Sometime around '74-'75; someone, somewhere, decided that we should have a school (or was it a line?) magazine. Not quite the standard of the Clongownian, but something lighter; a compendium of riddles, humour, jokes, short stories, an odd poem and a highly entertaining “Glossary of Geographic terms” by Brendan Cullen. The only three lines that I recall from it were; High Pressure = exam week, Depression = exam results, Lava = M.K.(O'Brien) pronouncing Lover.
The one item I can vividly remember from that magazine was a short article which began “My name is Bill and I am an alcoholic” written by Bill McEvoy, affectionately known to the boys as Bill Porridge.
We all knew Bill, but nothing about him. Bill seemed to be about the same age then, as we are now, a kind of general factotum attached to the kitchens. He looked a bit like Churchill, with flat feet, that shuffled rather than walked and always wore a white waiters coat, that was never quite white and made for a smaller man.
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Fr Joe Brereton was one of the coolest, calmest men I have ever encountered. The story followed him that while driving the college car, after a repair at the garage, the steering wheel came off in his hands. He didn't panic and just calmly pushed it back down onto the steering column and continued on his journey. Whether true or not, it summed up the man known as “Bertie”.
He appeared to float along, when walking, suffered terribly from the cold and always looked like the next winter would be his last (How wrong we were!) He taught me English & Religion and would always subtly blend the two, to make them mutually complementary and interesting.
Bertie had no access to new technology. He was the master of the 'pen picture' ; writing meant selecting the bare facts, condensing everything down and finally polishing the story to make it clear and interesting to the reader.
Around this time Bertie was very taken by the story of Mother Teresa and in particular Malcolm Muggeridge's book “Something beautiful for God”. He knew that there wasn't a hope in hell that he could motivate a class of 15 year olds to read the full book, or be particularly interested in the destitute and dying of India. There were millions of them anyway, what did it matter? Bertie honed, polished and captured the essence of the story and made us think about and discuss the simple messages.
The essential dignity of the human being and that everyone had the right to life. A right that superseded all other rights. Not for immediate application in our young lives, but deep frozen in our consciousness for later consumption; after all, we were very unlikely to be in a position to determine. who lived or died at that age.
Bill, through his little article defined for me exactly what was the essential dignity of the human being. Dignity was not being nicely dressed, good table manners or always being polite, or even speaking with a plummy accent. It was something much more intangible but very real, being “Something beautiful for God”
Whenever I recall my time in Clongowes, I think of many of the standout characters both among the boy's and the staff. No one forgets people like Fr. Jack Brennan, Fr. Gerry O'Beirne, Fr. Paddy Crowe or even Fr. Michael Sheil, because they were strong omnipresent characters. But I also remember, with enormous fondness visiting many of the SRPA clients, scattered around north Kildare.
I can still recall all their names. Everyone of them had a story of hardship, loneliness or illness. They all had one thing in common, their incredible dignity. On reflection I think we the boys, benefited far more, because we learned so much from them.
I also think of the wonderful dignity of people like Brother Fitzgerald, who without any dramatics, fixed, broken windows, burst pipes, broken door hinges, lost keys and more than an odd blown fuse. Tony Crabtree, who ran the tuck and book shops. Eileen (Delaney) & Phil Melia (the butler), Bill McEvoy, Bill Delaney who cleaned the classrooms every day, Martin (the tailor), Jim Tracy who was forever 34.
Mrs Melea, who managed the younger domestic staff. The Dunne's and the Tracey's. Mrs Tomlinson who worked in the Infirmary for over 40 years, The staff who cut the grass, mowed the football pitches, made sure the heating worked. The dumper and its driver that had the combined title of “Sputnik”. The people who did the ordinary things extraordinarily well. People who worked and lived anonymous lives so that we could enjoy the privilege of reaching our full potential to became the “Men for others”.
These were the others for us.
Epilogue:
By about 1975, when I had completed the Inter Cert and there were three of us in Clongowes with another three to go. My parents were really wondering whether their very considerable investment in our education was yielding the desired results. Exam results were good enough but not spectacular.
Apart from that, there was not a lot else to show for my three years and fees were rising fast. Early into my Poetry year, I was actually starting to really enjoy Clongowes and life there improved dramatically. I had found my niche in the SRPA and on the catering committee; hard-balling in negotiation with Chef Robert Dagger and Br. Adams S.J.
One of the staff , a young girl – surname Kelly, lost her wage packet and was in terrible distress over it. All I remember is that she reminded me of the Edith Piaf that Fr. Ray Lawlor had introduced us to. Several days passed and a general appeal among the boys and staff to locate the missing wages proved fruitless.
So myself and a few others decided that we should do something to help and we organised a dorm collection. Not one boy refused and we collected several multiples of the weekly wage and presented it to Ms. Kelly. We thought nothing more of it and it was very much something that came from the boys and not prompted by the school.
Christmas came and the Christmas report arrived home. There was always some reason or other, in every report. that Fr. Paddy Crowe felt I was operating well below potential. He was probably correct. I felt sure that this report was going to be no exception. But I was in for a very pleasant surprise.
Although I can only paraphrase his report “Daniel has had an exceptional term and his time spent in Clongowes appears to have had a belated but impressive effect. I am particularly encouraged by his consideration for those less fortunate especially the remarkable initiative displayed by him and his colleagues in coming to the aid of one of the domestic staff after the loss of her wages”
My parents knew then that the Clongowes ethos was eventually starting to pay dividends and I know that that report is still somewhere among my mothers most treasured belongings.
