Scars that Run Deep (15 page)

‘She did, Molly is no fool, Simon. Don't be put off by her
rollers in her hair and her easy-going style. She warned me about my sleepwalking and shouting in my sleep waking up the other lodgers. Two very nice young ladies left the house because of my sleepwalking. Molly told me I scared them half to death one night when I entered their room and crept into bed beside one of 'em.'

‘You did not, get away. You tried to get into their bed?' Simon was gob-smacked at the news but seemed to enjoy it, I thought. ‘Get away. You are so naive, Pat, so immature. You don't have a clue as to how you should treat a girl. I bet you believe in mortal sin, and just about everything you were scared into believing as a child in Artane School.'

I was shocked by him – stunned.

I stared out and down as far as I could see along the rail line going west, and longed to travel far, far away. ‘Sure, you are right about me, Simon,' I said mournfully, feeling sorry for myself. ‘But you know, Simon, I also know a great deal about you, and in many ways you are just like me. Sure, you are far better educated than I could ever be and you have a beautiful girlfriend who loves you. You are more mature and older and wiser than me, yes.'

He turned to me, his voice soft. ‘So what are you getting at?'

‘The fact is you walk in your sleep, talk in your sleep, you shout orders. Your bleedin' past will come back to haunt you
and there is not a whole lot you can do to prevent her from knowing about you then, is there?'

I knew by his bleak expression that I had got to him and I felt relieved because he had it coming. It would help him once he realised who he really was and from where he came.

He paused again in the city centre near O'Connell Bridge. He faced me. ‘Look, Pat,' he began softly, ‘I love Laura and she has agreed I will marry her. I love her and Laura loves me too, Pat.'

I tried to congratulate him but the words would not come. I felt so depressed that I couldn't hold on to a girlfriend or to even please one.

After a long silent moment, the bells of Christchurch rang out eight hauntingly beautiful chimes. ‘Here she comes, Pat, here comes Laura.'

I didn't wait to meet her. I quickly turned on my heels and walked away alone into the night, feeling lonely and deflated.

While I guess I should have been feeling happy for him, my gut feeling was it would be a marriage made in hell. Hell for beautiful Laura that is. Even I could see that Simon was no more prepared for married life than I was. As I made my way home to Molly's, her words struck me like a warning bell. ‘But you do have awful nightmares, Simon. You shout and walk in your sleep, son. You are not ready for marriage surely. Does Laura know you well, Simon?' If only she did know the
real ex-Christian Brother, Simon Davaro. If only she could have shared a bedroom with him for just a few weeks she would save herself from having to endure in marriage the nightmares and the horrors of Simon's past. Molly's words rang true.

I got home to my lodgings that night feeling sorry not just for Simon – knowing exactly what he was like – but for the beautiful girl in the picture on my dressing table. Laura deserved much better. I was pretty certain of that as I knew Simon Davaro much more personally than did beautiful Laura.

HOW CAN I
forget the 1960s – the dancing years! Those were the days when we got super value for our few shillings. I was earning only £3 15s and handing over £2 5s a week for full board. But I could afford to bring my girlfriend to the Theatre Royal for a stage show and a film, have supper afterwards in the Palm Grove and pay the bus fares, and still have change.

Showbands were in huge demand in the late 1950s and through the 1960s. The National and Ierne Ballrooms in Parnell Square were very much the haunts of the flat-dwellers from the country and of north city Dubliners. I moved my Thursday dance night from the Irish Club to the Ierne, because I felt I needed a change and to try dancing to modern music. I met a girl on my first visit.

Noreen was to be my first real love, and when we told each other our feelings after only a few dates together, it was as though we should have simply gone off and got married.
Noreen was the same age as me, with long fair hair, blue eyes and slim build but with a sad face, suggesting that she might be lonely or homesick. I had only just met her but I believed we were meant for each other, as we had a great deal in common. Noreen came from a good-sized family in County Cavan. She had five brothers and seven sisters – and all fine girls too!

