own accommodation in convents, hotels and guest houses. Like many other

directors of Retreat Centres, I was keen to extend the facilities for courses to lay people, but,

unfortunately, most lay people were either unable or unwilling to devote an entire weekend to

a course concerned with religious or personal development. Shorter courses, one day’s

duration or less, seemed to be better able to answer the needs of lay people.

As we came into the 1990s, the numbers of religious attending courses in retreat and

conference centres declined, mainly owing to increasing age and lack of vocations. There

was, however, a demand for residential and conference facilities for non-religious courses,

especially those relating to management and leadership. The groups organising these latter

workshops, however, were seeking a higher standard of accommodation and facilities than

what was required by religious doing retreats or attending religious workshops. The main

requirements of the religious were accessibility, cleanliness, adequate heating, good food,

comfortable beds, a prayerful and reflective atmosphere and good facilities in the grounds for

strolling in the open air. The people organising conferences, while desiring many of the

previous qualities, also looked for a standard of comfort equivalent to that to be found in a

four star hotel.

Closure of Retreat Centre While there was no doubt that the provision of conference facilities in retreat centres would

attract conferences, and thereby significantly improve occupancy rates, some religious

congregations hesitated to do this. Their problem centred around the concept of ministry.

With dwindling personnel resources, they had to answer the question, was this involvement

an appropriate ministry for them or would the available resources, both personnel and

material, be more validly and appropriately employed in meeting some other need of the

>people of God’? The answer of the Presentation Brothers to this question, in respect of

Mount St Joseph, Cork, was that, over the previous decade, they had already made their

contribution to both youth retreats and adult religious education and that the time had come to

77

make a contribution to SHARE, one of the charitable organisations, with which the Brothers

had been associated for the previous twenty years.

SHARE (Schoolboys Harness Aid for the Relief of the Elderly) was founded by the

late Brother Jerome Kelly in 1970. It was a youth training organisation which aimed to

provide housing and friendship for the aged homeless in Cork at that period. It was confined

to fifth-year students in second level schools and the founding group was located in

Presentation College, Cork, of which Brother Jerome was principal during the years 1969-

1981. Over the years, SHARE had proved remarkably effective in tackling the problem of

aged homeless people in the city. By 1990, it had built almost 200 apartments for the elderly

and had succeeded in recruiting Cork City Corporation to take responsibility for the

maintenance of these apartments.

In 1991, the General Council of the Presentation Brothers agreed to hand over the

major part of the building at Mount St Joseph, together with seven acres of the surrounding

ground, to SHARE. The school retreats and adult religious courses were terminated in June,

1991, and renovations began to prepare the building for SHARE residents. When the

renovations had been completed, the new SHARE complex at Mount St Joseph was formally

opened by President Mary Robinson in November, 1993.

Casual Callers Religious houses have always had casual visitors, down on their luck, seeking food or money.

In addition to providing this help, I have always taken an interest in the stories and

personalities of these people, most of whom I met being males. Several of the callers I have

known have been long-term clients and one of the ways in which I have tried to help them is

by bringing some regularity into their lives. In the following examples, I will use fictitious

names for real people.

One man with whom I have had a long relationship was Seaneen. He usually came to

Mount St Joseph at least once a day for a meal. Later, he would also request some financial

help. I agreed to this latter request, but insisted that money would only be paid once a week.

Moreover, I told him how much per month I was giving him and divided this figure by four

to arrive at the weekly amount. After some experience of this, I insisted that payment would

be at the end of each week, either Friday or Saturday. If Seaneen asked for money early in the

week, I would refuse, saying that he would have to wait until his next instalment was due.

Gradually he got accustomed to this system and, with the finance under control, we had a

pleasant relationship.

Now at Mount St Joseph, we had two dogs, who had a nice sleeping box between

them. Every night they would go into their house and be quite snug. I got quite a surprise,

therefore, when Maurice, the farm manager, informed me that Seaneen was coming every

night after dark, putting the two dogs out of their house and making himself comfortable

therein himself. In the morning, he went to the tap, washed himself and then presented

himself for breakfast. The dogs were quiet and knew Seaneen well, so they never complained

when they were evicted. Though one of the friendly staff at the Simon Refuge had

specifically attempted to get Seaneen to sleep in their refuge, he had resolutely declined this

offer, taking pains to avoid meeting any visiting member of Simon staff, when possible.

Another regular caller was Senan, who had overcome alcoholism, but had fallen

victim to compulsive gambling. He was married and had a grown-up family but, largely

because of his personal problems, had become separated from his wife and children. He

always dressed neatly and spent his days >touching’ people for money and then spending it at

the book makers. As a compulsive gambler, it was impossible to keep him in money. One

day, after a win, he would have hundreds of Euro, while the next day, he could not afford a

cup of coffee. He was well-spoken and would fit the description of Henry Mayhew, when he

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described one of Senan’s counterparts in Victorian London, as >an eloquent beggar’. After

some experience with him, I decided to try an experiment. I sat down with him and explained

my plan. I would give him £50 every year, payable in two instalments. The first moiety of

£25 would be due on 1 January each year, while the second would be due on 1 July each

year. Senan was delighted and suggested my giving him the entire £50 at once and promised

that he would not trouble me for a year. I knew him too well, however, to believe this and

said that it had to be two payments and nothing in between.

After this, whenever I met Senan in the streets of Cork, he would greet me warmly

and ask if he could get an ‘advance’ on his next moiety, but I smiled and said that we would

have to stick to our agreement. This agreement lasted seventeen years. When the Irish punt

was replaced by the Euro, I raised the annual allowance to €60, again payable in two equal

moieties of €30. The agreement lasted until Senan’s death in 2010. I found the arrangement

very satisfactory because it helped to avoid any arguments or disagreements with Senan. On

the other hand, I think that it gave him a tiny bit of security.

Presentation Studies

From the time of my election to the congregational leadership team in 1981 until I retired

from it in 1993, I held the post of secretary to the team. For a time (1981-1983), I also acted

as secretary general of the congregation, looking

after property and archives and other odds and

ends. As the work of the Retreat and Conference

Centre at Mount St Joseph increased, I was

forced, however, to limit my secretarial work to

keeping minutes of the meetings of the General

Council and providing general supervision of the

property portfolio under its direct control. I did,

however, issue a number of General Council

Newsletters and, in 1982, I founded a new

journal, Presentation Studies. The first issue made it quite clear

that the journal was not a newsletter from the General Council and went on to spell out its

purpose:

This journal specifically aims at fostering research and new writing on the history,

traditions, spirit and work of the Presentation Brothers and disseminating the fruit of

this among the Brothers. Initially, mainly because of the expressed need at this point

in time, the history and traditions of the congregation will be emphasised.57

In the editorial of the first edition, I also mentioned some of its predecessors, each of which

had a short life. The first was The Presentation Record, edited by

Brother De Sales Mehigan, which appeared between January, 1916,

and April, 1920. The cessation of publication of this valuable

journal was due to the transfer of De Sales to England, where he

was appointed Superior and Headmaster of Presentation College,

Plymouth, Devon. The next attempt at a journal was in 1945, when

Timthire na Toirbhirte, a bilingual journal, was first issued. There

was, however, a total of only three issues

of this journal (1945, 1946 and 1947),

before it also ceased. One cannot escape

the conclusion that neither of these

journals received much support from the leadership of the

congregation. Presentation Studies has had the longest life of any

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journal issued in the name of the Presentation Brothers, being now 30 years in existence. In

the early years, the contributors were drawn mainly from the ranks of the Presentation

Brothers, but, in recent years, I have been able to recruit contributors from the larger

Presentation Family.

