Keep Digging

PRESS RELEASE

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“State Recognition that many Religious have been falsely accused of child abuse – and deserve support – Charity Status for L.O.V.E”

Let Our Voices Emerge the group set up to “Support all those claiming false allegations of child abuse against them, including the Religious of Integrity” have been granted official charity status (Charity 16036).
Says an exuberant Florence Horsman Hogan – a founder of L.O.V.E, “although many of our members are lay people (Teachers, Doctors, Nurses, farmers etc.), many are from the Religious Orders. We see this as official recognition that many Religious have been falsely accused – and deserve support”

Florence Horsman Hogan **********
Founder and PRO of L.O.V.E
www.voicesemerge.com Charity 16036

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As you look more and more into OUR TIMES in THOSE PLACES the DIMENSIONS EXPAND. What was so UNIQUE about IRELAND that it could produce a CHILD DETENTION system so DEPRAVED and SO EXPORTABLE?

Why is it that when you HEAR and READ of ABOMINATIONS against CHILDREN you discover an IRISH RELIGIOUS ORDER. Go through the archives of any NEWSPAPER in the ENGLISH SPEAKING WORLD and this FACT will HIT you. AUSTRALIA, NEW ZEALAND, CANADA, the USA, the UK and our DEAR LITTLE ISLAND.

In any ENTERPRISE that PURPORTS to ENHANCE the COMMON GOOD there are CHECKS and BALANCES yet this was SINGULARLY LACKING in OUR SITUATIONS. It was as if they locked us up and threw away the key. Nominally there was OVERSIGHT but it deliberately remained BLIND to our SUFFERINGS. It gave a BLANK CARD to THESE religious ORDERS to exploit us to, and beyond, OUR LIMITS. Is there something in the Irish Psyche that tolerates WHAT WE KNOW HAPPENED?

There is NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING in the Irish Psyche that tolerates ABOMINATIONS against the MOST HELPLESS.

What we had in Ireland was corrupt religious leaders blinded by their power and might. Their ambition was to gain in prestige and wealth for their organisation: The Roman Catholic Church is BY FAR the LARGEST landowner on THIS island, the WEALTHIEST organisation on THIS island; So their AMBITION has been STUNNINGLY SUCCESSFUL.

With all such successful enterprises there is a DARK SIDE to this SUCCESS - a price has been paid -

• CHILDREN HAVE DIED WITHOUT ANY PROPER INQUIRY
  
• CHILDREN HAVE BEEN RAPED
  
• CHILDREN HAVE BEEN THE VICTIMS OF APPALLING AND DESTRUCTIVE VIOLENCE
  
• CHILDREN HAVE BEEN RIPPED FROM THEIR KITH AND KIN AND ISOLATED FROM SOCIETY
  
• CHILDREN HAVE BEEN USED AS FORCED LABOUR
  
• CHILDREN HAVE BEEN CRIMINALISED
  

This PRICE is still being PAID by SURVIVORS

Yet the ORGANISATIONS RESPONSIBLE for these CRIMES AGAINST CHILDREN CONTINUE to DEMAND RESPECT from people. Indeed they ACT as if THESE CRIMES were very few AND far between - they issue CYNICAL APOLOGIES - they belittle ADVOCATES for SURVIVORS AND VICTIMS - they secretly ENCOURAGE APOLOGISTS and REVISIONIST to tell OUTRAGEOUS LIES about ROMAN CATHOLIC-MANAGED Child Detention Centres.

These maddeningly CRIMINAL organisations may ACTUALLY believe they are WINNING the BATTLE against SURVIVORS AND VICTIMS ........ but let me tell you something you BLACK-HEARTED BASTARDS:- YOU HAVE ALREADY LOST!

Just want to say to you:- KEEP DIGGING - because I DON'T GIVE A FIDDLER'S FART how deep you DIG YOUR HOLE, HELL WAITS FOR YOU - - - - FOR GOOD and FOR EVER.

