.....2...."Altar Boy..and Schools. Holiness and Abuse.

 

       When I was eight or nine years of age, I had been invited by Canon Rhys to become an altar boy. I had been so happy about this, but didn't feel that I deserved it. I don't know why but I had a very low opinion of myself. I enjoyed learning the Latin and the responses and I was soon in The Guild of St. Stephen. I enjoyed all the services and rituals, and did it for some years, but I did notice a less than solemn attitude in some of the clergy. Some of them would answer their own Latin responses, to save time and get the Mass over with quickly.   There were other advantages also, for one could get ten bob at weddings and funerals. This was a definate plus for someone in my financial position.

       My boils ( Stress),were still with me and caused me to limp in pain when I walked, however I had learned to live with pain at an early age. So with my home problems, my school problems and now my church problems I was pretty strung out. I didn't look for sympathy I kept much to myself. I suppose I was too young to know that life could be any different. (No doubt this was why I found solace in the sufferings of Job, which I found somewhat amusing, especially the boils and sitting on the dung heap.)

        Unfortunately I was subjected to quite a lot of physical and psychological abuse by the Clergy and Christian Brothers, as were many other children, at this time. I wasn't Robinson Crusoe, that's for sure. This was compounded by the fact that I was an Altar boy and had to serve The Mass of some of these people. People I knew were not living up to their own vows.  They included all the vices it seemed. One Priest Father Haa Evans, who was my mother's 'friend' was sexually bothering young women in the parish and had even been thrown out on the lawn by one irate father. I used to go to the pictures with Father Evans and my Mother, as a cover I suppose, but I found the kissing and cuddling embarassing to me, and everybody knew he was a  Priest even if he did put a black and grey scarf over this 'dog collar'...All the rest of his clothes were black----he was either Paladin or a Priest. There were many other occasions for embarrassment around this situation as well....like standing outside the Presbytery whilst the whole congregation walked by with scowling faces...........I was looking for a hole to hide  in....The whole town knew about them anyway as they went to badminton and tennis holding hands.

The fact also that around this time I had been sexually molested, by an ex-Indian Army man who knew my father, didn't help either. I was trapped, in the back seat of a parked bus, by this fellow. I tried desperately to attract the attention of the conductor, but he seemed absolutely disinterested, perhaps complicit. I was really saying my "Hail Mary's," and I did eventually succeed in breaking away from this very strong person. But not before he had given me a good molesting. He had stuck a couple of squares of Cadbury's chocolate in my pocket, which I threw in the gutter. This incident was very traumatic and when I told the man, in Charlton's chip shop, on Borrowdale Road, he told me Mr.So and So was a very nice man and that I should stop telling lies. He really told me off so I never did tell anyone else about the assault. He along with the Barber and the molestor were all part of a pedophile ring no doubt. They even came and filmed us playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’ on the waste land we called ‘The Field’. We thought we were film stars not realising why they were filming us..

      Also around this time I was actually hassled, for being a Catholic! I was already having enough trouble with the Catholics myself,I didn't need the Prods on me as well. It was my custom to go to the Saturday pictures, a fun time full of cheering and booing and other hullabaloo. We called the cinema the flea-pit or the Moreton bug-house, due to the state of the place. My pocket money wasn’t enough at sixpence, but my Mum would have me do something and then give me an extra sixpence. I then could afford to go upstairs away from the mob downstairs, and still have threepence left for a treat. Old Slow Johnny used to keep the kids in line, waiting for the doors to open, otherwise there would be mayhem on the street. Occasionally he would have to come down and pull some kid out of the line and send him right to the back.  Once inside it was bedlam, with kids running around in cowboy suits and toy guns, hitting other kids and some of the others, throwing stuff down from the balcony. Soon enough the man playing the organ would stop, and then there would be an almighty cheer, from all the kids. You could never hear the opening cartoons for the noise, but soon enough it was ‘Tom and Jerry’, or ‘Mighty Mouse.’  Then it was the ‘Three Stooges,’ who brought the house down and gave the little savages violent ideas. Or we would have ‘Superman, Flash Gordon or the Lone Ranger and even Tarzan.’  The big picture would be ‘Hopalong Cassidy,’ ‘Roy Rogers’, or ‘Tarzan,’ or something similar.  All the kids would cheer like mad for the ‘Goodies’ and boo for the ‘Baddies.’  At the same time some would be hitting others over the head, with toy guns or throwing wrappers at each other.  It was a temporary insane asylum, and an escape for so many, from their miserable lives.  Many would go home to abusive homes and drunken or absent fathers.  So this was an escape, before television came along, in the late fifties.