Challenges in Leadership

As a member of the congregational leadership team for twelve years (1981-1993), I, like my

colleagues, had to grapple with some important questions, including, will the congregation of

the Presentation Brothers survive or will religious life, as lived in active apostolic

congregations like ours, virtually cease to exist? In the 1990 edition of Presentation Studies, I

tried to express some of my thoughts on these questions. I will use some material from this

article to put the present discussion in context.

The idea of religious congregations generally having a limited life span, seems to

have been first clearly articulated by Raymond Hostie SJ in his book, The Life and Death of

Religious Orders.58

The main thesis of the book was discussed in relation to the future of the

Presentation Brothers by Rev Cassian Yuhaus in a workshop at Mount St Joseph in 1984. The

life span of religious congregations, according to Hostie, is usually about 250 years. This 250

year life span can be broken up into five well-defined periods, the first of which is the

foundation phase, lasting 20-30 years. After this comes the expansion phase, generally lasting

a minimum of 50 years. This is a period of grace, when the founding charism is vibrant and

when there is a strong sense of integration and cohesion, centred on the founding person.

During this period, the founding charism and inspiration is institutionalised. General Chapters

are also summoned. After this comes a stabilising phase, lasting about 100 years, during

which a feeling of great success pervades the group. Then, comes the breakdown phase,

lasting about 50 years. During this period, disillusionment sets in and doubt and stress begin

to be widespread. At the same time, institutional structures and belief systems begin to

unravel. Finally, the transitional phase comes. During this latter phase, there are three

possibilities. The first is total extinction. The second is low level minimal survival. The third

possibility is what is known as re-founding.

Re-founding

The idea of re-founding religious congregations was popularised by Rev Gerald Arbuckle

SM, who presented several workshops in Ireland, including Mount St Joseph, Cork, in the

1980s and 1990s. Arbuckle states that, in the plan of creation, new growth and new systems

come out of chaos. He also insists that there can be no constructive change, even in the

Church, without dissent, which he defines as simply proposing alternatives. (1993,

Refounding the Church, 1) Open organisations encourage people to propose alternatives

because they know that all organisations age and produce dead wood. In my 1990 article, I

pointed out that, because of the lack of vocations and the increasing age profile of the

members, all evidence pointed to the likely demise of the Presentation Brothers within a

generation. There was little, if any, discussion of this important matter within the

congregation, though there was obviously great need to mention it. In the article, I suggested

a number of possible reasons why the topic of the death of the congregation was not openly

discussed. Among these reasons, I listed the following: it was a painful topic, since

everything it implied - closing houses, handing over schools, withdrawing from charitable

and benevolent projects - was painful; it was a possible sign of God's displeasure with us; it

could be viewed as adverse criticism of the people in leadership; it could be viewed as a sign

of disloyalty to our congregation; being an awkward question, it could lead to the

marginalisation of the questioner.

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Patricia Wittberg (1996, 9) suggests that, in considering the life and death of any

religious congregation, we must recognise that religious events are inextricably bound up

with societal events and conditions. In other words, though the reasons for the decline or

growth of an individual congregation may be unique to that congregation, a corresponding

decline in other similar congregations is a consequence of changes in society. No

congregation can survive if it is divorced from its environmental context. Some people

believe that, through unusual efforts, religious congregations can go against the normal

currents of society. Thus, for instance, though religious vocations to apostolic congregations

have dramatically fallen over the past two decades, some vocation promoters believe that

there are still many potential vocations to be found, if only a greater effort were made to

locate them. Though more vigorous recruiting may succeed for a limited time, the fact

remains that, in plain language, there is little point in fishing in pools were there are few, if

any, fish.

Though the theory of re-founding is both attractive and convincing, the great

challenge is to put it into effect. I doubt that it ever got going in the Presentation Brothers.

This was not only due to failure on the part of leadership to experiment, but also due to the

shortage of re-founding people within the congregation. As the number of new entrants fell

and the age profile of existing members rose, there was a great shortage of suitable younger

members, from whose ranks the re-founding people usually come. Moreover, the younger

and abler members were gradually involved in the administration of the congregation and re-

founding people should, almost by definition, be free from administration and available to

respond to the inspiration of God, as mediated by the world in which s/he lives. In summary,

I must say that I have failed to discern any re-founding experiments in our congregation.

To put any discussion of the future of the congregation of the Presentation Brothers

into perspective, it is necessary to point out that my previous remarks refer to the first world,

specifically to Ireland, England, North America and the British Caribbean. Our congregation,

however, has had a steady influx of vocations over the past three decades in Africa,

particularly in Ghana and Nigeria. The challenge for our congregation in the future,

consequently, would appear to be how to support areas of growth in the third world. This,

moreover, is a challenge facing many congregations like ours and is one that now exercises

the attention of many leadership teams.

Associate Movement

In the possible, or more likely probable, event of the congregation of the Presentation

Brothers ceasing to exist, the 1987 General Chapter suggested the formation of groups of

'associate' members, who could inherit the ethos and spirit of Blessed Edmund Rice, and

possibly continue his ministry of Christian education. Groups of associates, including men

and women, each one attached to an existing community of Presentation Brothers, came into

existence two years later. Associate groups generally met once a month in the community

house and spent between one and two hours together. Part of the time was devoted to the

study of the life of Blessed Edmund or of the history of the congregation and the rest of the

time was devoted to prayer. Initially one of the Presentation Brothers acted as leader of the

meeting, but, subsequently, the members themselves were asked to take responsibility for the

organisation of the meetings. In 1994, the Director of the Edmund Rice Office in Cork, was

given responsibility for the overall direction of the associate movement. About this time, the

concept of the Presentation Family, including associates, but also involving other groups

working with or associated with the Presentation Brothers, such as SHARE, CLEO,

Presentation Brothers schools, ERAC etc.

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There were annual reunions of members of the Presentation Family, usually in Cork,

which associates attended. This arrangement lasted until 2011, when the Edmund Rice Office

was closed. In recent times, especially since 2010, there has been a decline in the associate

movement. Associates have grown older, to the point where there are few if any members

under 60. Moreover, some groups have folded up, altogether, partly from closure of houses

and partly from lack of leadership from the congregation. Perhaps there is also an underlying

lack of energy in the movement as a whole. The Presentation Brothers’ Associate movement,

as it survives at present, could arguably be described as little more than a series of prayer

groups for elderly friends and lay colleagues of the Presentation Brothers, who meet once a

month in one of the houses of the Brothers. As a strategy for recruiting lay people, with

whom the charism and spirit of Blessed Edmund could be shared, the movement, however,

would seem to have failed.

