Scars that Run Deep (5 page)

Brother Simon Davaro was in another league. He came to Artane on different occasions as a holiday replacement. When he first came, he was nicknamed the Sting. In later years, his nickname was Angel Face. In my previous writing I have referred to them as two people; the Sting contained his sadistic side, Angel Face the opposite. The affects of abuse are manifold. As I update this memoir, seventeen years after my first book was published, and nine years after Ireland's prime minister formally apologised for what the Christian Brothers and others have done, I now feel able to explore what this man did to me more fully. Brother Simon Davaro reappeared in my life time and again, and it has taken me a long time to come to terms with the impact of what he did, and the way that he did it. He abused me, yes, but he could show a lot of kindness, and a sorrow for what he did.

I was at least nine years old when I first got to know him. It was a beautiful golden autumn evening in late October 1951.

I was in Quickfart's gang along with Jamjar, the Burner,
Blossom and Bloom and many more. The Burner came to me and said, ‘You got any conkers, Collie?'

I stood facing him. ‘Chestnuts,' I said, real loud, as Jamjar approached us, followed by Blossom and Bloom. They were identical twins, good-looking fair-haired young lads. ‘Let's go and fill our bleedin' pockets with conkers, lads.'

‘Last over the wall is a rotten swine,' shouted Jamjar.

‘Last again, Collie?' said a smiling Quickfart.

‘The Sting is on duty with Hellfire, lads. We better hurry,' warned Blossom. I felt scared.

‘Who's the bleedin' Sting?' said Jamjar.

‘He's a new Brother. He won't go near us.'

‘Not half,' muttered Bloom.

I turned to face him. ‘How do you know?' I said, eager to find out.

‘He had me the other night in the boot room in the dormo. He mauled my bare arse. I couldn't shit or sit down on it, the swine beat me so hard.'

‘Why did he do that to you?' I said.

‘He caught me ou-ra bed swapping a comic.'

‘Come on, lads, fill up, there's loads of bleedin' conkers here. Grab all youse can and let's get back before we're caught.'

‘Last one back gives up all his conkers,' shouted Jamjar.

‘You got to be joking,' I said. Once again I was last back over the wall on to the parade ground. As I landed I stood,
petrified, facing Brother Davaro with a monitor beside him. I was shocked to see all the lads in my gang standing with their hands raised high above their heads facing the wall. ‘He's in dormitory five, classroom two, sir. Division sixteen, sir,' said the monitor.

‘Your name, boy,' said Brother Davaro, staring at me.

‘Patrick Touher, sir. I'm called Collie sir.'

‘Report to me, Patrick, after prayers in the dormitory tonight, boy. And don't forget.'

As we marched like boy soldiers from prayers in the beautiful chapel, the beautiful sound of the choir singing in Latin hung in the warm autumn air. Tears welled in my eyes in fear and dread of what would happen to me when I reported to the Brother Davaro at eight that night.

I marched that night to the refectory so fearful of what lay ahead I couldn't eat my supper of bread – which we called yang – hot dripping and tea. I couldn't wait to ask Jamjar how he got on. But I got no chance. The Burner shouted, ‘Hey Collie, you are bleedin' in for it, I swear, he's a shaggin' feeler. He almost pulled my prick off. When I swore at him to leave me conkers alone, he beat my naked arse until I broke free of him. He's a bleedin' evil weirdo, Collie, a perverted cunt.'

‘A pervert,' I muttered, confused.

‘You don't bleedin' understand, do yeh Collie?' said the Burner.

I shook my head.

‘But you will tonight. This new geezer, the Sting, he's one shaggin' mauler, Collie,' said Blossom. ‘He knelt down over me, pulled my shorts down, my socks came off, so I felt naked though I had me shirt on. I felt his finger up my arsehole.'

‘Are you sure it was a finger?' shouted the Burner.

‘I'm sure,' said Blossom. ‘I rolled out from under him. He just grabbed me. He pushed me over the bed and beat me something awful and flogged my bare feet when he got up off me. I felt my bottom. It was sticky and wet. I'm reporting him.'

‘Who would believe you?' said Bloom, looking anxious as he sipped his tea.

‘No bleedin' chance, Blossom me pal. There's a lot more than this new geezer, the Sting, getting their pleasure out of us kids. I hear this new bloke is only passing through,' said Burner.