Days - In My Life: Christmas 1960 .... I think

Days - In My Life: Christmas 1960 .... I think

Words Must Mean Something, otherwise....

January 16, 1958 I was 5 years old and my brother was 3 years old.
Our first day: Our new clothes, which we had been wearing for our appearance in Court, were taken from us and we were give older and rougher looking clothes to wear. We were taken to the Playhall by a nun. There seemed to be hundreds of boys in the Playhall and some of them cast curious glances at us and some said hello. I kept a firm grip on Charles hand and went to sit on a bench.

Some time later a nun, dressed all in white, came into the Playhall carrying a bell. She began to ring the bell and all the boys formed into rows. Myself and Charles remained sitting on the bench and she shouted something at us. Remember I was five years old and Charles was only 3 years. I was confused as to where to go and what to do and so I didn’t move. She came towards us, grabbed Charles by the hair and started to pull him towards the rows of boys. I charged at the nun trying to pull her hand away from Charles hair. She belted me with the bell and I went crashing into a radiator. Naturally we were both bawling as she dragged and half carried us into the rows. This was our first couple of hours with the Sisters of Charity.
ALLEGATION 1 DENIED BY sisters of charity

Throughout my time in St. Patrick’s the violence from some of the nuns was arbitrary. I can’t remember a formal punishment system where you were taken to receive a lecture and or your punishment. Some of the nuns had idiosyncratic ways of hurting you.
ALLEGATION 2 DENIED BY sisters of charity

One nun used to make us stand in line against the wall with our shirts off while she marched up and down with a cane. Expecting a lashing from her boys tended to stand erect. This meant that your bare back touched the cold wall. This in turn made you jump away from the wall and if you did that you received a lashing.
ALLEGATION 3 DENIED BY sisters of charity

Another nun carried a big bunch of keys with her and on numerous occasions she would hit you on the knuckles with them for no other reason than you happened to be near her.
ALLEGATION 4 DENIED BY sisters of charity

One nun who had a bedroom in one of the dormitories used to make us stand against the wall and take our trousers down while she inspected our underwear. If they were soiled she would take us into her bedroom and lay us across her bed where she would hit us on the bare bottom with a cane. My first rebellion happened after one of these incidents. After I was caned I kicked the wall of her room as I was leaving. She chased me and gave me a worse beating.
ALLEGATION 5 DENIED BY sisters of charity

One time in my early days in St. Patrick’s a Bishop came to the school and all of us were kneeling in the Playhall as he entered. He sprinkled holy water down on us and went on his way. I remained on the ground as I had seen where some of the holy water had fallen. I went towards it and touched it. The nun noticed what I was doing and lay into me. She slapped me and shook me. She proceeded to tell me that I would go straight to hell for my sacrilege.
ALLEGATION 6 DENIED BY sisters of charity

As part of a dare one evening I ran from the toilets in my dormitory to my bed with my night-shirt pulled up. I was caught by a nun and given a severe beating. Next morning I was paraded in front of all the boys in the Playhall and condemned by the nun as a dirty devil. This kind of public humiliation was not a rare event in St. Patrick’s and I was not unique in being singled out, it happened to numerous other boys.
ALLEGATION 7 DENIED BY sisters of charity

One day I was in the wash house and I was very cold. I was warming my hands at a stove/furnace when a nun, I think it was the nun who used to hit us on the knuckles with her bunch of keys, put my wrists together and shoved my hand into the metal opening of the stove. The backs of my hands were badly burned and I spent sometime in bed sick. . I wasn’t sent to hospital with this injury instead a doctor came in every evening and injected me with a needle.
ALLEGATION 8 DENIED BY sisters of charity

Once when I was in the Playground/Parade I had dirtied my knees from kneeling in the grass and knowing I would be beaten for this I ran towards the toilets to wash them. But I was seen by the nun and she walloped my legs and knees with a hurley stick. The injury to my left knee was very severe and I spent several weeks in bed where I had to teach another boy Mass Latin. This boy had his leg in plaster.
ALLEGATION 9 DENIED BY sisters of charity