Refounding the Catholic Church

Though several of the proponents of re-founding suggest that the concept would be

particularly suitable for the Catholic Church, such an idea is abhorrent to leaders of that

Church, which sees itself as 'semper reformanda' or always reforming and renewing itself.

Moreover, acceptance of the need for re-founding would be contrary to the cherished belief

that God, especially the Holy Spirit, is always watching over and guiding the Church.

However, some would point to the fact that the Catholic Church is also an organisation, one

of the largest organisations in the world, and, as such, is subject to all the weaknesses of

organisations. Moreover, in its present format, it is the ultimate hierarchical organisation. In

contrast to the re-founding theory, the official Catholic Church believes that all that is

required is renewal. And it believes that this renewal is best achieved by going back to

attitudes and practices of a former period. While I do not intend to indulge in a critical

evaluation of the Catholic Church here, I must point to some urgent challenges facing it at

present. Not least of these are the demand of 'the people of God' for greater transparency in

the Church, the need to implement the principle of collegiality, highlighted by Vatican II, and

the urgent need of a new cosmology. This latter might arguably be begun, if not fully

achieved, by exploring ways in which Church teaching could be brought into harmony with

the theory of Darwinian evolution.

Courses for Teachers

In 1984, Brother Jerome Kelly, Superior General, prepared a paper on evangelisation in

Catholic schools in Ireland. The paper was initially discussed with his council, of which I was

a member, and then shared with the local branch of the Conference of Major Superiors

(CMRS), now the Conference of Religious of Ireland (CORI). It was published in Religious

Life Review (vol. 23, no. 106, 34-51, 1984). Four years later, at Brother Jerome’s suggestion,

a committee of the CMRS, known as the Southern Network, came into being, and, again at

Jerome’s suggestion, began to organise conferences in Catholic education. I offered Mount St

Joseph as a venue and one of the first such conferences was directed by Michael Boville, then

assistant director of the Catholic Education Service in England. Because of the large number

of teachers and principals who wished to attend, the one-day conference, first held on 8

November, 1990, was repeated on 9 and 10 November, 1990. Altogether, 237 teachers,

including principals, from second level schools in Cork, Kerry and Limerick attended.

Following the success of this conference, the subject of evangelisation in second level

schools began to occupy the minds of the trustees of the 60+ Catholic second level schools in

Cork, Kerry and Limerick. At Jerome’s request, I prepared a paper for members of the

Southern Network, in which I set out plans for a possible organisation that would support

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teachers and provide overall leadership in efforts to promote Catholic values and religious

education in the network of 60+ Catholic schools. This paper was discussed by members of

the Southern Network and a decision was made to adopt my suggestion to set up an office to

co-ordinate evangelisation in these schools. The post of director of this office would be part-

time and the office would also have a part-time secretary. I was asked to apply for the post of

Director and I was duly appointed. I secured the services of Sister Nora Buckley PBVM as

part-time secretary. Nora had worked with me as a member of the retreat team at Mount St

Joseph for some years before it closed in 1991. My suggestion that the office be called the

Christian Formation Resource Centre (CFRC) was accepted and office accommodation was

obtained at the South Presentation Convent, Cork, with an entrance from Evergreen Street.

Sister Nora and I began work in January, 1992.

The religious congregations participating in the CFRC venture included the Sisters of

Mercy (Cork, Cloyne, Kerry and Limerick), the Presentation Sisters (South Western

Province), the Daughters of Charity, the Religious Sisters of Charity, the Christian Brothers

(St Helen’s Province), the Presentation Brothers (Irish Province), Faithful Companions of

Jesus and Sisters of the Sorrowful Mother. Altogether, more than sixty second level schools,

with 1,500 teachers and several thousand students, were involved. The Christian Formation

Resource Centre (CFRC) subsequently evolved into the Christian Leadership in Education

Office (CLEO) and I was destined to spend the next two decades of my life in this ministry,

but more about this in the next chapter.

Homepage

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Chapter 7

Leadership in Christian Education

n the previous chapter, I noted that, following the closure of the Retreat and Conference

Centre at Mount St Joseph, Cork, in 1991, I became involved in organising conferences

for teachers of Catholic second-level schools in Munster. Early in 1992, under the general

direction of the Southern Network of Major Superiors, I set up the Christian Formation

Resource Centre (CFRC) in Cork. I was employed on a part-time basis, but, in practice, I

devoted most of my time to the job. Sister Nora Buckley PBVM joined me as secretary and

general assistant. She was a talented woman in her mid-sixties, with a Master’s degree in

religious education, and a good deal of experience in teaching and conducting school retreats.

We had already worked together for five years as members of the retreat team at Mount St

Joseph.

CFRC Management committee The Southern Network of Major Superiors appointed a management committee from among

its members to oversee the work of CFRC. The initial committee included Br Jerome Kelly,

FPM, chair, Presentation Brothers; Br Michael Murray CFC, Christian Brothers, St Helen’s

Province; Sr Brid Power PBVM, Presentation Sisters South West; Sr Clare Stepleton RSM,

Mercy Sisters, Limerick; Sr Mary O’Donoghue RSM, Mercy Sisters. As Director and

recording secretary, I attended all meetings. When members went out of office, other

members of the Southern Network were appointed to replace them. The management

committee was emphatic that I should have close contact with individual schools and, in an

attempt to ensure this, we sought and obtained congregational representatives, whose

function was to liaise between the CFRC office and individual schools.

Among the services provided by the CFRC office were the following: professional

support for Principals and Boards of Management; staff days: a) for school secretaries; b) for

Heads of Year c) for Class/ Form Tutors; Newsletters (on school matters); Conferences/

Workshops on e.g Pastoral Care, School Leadership, Government Green Paper in Education

(1992), Government White Paper in Education (1995); Education Act (1998); for parents and

teachers (e.g. in Castleisland, Milltown, Clonakilty and Cork City).

Survey of Needs

One of the first things the CFRC did was to conduct a survey of all second-level schools in

the network to ascertain the needs of the teachers in these schools. There was an excellent

response to this postal survey (which was co-ordinated by the Principals of the schools

concerned). These responses were analysed and a list of topics, on which the teachers

requested in-service, was formulated. These topics were then grouped into modules and

became the subject matter in the post-graduate courses subsequently offered by CFRC.

Another initiative of CFRC was the organisation of courses for teachers, including

Principals and Boards of Management, of Catholic post-primary schools by prominent

education experts from Ireland and abroad. Thus, in November, 1992, I brought Dr Kevin

Treston from Brisbane, Australia, and he gave stimulating courses for large numbers of

teachers in Killarney, Blarney and Limerick. The numbers attending the four Workshops

were quite large, totalling about 300. The titles of the workshops included ‘Leadership in the

School Community’; ‘Pastoral Care in Schools’; ‘Developing the School as a Community’.

Other Workshops presented by CFRC included one on ‘School Retreats’. This was

held at St Dominic’s Retreat Centre, Montenotte, Cork, on 16 September, 1992. About 25

I

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teachers interested in facilitating school retreats attended. Another workshop, in November,

1992, was designed to meet the needs of Principals and Congregational Co-ordinators. This

workshop was offered at two venues, first on 19 November, 1992, in Blarney, and, second,

on 20 November, 1992, in Killarney. About 25 people attended each workshop.