After the session was over I had a couple of miles to walk home by myself. A gang of  boys took to chasing me and trying to beat me up. Fortunately I could run a lot faster than they could, but I was still a very scared little boy. This was Merseyside and there was animosity between some Catholics and Protestants, this reflected the problems in Northern Ireland.

       In fact Liverpool had an "Orangeman's Day Parade" and one time my Uncle, who was a Catholic Priest, was stopped by the Police, from driving near it. They told him that if the Orangemen saw a Catholic Priest he would be in grave danger, perhaps for his life. I probably had more problems with the Church than these boys ever could have.  Unfortunately I knew a couple of them and up until this time we had been on cordial terms.  They were ‘Fatty Roberts and his brother ‘Pip’, the others I didn’t know at all. The leader was probably Orange, for he spewed out quite a lot of hatred about Catholics, which he probably got from his parents as most Protestants I knew didn’t talk like that.  One day they did almost catch me. I had hardly got past the pub, ‘the Big House’, Coach and Horses, when they cornered me in an alcove. It looked like curtains for me, and I was anticipating a good head butting and kicking.  However, I managed to slam one of their heads, into the corner of a pub wall, and then I ran for it. It was Young Pip, and I could hear Fatty going on about his brother and the blood all over the place.  (Fatty R later joined the Royal Marines, but didn’t make the grade through training and he was discharged and allowed to walk around town is his dress uniform the weekend). There were four or five of them led by a nasty little boy and they meant me harm, calling me a dirty R. C. and other stuff. I had to run into people’s yards to escape them. One time I just made it into the local Trade Union Leader’s yard and he came out and asked were they all cowards, chasing one little boy?  I'm afraid going to the movies became a terrifying experience, and good training for long distance running, but eventually it ended, due to my violent response no doubt.

       Sometime later I met the ringleader by himself and he was a coward. He had just moved into our street, when John Clark and I noticed him on the street. I called out to him and asked him where his mates were. He looked at me and went white or ashen, in the face.  As I walked up to him, I was laughing at him being by himself. He actually was shaking in his shite, with fear. I gave him a good bashing, and if wasn't for a neighbour intervening whilst I was banging his head on the footpath, he would have got more. I'm not really proud of this, but I was a child in a tough area.  I forgave the others and ended up on good terms with them.

 

My father and mother were not getting on so well now, and my father had a job at St Hughes Secondary, in Birkenhead, a renowned ‘tough school.’  His nickname was 'Blackjack', for he used to give out corporal punishment a lot. Of course in those days corporal punishment was the norm, and if one got punished at school one ran the risk of being punished again at home, for being punished! They were in separate bedrooms, and my father slept in the backroom.  One day my sisters M. Henrietta and Therese found some books in his drawers.  They were called Q.T. and were full of naked women. They called me, ‘Anthony come and look at these books.’ I looked alright and later went back to his room and stole one, for myself. When my mother tackled him about it he said, ‘Oh they were confiscated from the boys at school.’ Sure, all consecutive monthly editions!  I of course showed my friends the amazing books, with amazing women, with the most gigantic tits ever seen, not on a cow. There was great demand to borrow the book and no doubt there was a lot of vicarious intercourse and wanking done. My father never mentioned the missing book, but I noticed him eyeing me a few times, knowing that I must have pinched one of them. My father had a great old car though, a 1935 blue 'rag-top' Morris called Jo, from the number plate, although I never got to ride in it much.

