A DAY IN THE LIFE:- GREEN FUCKING MASH

There is nothing these nuns hate more than the insolence of a child. Over their CHILD GULAG they had a Latin phrase which translated meant: I WILL TEACH YOU THE FEAR OF THE LORD. Of course all that Latin bullshit was beyond me as a five year old - well most of it - the bit that I could grasp told me that this Lord was a bullshit artist. I mean how could a child be expected to say a prayer before a meal which consisted of slop - green mash, GREEN FUCKING MASH!!! and these fucking nuns wanted me to say THANKS TO THE LORD for it!!! NO WAY - I'd quickly say PRAYERS for the food them fucking nuns were having but not for the slimy slop THEY were dishing up to me.

At my first opportunity I broke into their kitchens (yes kitchens) and stole a huge can of beans - now we're talking huge here because this can was of catering size and by God a catering can of beans in the hands of a five year old is some big bazooka of a bean feast. Being five of course I didn't have the sense to also steal a fucking TIN OPENER; So I went from hero to zero in about 10 seconds flat in the eyes of me other starving chum - but necessity being the mammy of intervention we took turns in jumping on this can until it was almost squashed as flat as a pancake - not really true that but you know what I mean. The can was all crumpled and was actually beginning to leak out some of it's luscious tomato sauce. We sucked away at it till one of us had the really brill idea of dropping the can from the top of the fire-escape stairs.

By gum that worked a treat for the can exploded magnificently. Beans explode all around the place and DID WE FEAST? You bet WE DID. Of course our little adventure didn't go unnoticed by the nuns and when we heard one of them screaming at us we took off to hide. But me being me I wanted as much of the beans as I could fit into me little belly (I mean I might not get another chance at such exotic food for a long time) and I continued to stuff the beans into me mouth and me pockets, me socks and wherever I could fit them. Naturally the nun caught me and asked WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING? I replied honestly (I did, I did) that I was EATING and as I said earlier Nuns just don't like insolence in a child so she battered me to Hell and gone, I was laid up in bed for about a month after that. What the fuck did these nuns expect from someone they called the spawn of the devil?

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A DAY IN THE LIFE: IMPACT

The IMPACT of abuse is IMMEDIATE. You don't feel good about your self, you don't speak up for yourself, you let people walk over you, trample on your feelings, your emotions, your self-esteem. You find it hard to actually look at yourself eye-to-eye in the mirror.

You distrust your instincts. You are fearful of the past catching up with your present. You minimise the abuse you suffered. You isolate yourself from the community. You become overprotective of your own family. The IMPACT of abuse is IMMEDIATE.

As a child you haven't, of course, read all the "Coping Strategies" books and you certainly haven't attended any seminars on child abuse. You're only a child, but you're also a child in captivity so there is no Mum or Dad or Auntie or Uncle you can run to for comfort or help.

I remember dirtying my knee when I was around6 or 7 or 8 years old while I was under the "tender" dominion of the "sisters" of "charity", well the nun went ballistic.

Now a nun going ballistic near a group of small children can be hilarious but we knew this was just a prelude to something terrible. I just stood there as she vented her rage - name calling was only the least of it, if people are confused about what a HATE-FILLED RANT is need only ask me or any of us - it's very obvious, in hindsight, that this particular nun was not happy at all in her job.

The spittle that gather around her mouth was an awesome sight, no matter how often you witnessed it, her eyes were popping and her face was contorted. All well and good of course because it's just a HATE-FILLED RANT and when she's finished I'll get a few wallops and she'll move on to some other thing that's annoying. But the White Garbed-Monster (she was a novice nun) was wielding a hurley stick and she swung it better than Christy Ring.

Right across my legs. She just kept bashing me on the legs and knees with the hurley until blood started squirting out of my left knee. I ran into the toilets to hide, and sat down on one of the toilets seats and the squirting turned into a flow of blood.

I remember feeling quite hot and sweaty, I remember looking at one of the panels on the door, it was like a mirror. I could see this little child, his face was sweating and he had incredibly sad crying eyes.

When I think of the abuse visited on ALL of us in those ...places I see that little child's face. I don't see the blood gushing from his knee, I don't feel the physical pain he is feeling, I just see those sad crying eyes. This was the first time I had seen myself. I'm sure there were mirrors in that...place but they would have been too high for little children.

So all the other children knew what I looked like except me. I remember a photograph was taken of a group of us once before this and it took the other children to point me out. I carry the IMPACT of this HATE-FILLED RANTING NUN to this day in the shape of LIVID SCARS on my knee.

But the memory of it is ALWAYS those SAD CRYING EYES of a helpless child. Today when I look into a mirror I see it all again. For years I avoided mirrors, but today I am not afraid to look into a mirror and I feel that I am reaching out to that child, and I feel I am no longer helpless.

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