On-going Courses

As Director of CFRC, I was well aware of the fact that, though the ad-hoc occasional

courses, such as those provided by Dr Kevin Treston, were very helpful in stimulating the

school community and helping its members re-focus on their work of Christian formation,

these courses would have to be supplemented by on-going courses at post-graduate level. The

area chosen for special attention was leadership in Christian education, and, with this in

mind, and using the suggestions that came from teachers in the 1991 survey, I organised

topics into modules, which evolved into the CFRC (later CLEO) modules, which, in turn,

eventually became part of the MEd programme. In addition to the students who were intent

on working towards a post-graduate degree, there were others who wished to attend the

CFRC lectures, without working towards a degree. An audit system was introduced for these

latter students. Moreover, in the MEd programme, three options were available: a) the

postgraduate Certificate (3 modules) b) the postgraduate diploma (6 modules) and c) the

entire 3-year course leading to MEd degree.

The Search for Validation

My discussions with teachers made me aware of the fact that there was a significant number

of them in our catchment area (counties, Cork, Kerry and Limerick) who would welcome a

system that would enable them to accumulate credits from the short courses leading,

eventually, to a Master’s degree. When, in 1992, I began the search for an academic body that

would validate our courses, we were five years ahead of the Irish state, which did not set up

this system until the Universities Act was passed in 1997. The present FETAC and HETAC

then came into existence. Nevertheless, I was well aware of the fact that if I could offer a

simple route to a Master’s degree, it would be an incentive to teachers to register for my

courses. This made me determined to work with the resources I had to hand.

In seeking university validation for the course offered by CFRC, I approached our two

local universities, University College Cork (UCC) and University of Limerick (UL). I

suggested two possible methods for the validation of CFRC courses. First, the integration of

the CFRC modules into the UCC or UL post-graduate diploma in educational administration

course, or, second, accreditation of the CFRC modules so that, by means of credit transfer,

the credits attached to them would count towards a post-graduate diploma or MEd. I offered

to provide the tuition for these modules, under the general supervision of UCC or UL.

Extracts from my Personal Journal Note: In these notes of meetings, I will use initials to conceal the real identity of the officials

involved in the discussions.

9 May, 1992: Visited University of Limerick by appointment and met G, Acting Head

of Education, who was in charge of proposed MEd in Education, and OD, from the

Dean’s office. I received a favourable hearing. OD tried to be supportive and

affirmative, while G seemed to concentrate on the difficulties likely to be

encountered. There was general approval of some of our draft CFRC modules, though

how they were to be included in the University of Limerick MEd was left for another

day.

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16 May, 1992: I had another meeting with G at University of Limerick, which M also

attended. At this meeting we tried to go into the details of how the CFRC modules

would be incorporated into the University of Limerick MEd programme. The fees

arrangement presented difficulties: what proportion of the fees would go to CFRC for

providing lecturers for its modules and units. There was also the question of lecturers

being approved by University of Limerick. I suggested that I could be an approved

lecturer of the University of Limerick, and this was considered a possibility. G

reminded the meeting that all arrangements would have to go before the academic

council and were unlikely to receive approval from this body, since, he suggested,

there would be resistance to what might be seen as an attempt by the Catholic Church

(through the Director of CFRC, as its representative) to get special arrangements/

concessions to suit itself.

Conclusions

It was obvious to me that the Department of Education at the University of Limerick (UL)

had no enthusiasm for the CFRC proposal. The MEd degree at UL was only at the planning

stage and the UL representative from the University’s infant Department of Education was, at

that time, only acting as Head of Department. As far as I could see, he was struggling to get

the UL MEd course up and running and viewed the CFRC proposal as an unwelcome

complication, perhaps, even a threat. At the same time, he did not wish to appear negative,

though he did appear to concentrate on pointing out possible difficulties. The ultimate

difficulty, according to him was the academic council, the approval of which was alleged to

be necessary before any collaboration was possible. The academic council of UL was

represented as a short-sighted, prejudiced, negative body, unwilling to welcome any new

arrangement which would contribute to the professional training of teachers in the area. The

Director (of CFRC), consequently, determined to approach University College, Cork, on the

same matter.

University College, Cork

JMF Journal Entry:

11 May, 1992. I had a meeting, by prior arrangement, with W, Ag. Head of Education

Department, UCC, together with OS and H, both senior members of staff. W listened

to my proposal that UCC include some of CFRC modules in its Postgraduate Diploma

in Educational Studies, but pointed out that this would have to receive approval from

the UCC Academic Council. This body had just given approval for the Diploma in

Catechetics to be raised to the status of a Postgraduate Diploma, a status, which it

hitherto did not have. W felt that it was unlikely that the UCC Department of

Education would receive approval from the UCC Academic Council for the

incorporation of CFRC modules in a UCC post-graduate Diploma in Educational

Administration. W, however, was ready to cooperate and facilitate CFRC as much as

possible at a personal level.

OS was sceptical about the inclusion of some of the CFRC units in the

Diploma in Educational Administration programme. He also reminded me that UCC,

by charter, was prevented from including material of a religious nature in courses

such as the Diploma in Educational Administration (DEA). He also felt that the UCC

Academic Council would almost certainly ‘block’ a proposal to include such material

in the UCC DEA. The impression I got of the UCC Academic Council was that it was

an unwieldy group, comprising members with disparate personal agendas, which

found it difficult to evaluate any proposal on its own merits, especially taking into

account the likely benefit to the community, which the university purported to serve.

OS also seemed more hostile to the proposal to include CFRC modules in the UCC

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DEA than W. H was unable to remain for the entire of the meeting and had to leave

after half an hour.

In the course of discussing how the CFRC modules could be included, I

suggested that I could arrange for occasional lecturers for the different units and the

venue could either be UCC or another suitable place. W pointed out that any lecturers

engaged by CFRC would have to be approved by UCC.

W also drew attention to the problem of financing the arrangement. I

suggested two ways: UCC could pay the occasional lecturers directly or by grant to

CFRC, or UCC could let CFRC have part of the University fee paid by the students.

W and OS saw great difficulties in any of these arrangements.

The meeting ended without any decision being taken, but with a vague

intention of the parties having a subsequent meeting. No subsequent meeting took

place. (Feheney, 1992)

Conclusion It was obvious to me that the UCC Department of Education, as constituted in June, 1992,

was not enthusiastic about collaborating with CFRC in the provision of additional modules at

post-graduate level in the area of leadership in Christian education. While I did not rule out

the possibility of bringing pressure to bear on the department, thereby persuading the staff to

collaborate, I felt that there was nobody in the department at the time, with the experience,

independence and vision to initiate a promising collaboration with CFRC. As things turned

out, UCC lost considerably from this failure to collaborate with CFRC, which was a potential

opportunity to expand its education department.

University of Hull Once I saw that both UCC and UL, the two universities in the area, were hesitant, if not

unwilling, to collaborate with CFRC in providing post-graduate courses with a Catholic

ethos, I began to look to other universities. I had known Professor Alan McClelland

personally from my time in England. We had often met at conferences organised by the

History of Education Society, of which we were both members. Moreover, he was the

external examiner for my PhD (King’s College, University of London, 1982), He had

formerly been professor of education at UCC and was now Professor of Education and Head

of Department at the Institute of Education, University of Hull. I rang him at the University

of Hull on 15 September, 1992, and explained my plans. He asked me to fax him a copy of

our draft programme.