Around this time in 1953 my brother Paul was born, which also caused quite a bit of confusion and arguments between my Mother, Father Evans and my Father. All the suspicions aroused just added to a bad situation. My Father was saying the baby was Father Evan's and my mother was saying that my father had forced himself on her. Any doubts that existed were really answered as Paul grew up to look exactly like our father.(Many years later Paul was talking about suing the Church for damages as he was teased about my mother and the priest in his schoolyard, he claimed).

 

 Soon I had to sit my eleven plus exam to decide what kind of school I would go to. Luckily I passed, in fact I was the only boy in my class/school to do so.!!!?? However I passed to a non-Catholic school so my mother turned it down and I had to sit an entrance exam to the Catholic Grammar. I personally would have preferred to have gone to the school that I passed to, as I knew the reputation of the Catholic Grammars or High Schools. By this time stress was my middle name and I deliberately failed miserably, 28 out of a 100.  However pressure was brought to bear and as I had already passed the scholarship I was accepted. I passed the scholarship, again, to this same school a few months later anyway.  I was the only boy that I knew who had passed the eleven plus, twice! I had to go to a house in Wallasey, where I was to be examined again.  The house was just about the only house left standing in the street.  Every other house was rubble or an empty bomb site. I hadn’t seen this part of Wallasey before, and I was surprised by the devastation. There had been major blitzes between 1940 and 1942, during the attacks on Liverpool, and thousands of people had died.  I sailed through all the interviews and tests, and ended up with a scholarship .

 

     This would turn out to be one of the most mixed experiences of my life to date, even though there were happy and fun times as well.   The school was, St Anselm's, 'The Anslums', they nicknamed it, the top catholic secondary in the Wirral,run by The Irish, Christian Brothers and I found them to be cruel, sadistic and decidely un-Christian. They were the shock troops of the Church and they beat an education into you. Their favourite weapon of punishment was the strap. This strap was made of whalebone covered in hard polished leather and was about a foot long. I received this punishment so much in my first year that I was called "Strappy", in the schoolyard. Mostly it was for insignificant incidents like missing a Latin verb tense, or something like that. In fact there was a lot physical abuse and the boarders up at the Mansion were allegedly getting sexually abused, as Timothy Staff, and some others alleged and told me. Timothy was going to be a Priest but he was going cool on that after this episode. I know the names of  some of the boys that were allegedly abused but will keep it quiet, unless they speak out themselves. One boy, later, was alleged to have had his chest touched and 'felt up' in class by a Christian Brother, and consequently broke every window in the canteen block, with a fisherman's catapult. He was 14 or 15 and was duly suspended or expelled and never came back to school. One of the brothers had a habit  of getting hold of you by the skin on the chin, or hair on the temple and lifting you up on your toes, until you complained or cried; I never gave them that satisfaction. 

One occasion I was told by the House Master to report to the Headmaster or Gaffer. I had no idea what it was about, but I soon found out. There were a few other boys up there waiting outside his office as well, but they weren't troublemakers. Once in the Gaffer said your name was given to me as you have been talking sexually, telling dirty jokes and such. I denied it all and he told me to give him any name of people that were. Obviously one of their compliant 'bumboys' had been snitching on the kids. Probably trying to find out who was sexual and who was talking about the abuse up at the mansion dorms. I spread the word around and told the kids to be careful. The Christian Brothers abuse came out in all the newspapers years later of course.

My father was a schoolteacher at a local school so his friends felt free to strap me.  I once received six of the best on my hands for not doing my French homework. Actually only my grades in Math were really bad, and studies have shown that kids that come from an unhappy home environment, do badly in math due to the stress and anxiety about the home situation.

       My father decided to take me to a French movie, to learn I suppose.  It was a movie starring "Fernandel" and was very funny, I could follow some of the actions if not the language.  The next day I turned up at my class minus my homework and when I proffered my excuse the entire class broke into laughter. That was taken as a threat to discipline so Mr McCrystal gave me six of the best and he wasn't even a Brother. One particular teacher, also a lay teacher, Joe Connolly was very attached to strapping. He used to teach us Latin and for every word wrong we received a whack of the leather. The sound of punishment must have resounded through the school. For many a day there were more boys out at the front of the class, waiting for the strap, than were sitting down. Connolly used to stink and had bad breath, from smoking presumably. He would stick his smelly face in yours and say things like, ‘ Do you know all your Latin today, boy?’ Most of the teachers knew my father and on one occasion, one told me that my father had told him to strap me, which he proceeded to do.  The children in my father's school were terrified of him, some were my friends even, like Teddy Donnelly. Teddy found out 'Blackjack' was my father and he never visited again.