They were very strict when it came to religion. When we were practising for our first confession and first communion I said to the priest in the confessional “ I told lies, I was disobedient, I was talking in church, I committed adultery…”, within moments the priest had pulled me out of the confessional and clattered me around the church.
ALLEGATION 10 DENIED BY sisters of charity

As part of the routine in St. Patrick’s we had to say a rosary before we went to bed, we had to say the angelus every day at 6 o’clock, we had prayers before classes, after classes, before meals, after meals etc. If you talked in the chapel, or smiled, or whispered, or picked your nose you were beaten. One phase I went through in chapel was that I used to peel the skin off the palm of my hand and eat it. This happened after my hands had been burned.
ALLEGATION 11 DENIED BY sisters of charity

The food in St. Patrick’s as far as I can remember was a bit weird. Our main food for dinner was a greenish mash, (maybe it was parsley and potatoes?), no meat or other vegetables. Although every Friday we did get fish. The only meat I remember eating in St. Patrick’s was after funerals when someone died; just mince meat – no potatoes or other vegetables!! Not that there was a lack of food there. I was caught eating a bun once and I was taken into the kitchen and forced to eat raw carrot and drink salty water until I vomited. The best food that we had there was cocoa and bread with dripping – taste wise. My memories are of constant hunger though. I was always cold and my nose always ran. I remember I had worms for most of the time I was in St. Patrick’s.
ALLEGATION 12 DENIED BY sisters of charity

To try to put this in perspective – The nuns that came into day-to-day contact with us were the most likely to hurt us. And although I didn’t like the day-to-day contact with some of these nuns mainly because I was likely to be punished for something or other I absolutely HATED John Broderick for taking my comic – I didn’t like Sister Lelia for the way she mocked the injuries to my hands but I HATED James Duffy for reporting that I’d wet the bed when I had the ‘flu. I came to accept the violence from the nuns but I could never accept being put upon by my peers.

Twice I got out of the Industrial School for a holiday with other people. I think it was in the year of 1959/60. I was sent to live with a family in Blackrock, Dublin – a Mr. and Mrs. Windass at Christmas time. Mrs. Windass had just given birth to a baby son, Christopher. I stayed with her for about two weeks over the Christmas period. I wanted to write to them and the nuns had their address but because I was left-handed and my hands were still suffering the effects (and still are) of the burning they wouldn’t let me write. If you were left handed you were forced to write with your right hand AND if your handwriting was untidy or illegible you were beaten. But I have never forgotten Mr. and Mrs. Windass.
ALLEGATION 13 DENIED BY sisters of charity

One summer I was also sent to live with a family in Wexford town – a Mr. And Mrs. Eddie Hall. I believe he owned a public house. They treated me really well and made me feel I belonged. They had a holiday cottage in Rosslare and I spent some time there as well. I still think of these people – the Windasses and the Halls. I think these holidays were linked to the injuries I received. Though I was constantly reminded by the nuns that I was an orphan and that people were giving me charity.

Humiliation was the order of the day in this place. Because of the injuries to my hands and knees and the pain I was called a ‘notice-box’ as I was forever either rubbing my hands or walking with a funny gait. I had constant stomach aches too—but as time went on and no notice was (apparently) taken of my situation I learned to suffer in silence. But all the time since my injuries in St. Patrick’s I was left out of certain events. Most years all the boys were taken out to attend a Christmas party but I was the only one left in the school where I was put to scrubbing the toilet bowls. When visitors came to the school I was kept out of the way. I can guess now that they were hiding me from scrutiny as my hands looked livid and my knee looked very badly scarred.

My last six months in St. Patrick’s were spent working on the farm attached to the school. I don’t believe I received any beatings in this period. When it was time for me to leave (I was ten years old) I was given new clothes and scrubbed unmercifully. Two Rosminians came to collect myself and two other boys – Kieran Delaney and Thomas McMahon and drive us to St. Joseph’s Industrial School, Ferryhouse in Clonmel.