‘Yeah, and the shaggin' sooner he passes through the bleedin' better,' said Jamjar. He stared at me a sorrowful look as he gulped from his tin mug. ‘You're next, Collie.'

That night as I stood for grace after the meal the sound of almost 900 boys praying aloud moved me to tears. Not of joy but tears of fear of what I'd suffer between prayers and sleep.

I will always remember the thundering sounds of marching feet as 900 boys in hobnail leather boots stamped their feet on the red-tiled floor, keeping in time, waiting for their turn to march out of the refectory to shouts of ‘left, left, left right left'. The sound of marching feet is engraved in my memory.

After night prayers in the dormitory and the singing of ‘O Sweet Sacrament Divine', I reported as ordered by Brother Davaro. I felt so lonesome.

As was usual several boys stood facing the wall, their hands held high above their heads, waiting to be punished, just as I was. Every night the sounds in the dormitory were of boys crying after suffering severe pain from the beatings on the hands or across the bare buttocks. The sound of crying that began after prayers, and continued after lights out at 10pm, often helped drown out the sound of the wind rattling the tall pull-up windows.

That night I was last to be dealt with. I entered the small claustrophobic bedroom in the corner of the huge dormitory. ‘Now close the door, boy, and take off the night-shirt, and come to me, boy.' The Brother was sitting on a chair by a dressing table. He wore a long black cassock with a wide waistband, his collar was white, his dark hair was oily, short, trimmed neatly back and sides. His voice was strangely subdued, I thought. I prayed he would not beat me as I was naked.

I was crying as he pulled me over his lap. His warm hands
were molesting me. He held and squeezed my penis and testicles. I cried out, ‘It hurts me, sir.' I could feel him forcing his fingers inside my anus, pushing inside me. I tumbled from his lap on to the floor, then he pulled me between his legs and beat my naked buttocks first with his hand. Then suddenly his weighted leathers crashed excruciatingly off my buttocks. He sounded excited as he kept talking. ‘You filthy pup, you mix with brats, you break the rules. I will break you, boy, you pup.' He kept repeating this over and over and over. I'm certain I could see his long, hard penis. It was then I pulled away as he tried to pull me into him. I lay on the floor, my back resting against the bed. He was wiping himself off with his handkerchief. I was totally unaware of the pleasure and relief he had just experienced as I sat there crying.

He was a changed man when he'd calmed down. His voice was soft. He sounded real nice. I almost liked him. ‘Stand up, son. I'm so sorry if I hurt you, come to me.' I moved closer. Slowly he embraced me. I couldn't stop crying. My bottom felt wet and sticky, and I was uncertain what it was – whether it was blood or what came from him as he satisfied his hunger and his wild desire for pleasure. He became a different man as he calmly embraced me, hugging me and apologising to me. ‘I will never hurt you again, I promise you,' he said.

I couldn't believe how nice he became. His voice became very soft. He actually gave me the feeling he was very sorry as
he continued to caress me, hugging my body close to him while all the while I cried in pain.

‘Promise me you won't tell anyone about this.' He looked at me waiting for my response.

‘I promise, sir,' I cried out in his arms.

‘I will never touch you again, I promise you, boy. Now, wipe your eyes. Tell me, are your parents alive?'

I shook my head. ‘No, sir, I'm alone, sir. I got no mum or dad, sir!'

‘Ahh, so you are a wee orphan. Put your night-shirt on and go back to your bed and remember: tell no one about this, son.'

‘Yes, sir.' I couldn't get over how nice he was.

He next came to the school in July 1953. At first, I didn't realise he was the same man as the cruel Sting and neither did he seem to recognise me, one boy out of nearly 900. His voice was soft, smooth and warm. ‘Hello. I'm rather new here, son. I'm looking for the Brother General who is in charge over the boys' refectory. Can you help me at all?' His smile was natural, sincere. It enhanced his very handsome good looks. He was tall, slim and must have been in his mid-thirties.

‘If you follow me, sir, I will take you to the Reverend Brother General's office, as I work for him.'

As we entered the long refectory, he paused to gaze up at
the huge, long paintings of The Last Supper, the Angelus and many more of the lakes of Killarney and of the Mourne Mountains. I could tell he was amazed and taken by it all.

He stood facing me in the great hall. ‘So tell me, what do you do here, and what is your name, son?'