On 16 September, 1992, I faxed him a copy of the CFRC course outline, with a

covering letter. He replied the same day by fax, saying,

Your idea interests me very much and I wonder if you would contemplate coming

over here to discuss it in greater detail. So much can usually be done in a face-to-face

meeting and details ironed out. We already have a modular system in operation which

builds into an Advanced diploma and MEd degree pattern and your proposal looks as

if it would fit nicely into that form. You probably know we already validate similar

courses elsewhere, Maryvale for instance.59

On 18 September, 1992, I received a letter from Professor McClelland suggesting 9 October

as a date for my meeting with him and his senior staff in Hull. I accepted his invitation. I left

for Hull on Tuesday, 8 October, and, the following morning, met Professor McClelland and

his staff (including Ian D Marriott, Secretary, Dr Brian Spence and Dr Brian Gorwood, both

senior lecturers) in his office. During this meeting, we finalised arrangements for CFRC to

offer the University of Hull Advanced Diploma in Applied Educational Studies (ADAES)

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leading to MEd, starting October, 1992. All our

modules were accepted, though two additional

ones, chosen by ourselves, had to be added to our

draft programme to bring it in line with the

ADAES programme being offered by the

University of Hull. It was understood that our

revised programme would go before the Academic

Board of the University of Hull, but Professor

McClelland offered to pilot it through this process.

Neither Mr Marriott (the expert on University

regulations and procedures), nor Drs Spence and

Gorwood, saw any problems in the affiliation of

CFRC to the University of Hull. The fact that I was directing the course, and that I had a

doctorate in education from London University and had also formerly been a part-time

member of the teaching staff of Avery Hill Teacher Training College, University of London,

helped considerably in establishing the academic credentials of the programme. After the

meeting, we all had lunch together in the staff dining hall.

The only changes to the CFRC programme to be made were the addition of two

modules: the first, a Summer School, taught by staff from the University of Hull Institute of

Education, and the second, a 5,000-word school-based research project. That is broadly the

arrangement that still obtains, twenty years later.

Lectures Start Lectures started in Limerick (FCJ Secondary School, Laurel Hill) on Monday 7 October,

1992, and in Cork (South Presentation Convent, Douglas Street) on Wednesday 9 October,

1992. Gradually, we compiled a list of visiting lecturers for both venues. From the outset, we

emphasised personal academic supervision of and support for students. Almost from the

beginning, progress was steady and feedback from the students was positive. I was assisted

by Sister Nora Buckley, CFRC secretary, who provided wonderful support and established

good relations with the students. Initially, numbers attending lectures were quite large, with

42 registering for the first module in Cork, while the corresponding number in Limerick was

25. Some students ‘audited’ the course and opted not to do assessment. This offer, though

still available, was taken up less frequently in subsequent years. Eventually, all students

attending lectures opted to submit course work, thereby making them eligible for the award

of University of Hull postgraduate diplomas and Master’s degrees.

Initially, classes were held in Cork at the South Convent, Douglas Street, but we

subsequently moved to Presentation College, Mardyke, where there was more parking space.

Eventually, however, classes moved to Mardyke House, where we had both parking and

lecture facilities. Happily, the courses are still being accommodated there. In Limerick,

classes were initially held in Laurel Hill Secondary School but, later, it was found more

convenient to hold them at Mary Immaculate Teachers College, South Circular Road.

MEd classes

After the students had completed the first two years of the course and had obtained the

Advanced Diploma in Applied Educational Studies (ADAES), they became eligible to

register for the Master of Education (MEd) degree. This part of the course involved research

which had to be incorporated in a 20,000-word dissertation and which was usually completed

in one year. Both CLEO and the University of Hull provided close supervision at every stage

23: JMF with Prof. Alan McClelland, 2007

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of the dissertation. The first MEd class, comprising twenty students, submitted dissertations

on 1 August, 1995. The results were as follows: 7 Distinctions or First Class Honours; 13

Second Class Honours; 3 passes, no failure. From 1995, there was a continuous flow of MEd

graduates: 1996: 12 ; 1997, 18; 1998, 12; 1999, 14; 2000, 10; 2001, 14; 2002, 13; 2003, 11;

2004, 4; 2005, 13, 2006, 12; 2007, 12; 2008, 12; 2009, 10; 2010, 4, Up to 2010, 191

students have obtained the MEd degree through CFRC/ CLEO.

Nagle-Rice Project

The Nagle-Rice Project was set up in 1993 as a special educational initiative to mark the

150th anniversary of the death of Edmund Rice. The project, which operated from 1993-1998,

was confined to selected schools under the trusteeship of the Presentation Brothers, Christian

Brothers and Presentation Sisters and concentrated on students who did not seem to be

benefiting adequately from the programmes on offer in these schools. Though the project was

separate from CFRC, I worked in close collaboration with the Director of the programme,

Anne Fleischmann. Since Anne had an office in the CFRC suite, I was also able to avail of

her expertise for some of the CFRC workshops. Anne, herself, introduced the teachers in the

selected schools to action-research and multiple-intelligences methodologies.

1995 Evaluation When CFRC was set up in 1992, it was agreed that the initiative would be evaluated after

three years. In 1995, this evaluation was done by Scott Boldt of the Marino Institute of

Education. Boldt submitted his final report at the beginning of May, 1995, and it was

immediately circulated to schools.

Boldt Report

On the whole, the Boldt report affirmed the work of CFRC and the vision of those who set it

up. It concentrated on three aspects of CFRC: its role and effectiveness; the role of

Congregational co-ordinators; and the appropriateness of staff development as a long-term

strategy for developing Christian leadership in schools. The Boldt evaluation was very

thorough and the methodology met the highest academic standards. Over 100 people in the

counties Cork, Kerry and Limerick were directly involved. These included the Director, his

assistant, two course tutors, seven congregational co-ordinators, seven trustees, five members

of Boards of Management, fourteen principals and four parents. Interviews and focus groups

were held with 23 primary and post-primary teachers and with 20 students. There were five

case studies.

Findings

Modest Trustee Investment It was evident that the investment of the Southern Network of Major Superiors in CFRC was

modest. The Director was approximately half-time and his assistant quarter-time. The total

financial contribution from the Trustees of all sixty schools amounted to only approximately

half the annual salary of one teacher. The Congregation co-ordinators all had other full-time

appointments and the school representatives, who succeeded them, were also in full-time

teaching employment. Whatever was achieved, therefore, was done at minimal cost.

Conclusions As stated above, the evaluation focussed on three related issues in the CFRC initiative. The

findings in these areas were as follows:

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The Role and Effectiveness of CFRC The report noted that within a short period of three years, the Director had put in place a

fully-developed University-accredited course leading to MEd and established a regional

structure for training teachers for leadership in Catholic education. Moreover, the CFRC

courses had a specific Christian orientation and, as such, were unique, not only to the region,

but to Ireland as a whole. The fact that CFRC had established strong ties with a prestigious

university meant that these courses had a high academic and professional standing and that

the programme could be adapted and expanded as needs arose. Given also that the period was

one of great educational change in Ireland, CFRC’s flexible structure offered great

possibilities for the on-going professional training of teachers in the future.