As I look back now I believe it is a mistake to linger and become undecided about what to do. If a couple have accepted each other in a loving way, then it's decision time. I went out with Noreen for many months and decided that I couldn't afford to marry her then – I'd have to go abroad to earn a decent wage first. I loved Noreen. I simply knew nothing of sex. I doubt that she did either. Nevertheless, instead of steadfastly standing by her, I got the boat to England like a fool.

I decided on my own that as I was not in a steady position that I liked – it was a dreadful source of bother to me that I was in night work and that I couldn't get a decent-paying, non-union bakery job – I would leave Ireland but keep in touch with Noreen. It never crossed my mind to ask Noreen what she thought. I suppose I didn't realise how Noreen really felt about me. I believed I was doing the right thing for the future. Now I believe it's wrong to put a love affair on ice, as I did – hoping to make a fortune somewhere and return to claim the girl you left behind, only to find her not there.

One night I'd been invited to Nulty Park House Golf Club by Noreen. I asked Lorcan along with his mother Mary. As we got ready to go out, Lorcan asked me about Noreen. ‘What do you do when you're together, Pat? After all, I take it she's in love with you as well?' His tone was sincere and I could sense he meant what he asked, as though he really cared for me.

I noticed his mother listening now. I became embarrassed. I loved Noreen a great deal, possibly without showing it. I answered as best I could. ‘Well, Lorcan, I simply do as she does. I tend to follow her, kissing, cuddling and that sort – know what I mean?'

‘Is that all? Not try anything else?' He stared at me and then quickly glanced towards his mother as though waiting for a signal to go a step further.

Suddenly May spoke. ‘Look, Pat, you've much to learn, and the sooner you do, the better. There's so much you can do with Noreen that will bind your love. I'll put you in touch with Father Tracy. He's very good at that sort of thing.'

I began to wonder what ‘thing'? What else is there?

A few days later I sat in front of the priest, an elderly man. I couldn't wait to hear the good news about what Noreen and I were missing out on. I told him my confession. He quickly gave me my penance and shut over the tiny window. I knocked and he reappeared.

‘Yes, son, what is it?'

I began to ask him in my own words. ‘Well, Father, you see . . . I'm in love with this girl and I believe I should be doing things to make her happy and I've been told to come to you – that you know all about that sort of thing, Father.' I waited anxiously for his response.

Suddenly he blurted out, ‘Whatever are you talking about, son? Who put you up to this?'

Good God, the sweat oozed out of me in the little dark confessional. ‘Someone who knows you, Father.'

‘Oh, I see – so they couldn't do it and they want me to explain it for you.' He paused. I could hear him sighing, and his breathing was heavy. He spoke quickly now. ‘Do you interfere with each other's private parts?'

How could I tell him I felt her naked bottom while we kissed in close encounters, as my hands roved beneath her long skirt, but never any further. Nor did she touch me in that way. It was a very loving relationship without sex.

‘Do you feel each other's bodies?'

‘Yes, Father.'

‘So you've committed mortal sin by your actions.' To cover his embarrassment, which was obvious, he added three decades of the Rosary to my penance, and the Stations of the Cross for good measure. ‘Is she Catholic?' he asked.

My heart almost missed a beat. I answered, ‘Yes, Father,' and waited.

He raised his voice. ‘The Devil is in both of you, and as he always makes work for idle hands, I suggest both of you join your hands in prayer. I want to see you at the novena and sodality every month.'

I left the confessional none the wiser.

In 1961, after much deliberation, I knew in my heart and soul I had to go away, as I had no papers or diplomas to prove my skills as a baker. Although I loved Noreen, the desire to do well for myself came first. I will never forget the night I told her. She was ever so quiet. If only I had asked her how she felt! I was too full of self-importance, I suppose, always talking about doing the right thing. Though my ideas were good and made sense, I now believe I made the wrong decision.

My first port of call was Manchester. I kissed Noreen farewell and promised to send for her. As I sat up on the deck of the
Leinster
that night, my mind tossed and turned, and staring at the darkness of the sea all I could think of was my lovely Noreen. But I knew then I had to go on. My heart and mind ached for the one I left behind.

