Scars that Run Deep Read Free Page A

here for a few weeks I thought as he returned to his office.
    As I look back to that moment on a beautiful spring morning in March 1950 I never once realised that this would be my number until my release on reaching the age of sixteen, a full eight awful years, half of my childhood locked up as number 12928 in Artane Industrial School. My childhood as I had known it was gone for ever, yet no one had the courage or decency to tell me.
    Some tunes will always linger or remain in the back of one’s mind. A tune that when you hear it, no matter where you are, will remind you of the time and place you were in when firstyou heard it. As I was being led down the granite stone steps by the monitor to meet the Dude, the Brother General, ‘The Foggy Dew’ swept the grounds of this mighty Christian Brothers boys’ industrial school. ‘What’s that?’ I said.
    The monitor, whose name was Billy, smiled as he explained, ‘That’s our famous boys’ band. They’re playing “The Foggy Dew”. They’re practising for the St Patrick’s Day Grand Parade. Come on, follow me. You’ve got to meet the Dude.’
    Sure, I couldn’t quite take it all in as Billy seemed to be so excited, explaining all these things to me. But then I was very slow on learning, on the uptake of things. However, I had a mind that stored up what I’d seen, heard and had done to me, and I’d never be allowed to forget such things!
    As the hauntingly beautiful sound of ‘The Foggy Dew’ swept through the air, the boys’ parade ground, where 900 boys were lined up in their respective divisions, looked like a mighty boys’ army. I was shocked at the awesome sight. ‘What are they doing?’ I asked.
    Billy quickly explained, ‘The boys are lined up in their divisions. Each division goes by age, see.’ He pointed. ‘Look, there, that’s Division One, they’re the older boys, fifteen years of age and over. At sixteen they are set free. You will be in a division called the nineteenth, as you are the youngest. Now you’ve got to meet the Great Brother General.’
    â€˜Who’s he?’ I said, scared, confused and bewildered.
    â€˜He’s the Dude, Pat. He’s the General Brother in charge. He likes good kids, so you’ll be okay.’
    Suddenly a thundering sound, like a drum roll; the beat carried like a huge echo. ‘What’s that?’ I said, looking at Billy. I reached for his hand. Relief swept through me as he clenched it in his. ‘That’s our boys’ band playing “The Minstrel Boy”, it’s a famous march. We hold our own parades here. Every division marches in it, and the boys’ parents are allowed to attend all parades for great occasions such as St Patrick’s Day, Easter Sunday and Corpus Christi, which are the school’s biggest and best. When you’re older, you will get to march with your own division.’
    â€˜Gosh, really,’ I shouted over the music. ‘I’d only ever followed our local band from our school in Sandyford to over yonder in Stepaside.’
    Billy gasped, pulled me to one side and said, ‘I want you to forget words like gosh, and over yonder, as it’s far too posh for us in here!’
    Suddenly, I felt change sweeping in over me, change I’d never believe I’d get used to; change was a word I grew to hate. As the monitor explained angrily to me, ‘Look Pat, you got to change, your choice of words will bring nothing but trouble to you. The kids here will make shit ou-ra-yeh,
over bleedin’ yonder
, are you kidding me, Pat? Even the kids in yournineteenth will laugh their heads off at yeh.’ His tone softened as he continued. ‘Look at me. I want you to listen to me. This is a very tough place for a kid as young as you. But being so young without any folks won’t get you special privileges. Believe me, this is a very