Irish Times article 23 March 2013

Irish Times article 23 March 2013

Bolt from the blue.

(Date approximate)


26 years had passed since I left Newbridge College and 16 years since I made my statement to the Gardai. . I had drifted from country to country, job to job, one partner to the next, and alcohol was a good friend to me. I was doing everything to excess and in dozens!

My life had settled down somewhat and there was a sense of continuity in my life. I had been with my partner Phil for 6 years and although he knew about my past and was very understanding, our life together was not without its difficulties.We found a way through difficult issues and times, which brought us closer together.

I had found a way, over the years to 'file away' lots of emotion and confusion when I needed to. It had it down to a fine art!

I was in the office at home, and the phone rang. Inspector Sean Lavin of Kildare Garda station introduced himself. He sounded hesitant. He informed me that he had uncovered a file regarding sexual abuse which occurred in 1977. I confirmed it was my statement, and then he dropped the bombshell,

DO YOU WANT TO PRESS CHARGES?

I asked him if I could take some time to consider it and get back to him.

Phil and I discussed the ramifications for me personally, for us as a couple, for my family, and if the changes it would bring would be of benefit to anyone. We talked and talked and the same word kept emerging.

Truth.

I called him back and said I was willing to pursue it. So in 2003 the ball started rolling again. The floodgates of emotion opened wider and deeper than ever. I was finding it more difficult than ever to cope with triggers and flashbacks, anger, resentment, and confusion. Our lives were affected much more than imagined and it was then we decided that counselling was my best option.

Summer 2003 I started attending one to one person centered therapy sessions and initially I found it was making no difference. Over time we could both see some important changes but little did I realise the counselling would continue for at least 10 years.

What's a Canon?

Vincent Mercer, the Headmaster excused me from class and showed me into a private room.

 I was nervous, had I done something wrong?

I was introduced to Canon McMahon. He said he was from Archbishops House in Dublin and asked me to recount what had happened to me a couple of days before. I told him as best I could knowing who had just taken me to the room and could be listening outside the door.

Fear has the power to silence anything!

I only had the courage to tell him about McCabe and regretfully I was left with my other 'dirty' secret. What could I do, when I knew I would have contact with the other person on a daily basis?

This was the first recorded version of what happened and I presume it was taken back to the Archbishop in Dublin. I have a copy of his report and occasionally I read it to remind myself that I did the right thing in reporting it and even then not being afraid to speak out (albeit I only told half the story).

An innocent picture.

My pony, Snowball.

At first glance, an innocent photo of a child looking smug on his pony! But this photo was perhaps the trigger for the one of the events that changed my life forever. The photo was proudly displayed in  my family home, and was admired by Fr Patrick McCabe on his 'visit'. Within 5 hours, he had tracked me down and abused me.

I was 'special'

My baby sister had just been born a few months before I started boarding school in 1975. I remember I cried as I watched her in her moses basket on one side of the room whilst my mother stitched name tags on every article of clothing I had, in preparation for my departure.

My brother was already attending the same school so that softened the blow somewhat.

I waved goodbye to my parents that Sunday evening from the huge doorway of the Junior house where the new boys were housed. My new life starts here and it's going to be a life full of opportunities, some afforded to me and others waiting to be created.

One priest would go around each night and tuck us in then give a hug to each boy. Some parents thought this was quite a nice touch as it gave a sense of 'home' to the students.

Another would prowl the dormitory after lights out, making choices. Just like a box of chocolates I'm not sure if he always went for the same ones. He would sit on my bed and drape his cassock over most of my torso as I lay motionless in bed. His left hand would then go under the covers and he would 'enjoy' a chat. I never heard anything he said.

Time after time this became the bedtime ritual and as a naive and fearful boy, I could never decide if I was blessed or cursed.

One thing was certain, I was 'special'