Back at the Anslums, there was plenty of activity, for we had a new boxing instructor; Father Con O'Kelly, who had been the heavyweight champion of Ireland. He had even boxed and beat Jack Dempsey. He was tough and if the thought a boy was trying to bung it on, he would throw him back in the ring. We thought he was real even if he used to swear a little, and on retreat his confessional was always the one with the big line outside. You could tell him all the sins, about looking at dirty pictures, wanking and things like that. He was famous for sneaking up behind you in his car and blasting the horn. On one occasion, he was attacked, by ten hooligans and he laid them all out on the footpath. In the end he was sent away, for being an embarrassment presumably, but at least he wasn't immoral.  On one occasion, I was sitting on the train with my mother, when we noticed Con sitting opposite us. I said hello father and he answered me, ‘How are you, you little bugger, wasting all your bloody time eh?’  This didn’t please my mother, and it surprised the other passengers. My mother said later that he was punch drunk, from being hit in the head too often.

 

 

 At home my father and mother were now living in separate bedrooms and my sisters slept with my mother. Occasionally my father would come into their room in the middle of the night and tip the mattress up, spilling them all on to the floor. The family fights were getting more violent as well, which made it a very nerve-racking experience at home.

       Back at St Anslums,-St Anslem's, the Brothers used to leave the handles of the leathers hanging out of their pockets and take pride in how fast they could draw and strike.If they didn't have their leather with them and you were due punishment, you had to go and search other classroom until you could borrow  one, to be beaten with.  I, like the other boys, had it many times on the hands although one time Charlie Behan and myself received six on the hands and six on the behind, for comparing notes. Unfortunately, we had copied a French word into a Latin exam, how dumb can you get? We were bent over the desk after the hand strapping, and our arses were sore, I can tell you.  Connolly said that we had done well in the exam, and he asked the class if they thought we had been punished enough.  They answered yes of course, otherwise Charlie and I would be fighting them for a year.

 

At one point we actually snatched the strap and each boy had to take it home for a week, so we were all guilty I suppose. One day Terry Clarke wouldn't accept punishment and challenged the brother to fisticuffs. They went out in the hall and had an altercation and Terry was sent home.     

       Despite all this I actually did learn something at the school, I had no choice.  I was very good at History and Religious Knowledge, even if I had many doubts and unanswered questions. I found most questions were usually answered by the retort "You have to have faith or it's a mystery, just believe it." We gave the Brothers a mystery or two ourselves though. Levitating kids in the school, yard was one.

       One kid would be rubbing the subject kid's head and saying stuff like "you feel like feathers", and the subject would repeat it. A few boys would then get around him, take a deep breath and hold it, then lift him up to waist level just with our forefingers.  This was not popular with the staff and they would come over and stop it, without any sensible explanation. They probably considered it ‘witchcraft’ or something like that. This trick was quite common in English schoolyards in those days and probably still is. There was always a kid who knew how to do it.


 One particular day Tim Stafford asked whether Orthodox Orders were recognised, the answer was yes but Anglican's weren't. He was most upset by this, for either The Catholic Church was the only truth, which is what we had been taught or it wasn't. I think he gave up the idea of being a Priest due to this. He also tried to tell me something about what was happening to the boarders, (sexual abuse), but couldn't get it out, initially. It was a dark secret and it scared him greatly.

