I don’t really want to dwell on my time at Violent Hell. Like the Dali Lama I had been ripped from my
parents and was being educated by men of God.
Also like the Shaolin monks, they taught hand to hand combat, even if
you didn’t want to learn. We were also trained
in escape and evasion techniques. I
mentioned before that in our school chapel was the throne known as that of the
Bishop of Down and Connor. The reason
for this was that his house was in the school grounds. He was like a sort of Dumbledore, providing
an outer ring of protection to the school and myself the future King of
Ireland. I suppose I was like an Irish Harry
Potter.
One of the tests of bravery was to go to the garage on the
Newry to Lurgan Road and buy cigarettes and cans of lemonade shandy for the big
boys. To be successful you would have to
cross the Bishop’s lawns, which were guarded by two fierce dogs. Many a poor boy failed however my training
was so good that the dogs never caught me.
As a prospective Master Candle Maker my most important tools
would be my hands, so like Caine or even Bruce Lee, who would jab their hands
into heated cauldrons of sand, we toughened our hands by having the priests
thrash us with bamboo sticks. Sometimes,
to make the training more effective and realistic, the priests would attack and
beat us with reinforced leather straps in case you had an effective method of
resistance against bamboo canes. Many
boys tried to use Vulcan mind control methods but without the proper training
they were quite ineffective.
But an equally tough test would be to fight with the British
Army. Occasionally someone would phone
in a bomb warning and the army people would turn up, mob handed. There would be the bomb disposal men but there
would also be a huge guard to protect them.
Of course when the soldiers had finished their searching and would be
preparing to leave the school grounds they would shudder, for standing in their
way, would be the future Master Candle Maker, the future King of Ireland, in
short trousers.
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