ALL of these allegations were denied long before the Commission came into being. And all of the above alegations are taken from a much longer Statement, written between 1982 and 1999, entitled A Brief History Of My Time In Care. Of course the Commission wants the whole story .... the Good, The Bad & The Ugly and all the above are mostly to do with the Bad or Ugly side of Institutional Care in Ireland in the 50's and 60's

Anyway at the Hearing the Sisters of Charity were represented by legally also the head nun of the Order was present and sat her legal team, the commission had it's own solicitor and Barrister as well and I had my solicitor, my Barrister, the Truth and some scars - invisible and visible. Judge Ryan was there too .... with two other Judges (at least I think they were Judges as they sat at the same table with him and everyone rose when they came into the room.

Also just before the Hearing began .... the nuns handed over a HUGE FOLDER with MEDICAL RECORDS in them ...... whether anything is in these records relating to my injuries/assaults remains to be seen as myself, my barrister and solicitor could only glance through them ..... they are difficult to read somewhat as they are all hand written ..... but at least we have medical records.

There was a battery of microphones on every table also speakers dotted around the place .... good sound sytem indeed.

I was sworn in. The questioning was very intense. My solicitor had promised if they thought I was being brow-beaten or bullied they would come to my rescue but, as it happens, they never had to. The Commissions legal team did come in with loads of questions ... very searching, very thorough questions, so did my team and after each question(s) on the Specific Allegations the Judge invited the Sisters of Charity's team if they had any question for me and EACH TIME THEY DECLINED TO ASK ME A QUESTION...... So Judge Ryan and the other two Judges got "dug" into me .... but I didn't budge from my statements .....

Other questions were asked too as to my impressions of how the school was run, the food, the clothes and all that and I answered those as best I can ..... the Judges, particularly Ryan, were very shocked at the story of how my hands were burnt and they asked me a lot of questions relating to that .... one Judge (not Ryan) asked me if I was a "particularly bold child"?????

I must say that I was also able to talk about the happy times in St. Patrick's - and there were many, about the nuns who tried their best, about the good memories I have of most of the nuns - and by most I mean 95% of the nuns ...... and about what I know of the family situation that made the authorities intervene and put us into St. Patrick's. I talked about the nuns I adored, about the outside contacts they brought into my life who were of positive benefit to me in later life - - - basically having outside contacts kept me sane!.

Basically I didn't go in there describing A hellish place .... hellish things happened and happened a lot ......... I believe I gave as full a description as my memories allowed.

When the Hearing was over and my legal team were de-briefing me they praised me for sticking to my guns. During this de-briefing a staff member of the Commission came in and gave a note to my solicitor. The head Charity nun wanted to talk to me privately .... I agreed to meet her.

She is around my age. The conversation was private but if she said the same in public then it would allow many people to begin to heal.

Yet ...... yet........

Yet, all the allegations I made were DENIED IN WRITING, basically they were all dismissed with a wave of the hand; And the LEGAL LETTER dismissing my WHOLE STATEMENT is full of LEGAL LANGUAGE

.... with words like traversed seriatiem

.... and in the LEGAL LETTER they demand that I appear at the Commission with medical documents, psychiatric reports, witness statements etc.,

THEY WERE DENYING EVERY SINGLE THING IN MY STATEMENT

..... heck they even state that no child was even slapped by a nun in Kilkenny

..... and when I was on the stand, having being sworn in, giving my story, the legal team of the order DID NOT ASK ME ONE SINGLE QUESTION.

Yet in a private conversation ... Words must mean something .....otherwise they become meaningless.

Christmas 1960 .... I think

I was probably eight years old and had being placed with a family in Blackrock, Co. Dublin for the holiday period. The family's name was Windass and Mrs Windass was the mother of a new born baby, Christopher. Even now I think of how awesome a thing it was that they would open their home to me for Christmas when they had a little baby to look after. It couldn't have been an easy thing - even though I was a very timid eight year old. I would stand to attention when anyone walked into a room, I'd even stand to attention when I was answering any question put to me. I would sit ramrod straight on the couch or chair.

