Chapter 3 — Ferryhouse

Neglect and emotional abuse

This statement goes further than simply to admit that abuse occurred. It states that the kind of institutional life that was made available in Ferryhouse until the late 1970s was in itself abusive. Boys lived in a system of military-style regimentation, and endured a ruthless regime of control by corporal punishment. The objectives were to reform them, and mould them into obedient and subservient citizens, but the system did not allow for the fact that they were young children with emotional and developmental needs. It offered them the cruel and austere life of a nineteenth-century institution that had survived largely unchanged into the third quarter of the twentieth century. It had few caring adults who could show affection, compassion and sympathy. The rare staff member who did treat them as individuals, and offered them kindness and support, were singled out by former residents for special mention. For the rest, the adults were there to control the children, and the children had to look to each other for emotional and social support.

Whether the boys had been orphaned, or sent in by the courts for juvenile criminal behaviour, they were dragooned into the same system, where the needs of the Institution dictated the way of life. They were forced to adapt to a lifestyle that did not meet their special needs, and if they rebelled they were always seen as trouble-makers rather than unhappy children.

A senior Brother, who served as a Prefect in Ferryhouse in the 1960s, explained how the presence of orphans and delinquents was a major problem in the institutions: Well, you see, after all, I remember somebody saying to me that it was a good thing for the orphans to be exposed to the delinquents, that could make no absolute sense to me whatsoever ... there is an example of what I’m speaking about, of all the children being lumped together in one recreational facility, you see. You’re coming from different places, orphans are coming from different places. Orphans needed entirely different treatment to delinquents.

It was put to him that the orphans came from broken homes, or homes where parents were ill or dying, or dead, and their need was for another family, for love and affection, and gentle guidance by example, but the delinquents were sent there by the courts, and their need was for control. They had families and homes, and wanted to return, whereas the orphans had no other home. The real problem was trying to administer a system which was treating both the same. Inevitably, it would become more a kind of prison for delinquents than a surrogate family home for children with emotional needs. The Brother replied: The system couldn’t work any other way, that’s the bottom line. I’m saying that that was the sad point about it. That it had to deal with the most belligerent if you like, if you like to put it that way. That there was no escape from it.

In the 1940s, because of the Emergency, there was a period of deprivation and food shortage. One witness described the bitter cold they had to endure: There was a big freeze up and the children, including myself, we got chilblains between our fingers, on our fingers, on our toes and they swelled up. Some poor kid – they burst and the cold was bad enough, but the pain from those things when they burst made it ten times worse ... At no time were they put in any place warm, they were put in that old recreational place beneath the classrooms. There was a doorway but no door on it ... The Prefects would tell them to keep moving, they wouldn’t let them stand still; keep on moving to try to get the circulation going.

This witness was lucky, in that he was given a job in the kitchen, where there was warmth and more food. He explained: Naturally I could eat more than the other kids because I was cooking it ... I was protecting myself, they could not protect themselves ... I have a lot of feeling for those little children. I didn’t suffer half as much as a lot of them did. Don’t forget they were hungry, not just for the six months I was hungry, some of them were there nine or ten years, they were hungry every day for nine or ten years.

His guilt about hiding in the relative comfort and warmth of the kitchen was worsened when, in his last year there, he was given the ingredients to make a Christmas pudding. There was some left over and he was told to put it away for 6th January. When he took it out on that date, it was covered in mould. He was horrified, but he was told to cut the mould off and serve it to the boys. It was the first time ever they had been given Christmas pudding, and it went mouldy. It was terrible, ‘if you look at something like that and then you think of children going to eat it’.

Fr Antonio described the refectory as follows: One of the earliest nightmares you would have was being in charge of the refectory because you knew the food wasn’t good and even the tables were coming to the sides and they used to use what they called hods, which was plastic bowls and plates and stuff like that. It was – nearly I would regret an awful lot, hindsight is a great thing but at that time it was a very cruel situation. And because there was only one person in charge of the 150 there would have been a lot of bullying ... I remember one occasion where the older boys were kind of selling slices of bread, which they used to call “skinners” to other lads. “I will give you a slice of bread for two sausages”.

He singled out the conditions of the refectory for special criticism: I remember the tiles in the refectory were slippery and if the steam rose up you would slip and break your leg or anything on the floor there ... Let’s be honest about it, there was a chef there that used to stir the pot of stew with the handle of a brush. These things happened and I can’t deny them.

At one point, he made clear the abhorrence and disgust he felt, in retrospect, about how the boys had to eat. He said: For obvious reasons looking back now ... it was horrific. The question I would have to ask myself is, would I have eaten the food out of the bowls the boys were eating out, no, I wouldn’t and I didn’t.

On the other hand, he admitted, ‘It was a hell of a lot different’ for the members of the Order. He told the Investigation Committee, ‘The quality of the food would have been better for a start. You had people serving you’.

He had grown up as a child in Clonmel, so he knew of the School before he went to work there as a member of the Order. He recalled: My understanding of Ferryhouse at that time was as a child growing up in Clonmel. We used to see them going through the town in lorries with black stockings and red tops in lorries going through and the threat of my age group, and indeed everybody else at that time, was that you would be sent to the monastery if you misbehave. Ferryhouse at that time was known as the monastery. I would have visited and played football against the Ferryhouse boys at that time.

When he went to work there in the 1970s, he had found the physical conditions even more stark and primitive.

The Department of Education’s Medical Inspector, Dr Lysaght’s report of 1966 described the dormitories as the worst he had ever seen. They bordered on being overcrowded, and had ‘a depressing air of mass communal living’. There were no lockers or wardrobes and ‘as is usual then the boys store personal belongings under the mattresses and of course destroy the springs’.

Almost a year later, a Public Health Inspection found the conditions overcrowded and ‘a hazard to the health of the child’. As a result of this report, the Department of Health withdrew their children from the Institution.