Chapter 13 — St. Patrick’s Kilkenny

Neglect and emotional abuse

This complainant, who alleged that he was sexually abused in St Patrick’s, continued to feel isolated. He said there was no-one he could look up to in the School: It takes many years in your life to sort of pick up the courage to reach out and ask for help. The only help I ever received was when I entered the psychiatric hospital and that’s where, I suppose – most of my life I never trusted people in authority, I never trusted Gardaí, teachers, judges, anybody in authority, I would never have trusted them. I suppose when you trust somebody, this would have been because of the sexual abuse, when you trust somebody what do they need in return? That would have been a big part of my pain. Now, I have reached a stage where I am not afraid to reach out and ask for help if I need help, it’s okay. It’s a long journey and I am still on it ... There was no-one there – I suppose, I don’t know, I can only speak on behalf of myself, you can never trust anybody. I just couldn’t trust people. Anybody who was kind to you needed something in return and my experience within the industrial School it was sexual favours.

Another complainant, who was in the School in the 1960s, was asked if he developed an emotional bond with the woman who was in charge of his group: No, you were treated – you were all treated very much the same. You got into bed and got out of bed. You were told the various routines that were there. You were never given any instructions as regards privileges or anything like that. You were never told when you actually went there that you had privileges, if you were disobedient that these privileges would be taken away ... We never knew what the privileges were. We never got them to have them taken away.

This witness had been born to an unmarried mother, and he said that, although he never wrote to her whilst he was in Kilkenny, she did visit once a year to see how he was doing. He was asked whether he was shown any tenderness, affection or encouragement in St Patrick’s, and he said he had not been. He was asked whether he would describe his childhood in St Patrick’s as happy, and he said: It would be hard to describe what one would call happiness when one hadn’t had happiness, according to the previous situation I was in. I probably would have found it a little bit more comfortable. It’s very hard to describe what a happy childhood is when you come through the system up to that stage, one didn’t understand what a happy childhood is.

He tried to sum up the feeling of powerlessness: I suppose if one was to look back and describe the impact on the childhood within Kilkenny, it felt very much like – I am describing it from a different aspect, you were like the mouse in the corner of the room and the cat standing back a couple of feet away from you, and this cat is very powerful and tall, the mouse felt small, very weak and very vulnerable, you had no control over anything that was being applied. It would be the same with the cat, the mouse had no control when the cat was going to strike with the claw and kill it. That would be the basis of the regime.

He was asked if he could single out any nun as having been good to him: There was – let me think of her name now – there was a Sr Selma7 there, I remember. A round faced nun, wore glasses, she was very much into music. She would have taught a lot of bits of music, the melodica and things like that. She would have had a different approach in seeing things. She would have been a younger nun at this stage in her life and the others would have been a good bit older.

One complainant thought St Patrick’s was better than other institutions he went to: No, St Patrick’s compared to the other institutions I was in was not bad, but it was bad enough for me to remember various things. I do have flashbacks when I come across certain smells, certain farmyard things, I do think – and cocoa I can’t stand.

Another ex-resident spoke of the effect of being separated from his family: Yes, I have contact. My family are like strangers to me. I mean I know them all, I know where they are, but they are just like strangers. I don’t know them as brothers and sisters.

He explained that he had only made contact in the last few years and that he had learnt that his father had been a good father and did not want his children taken away: ‘He died of a broken heart’.

This complainant explained what brought him to the Committee: Well, I respect the fact that Ireland is doing something about it. I do respect that and it’s good to know that you may be able to stop it happening again. What happened was wrong and it shouldn’t have happened. I don’t blame the people that are around today for what happened then. I am glad that Ireland has been able to grasp the nettle and take it on board and try and do something about it. I applaud the Commission for that ... That’s exactly why I am here, to make my point known to you.

One witness was rescued from abject neglect and brought to St Patrick’s. My father used to very seldom work, he’s worked for farmers but very seldom. Most of the time he used to go out playing at the accordion, at the crossroad dances and the Feis Ceoil or whatever, you know. When he’d come home at night – well, before he went out he used to lock us all in the coal hole, the three of us in the coal hole, and let us out when he come in because there was no-one to look after us. One night we got out of the coal hole and I went down to the church [local], there is two churches there, there is, the Friary and the other church, it was Christmas time and I took money out of the crib, the crib money, and bought three Mars bars for myself, [and two sisters] in one of the shops. Somebody reported me buying them because they knew us around there that we never had anything and that’s actually why we were sent away, I think. He always locked us in the coal hole. I remember that time when we were being arrested, that’s the only time I ever remember the priest or the police getting involved ... Not out of the theft in the church but out of being seen buying the Mars bar and everybody knew we shouldn’t have had money to buy them, you know ... From there on I suppose we were kept an eye on and we were eventually sent away because of that. We were always scruffy, we never washed. Our hair – actually I had nits and lumps, all kind of scabs on my head when they sent me away. I can remember that, being washed and cleaned and you had your head shaven and that, you know.

On an application to court by the ISPCC, two of the children were put into care, but the oldest girl of 14 years was kept at home: There was three of us taken, my oldest sister, my other sister and me, and two of us were sent away because they said my oldest sister had to stay to look after my father, he had no-one to look after him. She stayed there to look after him and we were sent away.

He spoke about the great relief he felt at being listened to and believed: Well, the only thing I want to add really is I feel very relieved after 40 years, I used to tell people sometimes when I was drunk in the pub, you know. You would meet somebody and they would bring something up and you would kind of ... you could see it in their eyes that their weren’t listening to you, they would be looking at you like a zombie, either straight through you or over your shoulder. The next day I would feel sorry for telling them. It might take me a week to get over the guilt of him knowing and telling someone else because they didn’t listen. In the last two or three years since I have had counselling and all I have noticed people listening, looking at you straight in the eye and listening to you. That has made a big difference to me in my confidence. It has made me feel that I can move on, which is something I never felt before ... Belief is the main word in this, belief, or listening. Not even belief but actually listening and saying "oh, did that happen to you" ... People seem to have changed because whether they just wanted to – people used to look at me and say that happened inside walls, it’s got nothing to do with me. Now people are saying, they are looking through the wall or over it. They are listening to you. You are not talking gobbledegook or things like that. The difference that has made to me is unbelievable.

Another ex-resident, who used to receive occasional visits from his older sister, recounted a story that had left a lasting impression: My sister ... came to visit me there once and we were going through the School and passed by the kitchen and the kitchen door was open. There was an old nun at the sink and I remember [my sister] asking me if I wanted a drink of water. I said I would love one. She asked the nun, I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to ask the nun for a drink. The nun came over and asked if I would rather have a glass of milk instead of water. I couldn’t believe that she would ask me if I wanted a glass of milk. I thought that was the greatest thing ever. It’s the only time I ever remember getting a glass of milk.

Although he had no memory of the food he got in St Patrick’s: ‘That glass of milk sticks out like anything’.

This complainant said that the children were afraid to ask for a glass of water in the summertime. He said that they would get water out of the toilet cistern rather than ask for it: The cistern is the part up top that stores the water and you pull the chain, it had a chain on it. There was four or five cubicles with a partition between each. I can’t remember exactly how many cubicles there were or how many toilets there were. The cubicles did not reach the wall and we used to – two of us, one would stand on the toilet and the other would give us a lift up and we would sit on that partition wall and lean across and scoop the water into our mouth from the cistern. I would get down then and give him a hand to get up to get the water out.