Within this context, the report found CFRC to be very effective in promoting

Christian leadership in education among teachers in the region. On the whole, participants

found the courses offered to be ‘excellent’ and considered them to have contributed

significantly to their professional development.

The main area where CFRC was seen to be less effective was not in the organisation,

content or presentation of its courses, but, rather, in promoting them and making attendance

at them more accessible. Here, distance between school and course venue was considered an

obstacle for some people. Both Cork and Limerick, the two venues where these courses were

offered, were considered far from areas such as Kerry, west and east Cork. Schools also

expressed a desire to have more direct contact with the Director of CFRC.

Role of Congregational Co-ordinators

The report found that the system of congregational co-ordinators was not working

satisfactorily. Its recommendation was unequivocal: ‘The data suggest that the role of the

congregational co-ordinators needs to be addressed and reformed immediately.’ The survey

found that co-ordinators were not sufficiently briefed and trained for their role, many of them

were responsible for more schools than they could reasonably be expected to serve, and, in

almost every case, co-ordinators had full-time jobs. This meant that the main link between

CFRC and the school was not functioning. The report recommended that an attempt be made

to have, on the staff of every school in the CFRC network, a contact person who would liaise

with the Centre.

Staff Development and Christian Leaders in Schools The report found that, while those teachers who pursued the CFRC course in school

leadership gave evidence of developing skills that would enhance their subsequent

performance as school leaders, the total percentage of second-level teachers in this category

was small compared to the total number of teachers in the 60 schools being served by CFRC.

The report concluded, ‘..it appears that the strategy which CFRC has adopted has been having

an impact in schools, and, from the perspective of most of those surveyed, is the best way to

create Christian leaders and promote and maintain a Christian ethos’. (Boltd, 1995, 42)

Conclusions of Boltd Report

The report concluded:

There are solid grounds for continuing and expanding the work of CFRC. In the light

of the changing nature and structures of Irish education and voluntary secondary

schools in particular, it is essential that lay personnel receive proper training and

professional development. The Centre (CFRC) has established a unique system of

Christian staff development, provided support for schools in promoting and

developing their Christian ethos and structured itself in such a way as to allow for

expansion and accommodation of new needs and changes. (Boldt, 1995, 4)

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End of CFRC A meeting of the executive committee of CFRC was held at Presentation College, Glasthule,

Co. Dublin, on 3 Dec, 1996, 2.30 pm. Those present were Sisters Bride Given pbvm, Marie

Carroll rsc, Kathryn O'Flynn fcj; Margaret O’Brien rsm, representing Ena O’Donovan rsm;

Brs Michael Murray cfc, Bede Minehane fpm and Matthew Feheney fpm, secretary and

Director of CFRC. Apologies for unavoidable absence were received from Sr Catherine

Mulligan dc.

At this meeting, I signified my intention to retire as Director of CFRC as from July,

1997. I also indicated my intention to continue the staff development courses, leading to MEd

with the University of Hull. For this purpose, I stated that I intended forming a new

organisation, to be accommodated by the Presentation Brothers at Mardyke House. I

recommended that, if the Southern Network wished to continue the work of CFRC in

supporting the management and teachers in Catholic second level schools, they should

appoint a new Director of the CFRC.

The representatives of the southern network, who formed the executive committee of

CFRC, felt, however, that other support structures had come into being since the setting up of

CFRC in 1992. The needs, therefore, which had prompted the setting up of CFRC were now

being met by means of recent initiatives. One of these new initiatives, undertaken by several

religious congregations, was the establishment of congregational education offices. It was,

consequently, decided to terminate the CFRC and to encourage me to continue my work of

providing post-graduate courses in leadership in Christian Education. The members of the

management committee were most generous in affirming my work and congratulating me on

the undoubted success which I had so far achieved in promoting leadership in Catholic

education.

In retrospect, I think it would be true to say that, especially in its later years, staff

development had gradually become the principal area of concentration for CFRC. I was

looking to the future and was concentrating on preparing lay leaders to take ownership of and

nurture the ethos of Catholic schools. This objective, however, was too ‘long-term’ for some

Principals and Boards of Management, who preferred to concentrate on their own immediate

problems. There was also a perceptible reluctance on the part of some religious, including

leaders of congregations, to invest in the preparation of future lay leaders for their schools.

They were more concerned with supporting the existing structures than with laying down

new structures to meet the imminent challenges to Catholic second-level schools. It was

against this background that I not only accepted, but welcomed, the winding up of CFRC and

the formation of CLEO. CLEO seemed to me to have two distinct advantages: first, it

unashamedly concentrated on preparing future lay leaders for Catholic Schools, through its

professional courses leading to MEd in Catholic educational leadership, and, second, it was

completely under the management of a group, the Presentation Brothers, who fully supported

this policy. Though I regret to have to say so, some of the leaders of other congregations

seemed to fail to see that their leadership in Catholic education was virtually at an end and

that they would soon be handing over not merely some, but all, their schools, to lay

principals. Yet, for some strange reason, some of them refused to take any steps to prepare

potential lay leaders for these important future roles.

Move to Mardyke House The winding down of CFRC and the setting up of CLEO provided an opportunity to move the

Director’s office from Evergreen Street to Mardyke House in 1997. CLEO’s Mission

Statement announced that it was ‘committed to fostering and promoting Christian leadership

in education, with particular reference to the Roman Catholic tradition, through advanced

training and research’ (CLEO brochure). Its aims were described as threefold: to prepare and

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develop leaders for Christian schools; by means of post-graduate courses and programmes,

which are informed by the values of the Gospel and the Christian tradition in education, to

offer in-service training for teachers that meets actual and practical needs while, at the same

time, maintaining the highest standards; to build a sense of Christian community among

students and faculty. With the formation of CLEO, the main emphasis shifted to the

provision of a programme leading to the degree of Master of Education of the University of

Hull. At the same time, students were encouraged to continue their studies to doctoral level.

This latter led to the formation of a class studying for the Doctor of Education degree, which,

at this time, became available at the University of Hull. Enrolment for the EdD course began

in 1997 and the first CLEO student to be awarded this degree was Rev Dr Thomas Deenihan,

who completed his thesis in 2001. To date, 10 members of the original class have obtained

the degree Doctor of Education (EdD). CLEO also facilitated students in studying for the

traditional PhD degree in education and, by 2010, nine students had completed their doctoral

theses and had obtained their PhD degrees.

Academic Standards

The academic standards of CLEO students have been rigorously monitored over the past

twenty years by external examiners from British universities and have, without exception,

been not only complimentary, but also laudatory, of the standards achieved. What Professor

Maurice Whitehead, University of Wales, Swansea, had to say in 2008 is not significantly

different from what other external examiners also wrote. He wrote:

In line with my experience of this programme over the past three academic years, the

general quality of the candidates’ work in the session has been quite outstanding. The

standards achieved generally in this programme generally exceed anything with which

I am familiar in a UK context. The very high level of first-class marks secured by

students involved in this programme is quite exceptional in my own experience...

