Tags
Cleansing the Soul, Corporal punishment, Jack Hammersley, Shame on the Vatican, Shoes of the Fisherman, Tears of the Soul, The doctrine of pain
Crying was for sissy boys when I was young.
I never did it only on my own. No-one ever saw me cry.
I would just go fishing then and my tears got lost along the banks of the river Liffey in Ireland where I grew up.
You see tears are like liquid threads from your soul; they touch out to rivers and lakes where they can be at one. And when that happens you feel good again.
At my Catholic college when I was fourteen I admit I did bad things to the teachers.
I baited them, I took baby rats that were friends of mine and let them out in class and newborn rabbits that they had never seen; and frogs that also got me into trouble.
I used a fishing line and stretched it out between the aisles of the desks in class so that the priest, the Latin teacher would trip over; and then quickly reeled it in again. I hated Latin classes, and they hated me.
They got me back the priests. You could even say they conspired against me when they had their lunches with roast beef and Holy wine, and afterwards for dessert mille-feuille with chocolate sauce the buggers.
So every other afternoon after class I had to be beaten; to save my soul. This act was done with much relish by a young priest in his robes with a bulge between his legs; a rope belt around his waist and sandals on his feet enclosing white socks. He made me want to puke all over him.
A bamboo cane about four foot long. I had to put my hands out to receive the lashes. Six on each hand.
The blows cut into my already bleeding hands and landed on the same wounds from the day before. I screamed inside of me but never let him know. I would not give him that satisfaction.
The canings went on for weeks until my hands were so swollen that I could not write in class anymore, and I would hide them from my classmates and from my family when I got home.
I did not care about the pain, and I never stopped giving the priests a hard time; I would just start again the next day.
I got into the College church tower one afternoon and rang the bells by swinging on them; a fifty-foot drop below. I shouted, “God bless you all when you go to Hell because He and I will never forgive you bunch of feckers, so you can all go and piss in the wind like I am doing to you now.”
But eventually, I realised that my left hand had blown up to the size of a melon and was useless. I had to admit my faults to my father and see what could be done.
Off to hospital where they found I had a dislocated and fractured thumb. The priest had decided that there was nowhere else to hit me on my palms and went for my wrists instead.
I lost my faith then in religion forever. They taught me that they only hurt and that destroyed my soul.
I hope he enjoyed his sadistic pleasures sanctioned by Holy Rome for centuries past.
I hope that his conscience will recover one day but I doubt that very much. My left hand and my soul have not.
And I have never given up defying the priests. I still ring their bells every day in my mind; injustice and cruelty are never forgotten no matter that it is done in the name of the Lord.
James Louis Parminter said:
The religious of Ireland have much to answer for Tim. They may have damaged you physically and emotionally but they did not break your spirit. There was something about that era in Ireland and I suffered in a similar manner in a Church of Ireland school. This is my first time to read this particular story from you and it transported me back in time to my youth. Thank you for your writings.
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Jack Hammersley said:
Thankyou James, I appreciate your comments very much. It was a hard story to tell and I only posted it recently after many years.
My scars are mostly emotional, yours is also a real six inch long knife-scar on your face from that attempted murder in Dublin. You are not only a very brave man but also very lucky.
They were bleak times then for me and I am sure for you too. We can only put these things behind us now, especially the Troubles. Do you remember then we used to say “There is a lot of religion in Ireland but very little Christianity.”
Quis Separabit and Faugh A Ballagh.
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Jack Hammersley said:
The strangest thing about this story of mine is that my family the Lattin-Mansfield’s originally gave the land to the Dominican Order in the 16th Century. They also built their church in Newbridge, and before that had saved them from death and harboured them.
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Jack Hammersley said:
DeeDee, they taught me to disdain authority and to rebel against injustice. I lost my faith then and left the church forever.
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DeeDee said:
The indomitable spirit of a lad who had great displeasure with his lessons and teachers….but the harsh punishment handed down by the priests was far more ghastly than the pranks of the school boy.
This is an incredible story!
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anneke.ml@hotmail.com said:
Very touching story, beautiful.
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