Once in Manchester I found digs, and couldn't wait for Saturday to go to Old Trafford to see my dream team, Manchester United, who were playing Burnley. After seeing the game I became a United fanatic. But I still had itchy feet, and I didn't like the digs or the city. The house I stayed in was
in the district of Chorlton-cum-Hardy, near Medlock. It was a real Irish district. I shared a room with three young men from County Mayo. One of them, named PJ, was sitting in the room with me one day as he wrote a letter to his mother. He looked at me and said, ‘It's hard to believe you're a Dublin man. You're so different really, and you haven't got a Dublin Jackeen accent.' I sat there listening, but my mind was on Noreen.

He tried again. ‘You look homesick, Pat. What you need, boy, is a nice girlfriend. 'Twould be the best thing to settle you down.' I simply nodded at him, not knowing how to respond. Then he surprised me. ‘You know, Pat, there's nothing better in life, and I mean it now, than spending the night with a lovely sweet girl – having sex with her. It's the most wonderful feeling you'll ever get, I promise.'

I sat there agreeing with him, and yet I couldn't relate to what he was saying. I was out of my depth, and I knew it. I thought about how experienced he was, and here I was, so gullible and naive. I began to think then that I was staying with all the wrong people. I knew I had to leave and move on.

After chatting to PJ I learnt about the islands of Guernsey and Jersey. I wasted no time, and booked a flight to Jersey. I was my own worst enemy, running scared, always packing my bags – on my way to somewhere, but it was really never important.

St Brelade's Bay, Jersey, in spring I can best describe as a semi-French tropical garden. I quickly fell in love with it. All that filled my mind as I wandered through the narrow cobbled streets of St Helier was, ‘I must share this garden of beauty with Noreen.'

I found employment without any real problem as a baker-tablehand in the Sunshine Bakery in St Helier. I worked with a couple of old men, George and Alf; they told me no young people were interested in the trade because of the night work and long, unsociable hours. How right they were! But I was trapped. I was lonely and homesick and working like a slave far from home. But I was over-anxious to get on and make money.

I was going out to work at eleven at night and working harder than I had ever done since I left Artane. I was arriving back in my tiny bedsitter at seven or eight in the morning, yawning like someone who hadn't slept for a week. The best part of working nights was listening to the BBC Radio music hall shows. Radio was my great friend.

I knew I didn't look too good, and George and Alf were getting concerned for me. George, the older of the two, suggested I bring over my girlfriend. Old Alf, sitting up at the table and changing his false teeth to eat his supper, spoke very quickly, with a peculiar French accent. ‘Every young man
needs plenty of it.' Not even comprehending what it was I needed, I'd simply let his words wash over me while I thought of Noreen. Alf would continue: ‘You know, Irish, you can't go on masturbating for ever, you know. You'll have to get your girl over here before you go blind.'

I worked with those two old-timers all through the dead of night in 1962, knowing full well how far behind I was in sexual matters. Crudity in the workplace and talk about sex confused and upset me. I knew I was one of the Brothers' boys: I felt I was better than those I worked with – which only helped to distance them from me. In reality I was no angel: I was simply short on experience.

I met Noreen at the airport. She hadn't changed a bit. ‘What are you thinking about?' she asked shyly as I stood back to get a good look at her.

‘Well, about you, of course. You still look the same – it's as though we were never apart.'

She seemed amused. Her voice was clear as always. ‘You'd think you were away for years, the way you're going on.' She smiled and shook her head, as though she was confused. A bad start, I thought.

I began to dream of more pleasant things as I settled down to life in Jersey with Noreen nearby. No longer was I having nightmares or walking in my sleep. But I started to become
anxious, fidgety and cranky in work and at home. I couldn't even please Noreen in the way she wished. I was always tired, and going to late-night dances at the weekends was out for me.

I was so naive I never once believed for a minute that Noreen would leave me. When she did, I took it as a joke and was overconfident by a mile, assuming that she'd come running back to me. I was sadly mistaken! I became very depressed and lonely, but as each day tore at my heart and mind I decided to tough it out, as I had been taught to by the Christian Brothers.