When I took over as external examiner in 2004, this programme was already

operating at a very efficient level. The few minor recommendations for improvement

that I have made over the past four years (there have not been any instances of major

concerns) have all been attended to promptly and effectively. If anything, the

thoroughness of marking and feedback has increased, as have the levels of student

performance. Common mistakes which were perpetrated by students when I took over

as external examiner have subsequently been largely eliminated, thanks to an

intervention workshop programme in Cork which highlights such issues before

students embark on assessed work. This has had the general effect of further raising

what was already a

very high standard

of student

achievement.’60

CLEO Graduates

The available evidence

would suggest that the

training in leadership in

Christian education

obtained by CLEO

students is highly

regarded in the

educational milieu in

24: JMF, back row, with CLEO MEd graduates and John Hurt, 2006

92

Ireland. CLEO graduates would seem not only to be

articulate concerning Christian education, but also to

have personal convictions about it. This would appear to

be a reasonable explanation for the fact that, to date,

some 58 CLEO students have been appointed principals

and 18 have been appointed Deputy Principals of

primary and post-primary schools. Moreover, these

appointments have come after these teachers began the

CLEO course. At the same time, several have been

seconded to the Ministry of Education to do in-service

courses. The largest second-level school in Munster has

a principal and two deputy principals, all three being

former students of CLEO. A few past students of CLEO

have also obtained University appointments.

Publications In the 1990s, in an attempt to provide relevant reading material for the CLEO postgraduate

students, I have published three books of essays on educational matters. These volumes were:

Education and the Family. Dublin: Veritas, 1995; From Ideal to Action: The Inner Nature of

a Catholic School Today Dublin: Veritas, 1998; Beyond the Race for Points: Aspects of

Pastoral Care in a Catholic School Today, Dublin: Veritas, 1999.

As mentioned above, I also published four books on Pastoral Care in Schools. In addition to

books, I have also published articles in academic publications, including, Recusant History

(2009, Vol. 29, No. 4, 553-569), The Journal of Caribbean History (2007, vol. 41, 1, 2, 92-

108) and International Studies in Catholic Education (2011, Vol. 3, No. 1, 11-24).

International Notice for CLEO

Professor Gerald Grace, director of the Centre for Research and Development into Catholic

Education at the Institute for Education, University of London, has drawn attention to my

pioneering work with CLEO in fostering research in Catholic education in Ireland. He wrote:

The Christian Leadership in Education Centre in Cork, under the direction of Brother

Matthew Feheney FPM, has become a focus for research studies and scholarly

reviews of Catholic education in Ireland and elsewhere. In two recent major

collections, From Ideal to Action (1998) and Beyond the Race for Points (1999),

Feheney has focussed research attention on schooling and upon the foundational

concern of spiritual and pastoral care in Ireland schools. In addition to this, the Centre

has provided resources to encourage more research activity among Irish teachers and

school Principals.61

My publications have also received notice in recent international publications. David Tuohy,

in an article in the International Handbook of Catholic Education (2008), mentions both my

books, From Ideal to Action (1998) and Beyond the Race for Points (1999). My work is also

cited in the same volume by other schools: by Fr Jim Gallagher, writing about Catholic

schools in England; by Aidan Donaldson, writing about Catholic Schools in Northern Ireland,

and by Bernard Cook, writing about Catholic schools in Australia.

25: JMF presents copy of one of his books

to Micheál Martin, Minister of Education

93

Papal Recognition In November, 2009, His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI was

pleased to bestow on me the Papal Cross, Pro Ecclesia et

Pontifice (‘For the Church and the Supreme Pontiff’), in

recognition of my work in Catholic education. The cross,

the highest Papal honour available to a religious, was

presented to me by Bishop John Buckley, Bishop of Cork,

in a ceremony at Mount St Joseph, Cork. At the same

ceremony, my CLEO colleague, Dr Frank Steele, was made

a Knight Commander of the Pontifical Order of St Gregory

the Great.

On the basis of my historical studies, I was elected

first, a member, and later, a fellow, of the Royal Historical

Society, London.

Presentation Brothers Publications In 1996, I published a book of essays under the title, A Time of

Grace (Dublin: Veritas, 1996) to mark the beatification of Blessed

Edmund Rice. The title was taken from an article by the late John

McGahern, in which he recalled his time as a student of the

Presentation Brothers in Carrick-on-Shannon in the 1940s. It will

be recalled that McGahern’s novel, The Dark (1965) was banned

by the Catholic Church for its alleged pornographic content. At the

Edmund Rice beatification Mass in St Peter’s basilica, in Rome, on

5 October, 1996, Cardinal Cahal Daly, Archbishop of Armagh,

quoted a passage from John’s article in my book in the course of

his homily. The quote was:

I look back on those five years as the beginning of an adventure that has not stopped.

Each day I cycled towards Carrick was an anticipation of delights. The fear and

drudgery of school disappeared without realising it: through the pleasures of the mind.

I was beginning to know and love the world. The Brothers took me in set me down

and gave me tools. I look back on my time there with nothing but gratitude, as years

of luck and privilege and, above all, of grace, actual grace.62

When I returned from the beatification in Rome, I wrote to John to tell him that he had

received the ultimate accolade: his work was quoted by a Cardinal of the Catholic Church in

St Peter’s basilica, Rome, in the presence of Pope John Paul II.

Another contributor to this volume was Sean Maher, author of the book, The Road to

God Knows Where (Dublin: Talbot Press, 1970). Sean was a member of the travelling

community who was placed in St Joseph’s Industrial School, Greenmount, Cork, in the

1940s. Though he was barely literate, he showed remarkable intellectual ability and was

given special tuition to bring him up to standard. Later, he wrote about his schooling in

Greenmount:

School for me was a Godsend. I enjoyed every day I spent there, mostly for the

learning. Reading books was my earthly heaven. ‘All’s well that ends well!’ Alas,

with me, this was never to be. Soon, like a cork, I was tossed on to the ocean of life. I

was to be pared - as is the wattle - to support the rigging pole, to become, in other

words, a cog in the wheel...To the tober I was born, and to the tober I must return.63

26: JMF with Bishop John Buckley, 2008

94

On my recommendation, John’s book, The Road to God

Knows Where, was reissued by Veritas Publications in 1998.

In 1999, I published a collection of short biographies of

Presentation Brothers, under the title, Gentlemen of the

Presentation (Dublin: Veritas, 1999). These words were

used by the Cork priest, Rev John England, in a letter dated,

14 October, 1814, when referring to the Brothers of the

Society of the Presentation, recently come to Cork. Fr

England was subsequently ordained as Bishop of

Charleston, USA, in 1820.

In 2009, I published

another selection of

biographies of

Presentation Brothers, who had served in the English-

speaking Caribbean, under the title, Caribbean

Recollections (Trinidad: San Fernando. 2000). As I

write this, I am also putting the finishing touches to a

book, Biographical Dictionary of Deceased

Presentation Brothers.