In fact it was their Aunt who showed me how an eight year old boy should be behaving at Christmas and at any other time. She showed me how to slide down banisters, how to hop from chair to table to couch, how to climb trees and walls, the fun a child can have with suds and soap in the bath. How to play Hide-and-seek. Also the civilised art of using a knife and fork and spoon. Even how to have fun while washing the dishes. How to iron a shirt.

That magic Christmas, everything, that makes Christmas magic, happened. It snowed. I remember helping to clear the snow from the driveway using salt. Ghost stories were told in the evening around a blazing fire. Plum Pudding was served with Ice Cream - to me THAT is the most luxurious of all meals! Lemonade and Hot Chocolate was consumed. I got to visit families related to Mr and Mrs Windass. I met other children too and these children were adept and jumping and climbing and hide-and-seek.

All these people I met showed a regard for me. The family I was with made me feel loved, comfortable, important. Even though they had a new born baby to look after they managed to make me feel I was the centre of attention. I feel I was part of everything they did that magic Christmas. I remember being "surprised" by an Irish Red Setter - I believe this was the first time I ever saw a dog - and I ran screaming. It loped after me in the street it's ears and tail flopping all over the place. I was sobbing and shaking with fright and Mrs Windass calmed me down with cuddles and assurances. I wanted to stay in that embrace for ever. I remember reading the Mutt & Jeff cartoons in the Sunday Papers and Mr Windass rooting out old editions of the papers to get past cartoons and the way he messed my hair and smiled as I read out and laughed at those cartoons. I remember asking millions of questions about this and that AND receiving answers.

All simple acts of kindness - but do people realise how much this affects a young child?

Singular.
Simple.
Acts of Kindness.
Shown towards a small curious child.
Individual attention of a loving nature.

And Santa managed to get in on the act too. Presents were exchanged. I remember being taken by their Aunt to Clerys in O'Connell Street to buy presents. She gave me money to buy presents for Mr and Mrs Windass. I remember buying a mirror and a necktie for them. But Santa was only one part of this Christmas - not by any means the major element.

Sure there were Christmases in the Institutions when I was younger - these involved going to Masses, smelling incense burning, saying rosaries, practicising ceremonies with little statuettes and constantly praying. And on Christmas day we would each be given a toy to play with for a few minutes - between prayers of course. All of us were made to stand in a corridor and then one by one we were taken into a room with box shelves on the wall. We were told to pick a toy from one of these and then we were allowed to play with it for a few minutes. I remember vividly getting a Dinky red London Bus one Christmas to play with - Magic ! - Another Christmas I was given a book with pictures - one picture stood out, it was a huge American automobile with a ton of chrome.

So I had a little experience of Chrismas, and to me it involved praying, religious ceremonies and once a red bus or a book to play with. And in these Institutions it is said that individual attention of a loving nature was impossible because there were too many children and too few members of the religous orders - yet this didn't stop individual attention of a violent nature by these same religous orders. Beatings and abuses were a constant in those places - either group punishments or individual acts of cruelty.

And when these orders give their excuses AND their denials it brings the rage welling up in me. All the acts of cruelty committed against children in those places - do these orders realise how much they affected the children?

Acts of Cruelty.
Shown towards small children.
Individual attention of a violent nature.

And one of these orders had their chance, in front of judges, to have their say against me. To deny my truth. And they remained silent - sitting throughout behind their legal people.

Cocooned from the truth.

It seems I am breaking the law with my little Christmas story - a few days in the life of a child from the Institutions - I could risk a hefty fine and imprisonment for what I've written. But NOT writing about this one Magic Christmas would betray Mr & Mrs Windass, it would deny their kindness and love to me. I was not allowed by this religious order to have any further contact with these loving people so I have never being able to tell them how much of the Magic of that Christmas has stayed with me. How much their simple acts of kindness affected me. God be good to both of you and all those in your family.

Happy Christmas ..... and Thanks.

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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