       A great diversion and saviour of my sanity at this time music. Rock and Roll music that is; I was a great fan of Buddy Holly, Gene Vincent, Cliff Richards, Marty Wild, Connie Francis, The Everly Brothers and many more. It really gave me something to occupy my mind and it was a great support. I used to listen to "Radio Luxemburg 108", everyday, for there was no commercial radio in the U.K. at that time. I also used to go to local and school dances, where live bands played all this music.  The world finally seemed like a nice place and there was promise for the future, although at this time I couldn't see very far.  This was also my first experience of the great power a peer group has over one's thinking, it is a very impressionable and important age, even the way I dressed and cut my hair was influenced.  I can remember cutting down a pair of my father's brown trousers into narrow legs.  The only problem being I used white cotton and I didn't take in the waist.  I must have looked a sight plus I was shaving my forehead so I could have a "Tony Curtis", style; for unfortunately for me, my forehead came just about down to my eye-brows.  I did eventually get a new suit, which was in the modern, Italian style and I wore the pants to school.  The headmaster didn't like the pants at all and pulled me up on them.  

     

       Around about this time one of the boys found out how to get into the beer store.  Charlie also found out how to get in the tuck store, so we had lots of chocolate bars as well.  Beer was sold at specific school dances and functions.  Well we made holes in our trouser pockets and fitted the bottles in our pockets.  We then walked over to the toilets, drank the beer and put the empties in the overhead tank of the lavatory.  Unfortunately the chain would not pull properly anymore, due to the amount of bottles, chinking away in the cistern.  Consequently when the caretaker came to investigate, he found the bottles.  When they found out they just read out all our names, the school snitch had been at it again.  They didn't even ask if we were guilty; it was real Star Chamber stuff.  We had to pay compensation, plus we were supposed to stay in school for two weeks in the holidays.  School was unusually pleasant whilst the beer lasted though! Unfortunately the school took a dim view of us drinking the dance beer and we were told not to come back after the summer break.  It was kind of like a indirect expulsion for what would it sound like when the alcohol came up in any inquirey.  So ended my career as a Catholic Schoolboy. (It was no loss for I had no intention of returning anyway.  On the last day I stuck my hat on the railing spikes, I wiped my feet on my blazer plus I didn't stay back the two weeks.) (In March 1998 The Christian Brothers published apologies, in the Irish and U.K. press admitting the physical and sexual abuse of their pupils, over the years. There was some sex stuff going on up in the dormitories for sure, as I trust the boys that told me about it.)

 

         I eventually gave up being an altar boy and hung on to religion only by my fingernails.  It was not all, bad at school though, I had some good times as well.  Some of the teachers were fantastic like Smithy, my History teacher, Joe McManus who had bummed around America and had pink socks, and gave us the ''The autobiography of a Supertramp' to read.  Dickie Farrell was also very popular and an excellent teacher, I came top of the class in both English Literature and Language whilst in his class, he was fired for some obscure reason, unjustly I believe.  I think it was because he looked overtly gay.  Many of the Brothers were gay anyway, but they hid it, as in those days there was not a lot of tolerance for sexual preferences; Being Gay doesn't mean one is a molestor though.

However I stumbled along for a few years yet.  I wasn't very good at sports and I was undersized at the time. I was a good cross country runner and could run for miles, myself and Chris Jelley were always first and second every week on sports days.

 My problem with the Clergy at this time was their hypocrisy. Marriages breakdown and so do relationships...If a Priest or Brother doesn't want to keep his vows then leave and stop taking the Church's shilling..This was my main problem with Father Haa  and my Mother...he should have left the Church, she get divorced and marry him or whatever. However the hypocrisy was a killer to all...As my father and mother were essentially separated...it would have been acceptable to me for my mother to marry George Haa  and I wouldn’t have had any major problem with that. However everybody keeping up appearances and pretensions, whilst carrying on an obvious affair, was extremely damaging as the public knew anyway;They were divorced years later when my father wanted to remarry anyway.

 My mother suffered from dementia in her aged days....and had a loss of  memory and identification, and couldn't recognise me on the phone or my other siblings in person. She was in fact 'dead' to her world of memories as are so many in the same sad condition. According to my sisters she was happier than she had ever been and this was no doubt due to the fact she had lost the bad memories and whatever mental condition she had.She died on 20th June 2012 at 2 pm.