Local History

Over the past quarter of a century, I have been deeply

involved in the local history of West Limerick. This

involvement has resulted in several lectures, numerous

articles and the following books: The Ranahans of

Iverus (Cork: Iverus, 1987); The O’Shaughnessys of Munster (Cork: Iverus, 1996); The

Naughtons of Ballycanana (Cork: Iverus, 2006); Ballysteen: The People and the Place (Cork:

Iverus, 1998); Askeaton Ballysteen Biographical Dictionary (Cork: Iverus, 2007); Adare and

the Barony of Kenry Biographical Dictionary (Cork: Iverus, 2010); Stonehall Harriers

Centenary Record (Cork: Iverus, 2011). I have also been closely associated with the

O’Shaughnessy Society for several years and the Kenry Historical Society since its

foundation. My involvement in local history has brought me into contact with a large number

of local history enthusiasts and scholars and has helped me make many new friends. I will,

however, leave consideration of this area of my life for another time.

Homepage

95

Endnotes 1 See entries for John, Phineas and William Bury in Feheney, JM, 2010, Adare and the Barony of Kenry. Biographical Dictionary. Cork: Iverus, 9. 2 Feheney, JM, 1998, Ballysteen: The People and the Place. Cork: Iverus, 13-16.

3 Wyeth, Leonard, unpublished papers about Evans family to JM Feheney, 14 Jan., 1995. 4 Ibid. 5 Dixon Davenport was one of the stewards at the Askeaton Races on 22/4/1862. Vide Munster News and

Limerick and Clare Advocate, 19/4/1862 6 Feheney, 1998, op.cit., 16. 7 Ibid., 144-145. 8 Feheney, 2010, op.cit., 193. 9 Feheney, 1998, op.cit., 152-153. 10 Feheney, 2010, op.cit., 15-17. 11 Feheney, 1998, op.cit., 140-142. 12 Ibid., 91-95. 13 Curtin, G, 2008, West Limerick: Crime, Popular Protest and Society, 1820-1845. Ballyhahill: Slieve Luachra

Books, 80. 14Feheney, 1998, op.cit., 91-95.. 15 Ibid., 123-125. 16 Ibid., 122-123. 17 Ibid. 18 Feheney, JM, 2003, ‘The Irish Folklore Project, 1937-38: Contribution of Askeaton and Ballysteen Schools.

ABC News. Askeaton Community Council, 84-87. 19 Ibid. 20 Burke, Sir Bernard, 1976, Irish Family Records (hereafter BIFR, 1976). London: Burke’s Peerage Limited, 1176, 1196.

21 Cd 1492: Return of Owners of One Acre of Land and Upwards in Several Countiesm Counties of Cities and

Counties of Towns in Ireland. Presented to both Houses of Parliament by Command of Her Majesty. Dublin:

Alexander Thom (hereafter Cd. 1492); see also House of Commons, British Parliamentary Papers (hereafter

abbreviated to HCPP), 1862 (231). Return by County of Offences committed in Ireland, 1860-1862, 197.

22 Whelan, Frank, n.d,, Cappagh: A Sense of History. 82-83. 23 Donnelly, James S Jnr, 2009, Captain Rock. The Irish Agrarian Rebellion of 1821-1824. Cork: The Collins

Press, passim. 24 Ibid., 38. 25 Ibid., 26-30. 26 BPP 1822 (423), 14, Papers Relating to the State of Ireland, May 1822. 27 Ibid., 49, 51. Limerick Chronicle (hereafter LC), 18 August, 1821. 28 Barrington to Crown Solicitor 1821, in Chief Solicitor’s Office, Registered Papers, State of Country, 1821, 201. 29 Hanrahan, M, 1990, ‘The Tithe War in County Kilkenny, 1831-34’ in Nowlan, W and K Whelan (eds.),

Kilkenny History and Society. Dublin. 30 Ibid. 31 Ferriter, Diarmuid, 1998, A History of Limerick County Council, 1898-1998. Limerick: Limerick County

Council, 208-209. 32 Dunraven, Earl of, 1919, Past Times and Pastimes. London: Hodder and Stoughton. 33 McLysaght, Edward, 1996, More Irish Families. Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 98. 34 Church, RW, 1879, reprinted 2010, Spenser. Echo Press, ISBN 978-1-40685-574-6, 41-44. 35 The Tablet, 19 November, 1994, 1488. 36

ffrench, Richard, 1980, A Guide to the Birds of Trinidad and Tobago. USA PA: Harrowood Books, 139. 37 Laws of Trinidad and Tobago, Chapter 39.01. Port of Spain: Government Printery. 38 Feheney, JM and D’Ornellas, GP, 1975, ‘Memorandum (to Ministry of Education and Culture) on Increased Grants to Secondary Schools’. Unpublished Paper, 1975. 39 Feheney, JM ed., 1973, Report of Conference on Church and Education. San Fernando: Presentation College. 40 Feheney, JM, 2010, Catholic Education in Trinidad and Tobago. The Twentieth Century. Cork: Iverus, 30. 41 Feheney, JM (ed.), 1971-1973, Catechetics Bulletin. San Fernando: Presentation College. 42 Feheney, JM, 2010, op.cit., 141. 43

O’Callaghan, Sean, 2000, To Hell or Barbados. Dublin: Brandon Books, passim 44 Feheney, JM, 2012, ‘Presentation Brothers, Plymouth and Reading’. Presentation Studies, June, 2012, 37-52.

96

45 Natale, Lara, 2010, Youth Crime in England and Wales. London: Civitas Institute for the Study of Civil

Society, passim. 46 Ibid. 47 Feheney, JM., 2012, ‘Presentation Schools in England: St Vincent’s, Dartford’. Presentation Studies, 2012,

71-87. 48 Bishop Mark Davies, The Tablet, 8 September, 2012, 33. 49 Ibid. 50 Mayhew, Henry, 1861-1862, London Labour and the London Poor, 4 vols. London. 51 Catholic Poor Schools Committee, 1848, Annual Report, 7. 52 Kelly, Rev William, The Tablet, 26 November, 1864, Letter to the Editor. 53 Saturday Review, 10 July, 1869, 49. 54 The Times, 6 February, 1879, 10d. 55 Saturday Review, 23 July, 1859, 100-101; The Bulwark, 1 July,1861). 56 Gilley, Sheridan, >Protestant London, No-Popery and the Irish Poor’, 1830-1860, Parts I & II’ in Recusant

History, 1970, 1971. 57 Presentation Studies, No. 1, March, 1982, Editorial, 2 58 Hostie, Raymond SJ, 1983, The Life and Death of Religious Orders. Washington, DC: Centre for Applied Research in the Apostolate. 59 McClelland, VA to Feheney, JM, 16, September, 1992, unpublished correspondence. 60

Whitehead, Maurice, Professor, unpublished correspondence with JM Feheney, 2008. 61 Grace, Gerard, 2002, Catholic Schools: Mission, Markets and Morality. London: Routledge/Falmer, 109. 62 McGahern, John, 1996, ‘Schooldays: A Time of Grace’. Feheney, JM (ed.), A Time of Grace. Dublin: Veritas,

135. 63 Maher, Sean, 1996, ‘Discovering a thirst for Learning’, JM Feheney (ed.) op.cit., 129.