In this day and age we understand that perhaps the most
successful method of encouraging an individual is to find out what motivates
them and use that as inspiration. Done
correctly the possibilities of what is achievable are endless. So why is it that at Violent Hell these men
of the cloth thought that the only way to encourage a young boy was to beat
him, severely and repeatedly?
Being caned wasn’t foreign to me. As I mentioned my father was the headmaster
of the primary school I attended. One
day our teacher had to leave the classroom and we, as ten year olds would, began
messing about. Hearing the commotion my
father came in and ordered the boys who were away from their desk to line
up. He then proceeded to administer six
of the best to each of us in the line, and there is nothing more humiliating
than taking six of the best from your dad in front of all your mates.
The priests at Violent Hell wore a garment known as a soutane
or cassock. This is the long black
garment, like a dress almost, that reaches from the neck to the ankle. It also has what appears to be fourteen
million buttons down the front. In fact
it only has thirty three buttons, one for each year of Christ’s life. However it was what was under the garment
that was the problem. It was a fantastic
way of concealing canes and straps or whatever other weapon the priests had chosen
to use that day. We on the other hand
never knew what weapon would be pulled out.
The standard weapon for beating us was a bamboo or rattan cane,
some priests preferred to use a leather strap, which was purposely made to
administer punishment. It would be a
number of layers of leather sewn together and shaped so that it had a sort of
handle. It would have been between two
to three inches wide and maybe fifteen or sixteen inches long. There was a rumour that these had metal bars
inserted, to stiffen them, but I don’t think they had, however it certainly
felt like they had. I often equate the
priests to Zorro, who would leap in amongst his enemy, throw back his cape and
reveal his sword. Of course some priests
were so lazy they would simply lay into you with their boots and fists.
In fact the school was on retreat once. Don’t worry we were not running away from
anybody or anything. For a retreat new
priests would come in and lead us in a week of prayer, meditation and reflection. Are there any sensible people out there who
actually think that you are going to make a school full of hormonally charged
little boys walk around in silence for a week meditating? No. Many
of us knew certain safe spots, well safe-ish, as I have said before most of the
priests were old boys. A friend from
Lurgan, Brian Lavery and myself decided to make our way over to Our Lady’s
grotto, where we figured we could relax, smoke a few cigarettes and talk about
stuff that most eleven year olds liked to talk about, which would be girls.
Unfortunately, having navigated the shrubbery, the grotto lay
along the route we would use to cross the Bishops land to the garage on the Newry
road; we were unaware that a group of senior boys had gathered at the grotto. Luckily their aim was to amuse themselves
much as Brian and myself had intended. The grotto was a pretty little place
with a large stone altar where on certain occasions mass would be
celebrated. One of the senior boys, a
lad known as Dodo, decided as they had an altar going spare that it would be a
good idea to sacrifice one of the juniors.
Especially the one with the nice legs, in the short trousers; me!
I was laid out on the altar while Dodo went through his
performance, which I think came from watching far too many Peter Cushing and
Christopher Lee movies and was about to plunge his sacrificial dagger into my chest,
which actually was a wooden school ruler, when into the middle of us sprang
Zorro. Well, not Zorro, but the Wee
Scut. Being an old boy he had sneaked up
on us through the undergrowth, rather than launch a frontal attack along the path. He managed to catch us all. As he began to work his way around the group,
identifying each boy and informing him where to be at seven thirty that evening
Dodo was looking for somewhere to hide the cigarette he was smoking. He thought that the breast pocket of my blazer,
which certainly lived up to its name, would be a decent hiding place.
So that evening in the middle of all that silence and
reflection and meditation a group of us lined up outside the Dean’s day room watched
by everyone in the senior study hall and took what was coming to us.
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