I was really taken in by his soft, smooth voice and his style too. I hoped he had come to stay here. I thought what a change he'd be compared to the Macker, the Bucko, Hellfire, the Apeman, Joey Boy and the most feared of all, the evil Sheriff.

I gave him my name and said, ‘But I'm known to everyone, sir, as Collie, cos I like cauliflower, sir. Because we've all got nicknames, even the Brothers, sir.'

‘I see, I see. It won't be long before they give me one.' He smiled at me.

‘No, sir. Before breakfast tomorrow, sir.'

He laughed aloud and stroked his chin, then swiftly ran his fingers through his silky dark hair. ‘So tell me, Collie, what do you do here? Tell me as you take me to the office.'

I noticed my friends Oxo and Minnie making faces at me. I stopped at the steps to the office and explained to him my duties. ‘I'm a kitcheners, boy, sir. I help prepare the tables and food, sir. Right now, sir, I've to help make fifty gallons of sweetened tea for the boys' supper, sir.'

‘Goodness, that much tea. How do you make it?'

I pointed to the huge copper boilers near Oxo. ‘We boil
the water, sir, in them boilers. Then the Drisco, sir, he's Brother General in charge, sir, he brings a sack filled with loose tea. It's not a big sack, sir. The Drisco lowers the sack of tea into the boiling water while we stir it with long wooden paddles like oars, sir. Then the Drisco pours basins of full-cream milk in on top as we stir it, sir. Finally, a basin or a bucket of sugar is added to sweeten it, sir.'

The new Brother gave me a look of amazement and laughed. As he flicked his hair back, he smiled at me. I guess he likes me, I thought. I really liked him. ‘What if some of the boys don't take sugar, what do they get?'

‘They get the same as we all get, sir. Boiled sweet tea, sir. We call it slash, sir. The bread is called yang, sir.'

He smiled warmly at me, brushed the top of my head with a swift flick of his hand. ‘I'll see you around and about. What class are you in?'

‘I'm in fourth, sir. Joey Boy is the Brother in charge of it, sir.'

‘So tell me, do you like him?'

‘No, sir. He's far too cruel on us, sir. I hate him, in fact.'

‘Goodness, what a shame. All children should like school. Well, I must go. You better go and stir the tea.'

Oxo was quick off the mark. ‘You'd better watch 'im Collie. He likes you.'

Minnie burst out laughing as he stood by the second boiler, stirring the milk into the tea.

‘What's so funny? I happen to like the new Brother. He's so nice and friendly and he's real interested in me.'

That drew howls of laughter from Oxo and Minnie. But it didn't stop me from wondering what it would be like to have such a kind and well-spoken man for a father.

Later, a few days later, I guess, Minnie tried to warn me about the new Brother while we were setting the tables for breakfast the next morning. ‘There's Angel Face, Collie.'

I looked around but he was gone.

‘You got to be careful of him. Oxo warned me about men like him. Just be careful, as he may want to be more than a friend, if you know what I mean.'

‘No, I don't, and I really like him. He's different. He's so nice. I am fond of him.'

Minnie faced me. ‘Look Collie, we all like him. He
is
different but he won't be kept on here after the summer holidays.'

‘Oh, I see, that's it. Why won't he be kept on? Too nice is he?'

‘Well, he's far too soft for Artane. He's a different breed, that's all. He's far too smooth, too nice, for this awful place. I'm just warning you not to get too close to him, okay? He quite possibly is only here as a holiday replacement.'

‘Sure, okay,' I said.

It wasn't long before he showed his true colours again. It
was a sultry night in the late summer. Most of the tall hard men were away on summer vacation so we expected one of the new Brothers to be on duty. In each of the five dormitories there was a small bedroom on the right as you'd enter and an altar. The altar invariably had beautiful vases of freshly cut blooms from the school gardens. Quickfart, Stewie, Peas, Oxo and Minnie were in the beds closest to me. My bed was in row four. The dormo had 200 wrought-iron beds arranged in long, neat white rows. A central passage divided the dormo in two sections, the altar halfway up on the right, the charge room and washroom to the rear, while the boot room was outside.

As we marched into dormitory four that August night, the Apeman stood at the main entrance as we filed inside. I wondered who the other two Brothers on duty were. Stewie nudged me. ‘Guess who's on, Collie.'