When Patrick Brady started in fourth class at St Joseph’s CBS national school in Fairview on the northside of Dublin in 1957, an older boy joked to him that he might be the new “bum boy” of a Christian Brother, who is now deceased.
“I didn’t know what he meant coming as I did from a devout Catholic household,” says Mr Brady.
“At the time, short trousers were common for young boys and mine were held up with an S-shaped silver buckle. Sometimes at break times [the brother] would arrange to speak to me either in the empty classroom or in a corner of the schoolyard ... He effectively shielded his activities with his broad back.”
Mr Brady says the cleric would “make a play of admiring the buckle on my belt while engaging me in a conversation ... He would allow his hand to drop down from the belt buckle and fondle my genitals from outside my trousers and sometimes slip his hand inside my short trousers to fondle my genitals directly”.
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“On occasion, he would loosen my belt and slip his hand down the back of my trousers, fondle my buttocks and rub my anus with his finger tip. It was years before I could use the term ‘digital rape’ without feeling sick,” he says.
The sexual abuse continued, albeit less frequently, in St Joseph’s secondary school where physical abuse was relentless and savage, especially by another Christian Brother, also now deceased.
“I started mitching from school just to get away from them. I couldn’t tell my parents what had been going on. I didn’t have the language to describe how I felt and anyway, who would listen?” he says.
“My parents didn’t understand what was going on with me. In September 1962, my parents took me out of St Joseph’s and sent me to a fee-paying school, Kostka College [since closed] in Clontarf, as a last-gasp attempt to keep me interested in school. Kostka College was run by an ex-Jesuit who had a more caring approach to teaching than the Christian Brothers had.”
During his short time at the new school, he says he “never saw abuse”.
“The teachers tried their best with me but the damage was done and I just wanted to get away from the school system,” he says.
Mr Brady’s testimony was among many submitted to The Irish Times in the days following publication of the scoping inquiry report on allegations of sexual abuse in schools.
The inquiry, led by lawyer Mary O’Toole SC, deals with 308 schools involving 42 religious congregations of the 69 that run schools in Ireland.
The report was initiated in the aftermath of revelations of child sexual abuse in schools run by religious orders, particularly at the Spiritans-run Blackrock College in South Dublin.
The Government has committed to establish a full commission of investigation into past abuse in schools amid concerns the scoping inquiry has uncovered only “the tip of the iceberg” of the extent of such abuse.
The scoping inquiry reports about the potential for many cases of abuse out there – it noted how figures from the 2022 Central Statistics Office Sexual Violence Survey indicated “significant levels of under-reporting of childhood sexual violence, particularly among men”. It estimated that, among those aged 35 years and over, “some 15,300 men and 26,000 women can be estimated to have experienced sexual violence as a child in a school”.
None of those interviewed by The Irish Times had taken part in the scoping inquiry.
Those individuals included Seán (not his real name) who attended Synge Street CBS national school in Dublin from 1964. One of the “beasts in black” who “inflicted sexual and physical abuse on little boys on a daily basis” was the late Brother Diarmuid Ó Luanaigh, he says.
“Everyone feared him. A favourite trick of his was to tell a child to stand on a chair to write the answer to questions. If the pupil erred, the chair would be kicked from beneath them and a swift kick or fist would be the follow-up,” says Seán.
The abuse was “something that was to burn into my childhood memories”, he says, “often leaving me tearful when I tried to explain it decades later – so much so that nearly 45 years later when I seen a photo of Ó Luanaigh in the media, I was physically sick”.
Seán continues: “[He] would call me up to his desk ... barking out to the class: ‘Heads down, page 5.’ He would then tell me to read from the book. As I did so he would pull me tight to him. If I hesitated, he would get me to sit on his knee and read from the book. After a few lines, his hand and fingers would move along [my] leg, disappearing beneath my short trousers. I always did my best to read as fast as I could, I didn’t understand what he got from it at the time but I was uncomfortable and frightened.”
In 2012, Ó Luanaigh, then aged 75, admitted to indecently assaulting six pupils at two Dublin schools between 1965 and 1972, and was jailed for 12 months at Dublin Circuit Criminal Court.
Another brother at the school “was a powder-keg of violence and had no qualms in dragging young kids out of desks to beat, belittle, degrade, all the while seeming to enjoy the pain inflicted”, he says.
To escape their abuse, Seán would mitch from school.
“I spent school hours walking the streets. Often to get in from the rain or cold, I would find myself in public buildings such as the National Museum. I saved pocket money and went to afternoon picture shows,” he says.
“When I was about 13, I started to drink. I contemplated suicide. I was in a mess. I couldn’t tell my parents, my siblings were all much older than me. I felt lost. In later years, I placed blame on my parents for not asking me why I was so rebellious. That may have given me the chance to tell them what was going on in my head.”
Liam (not his real name) attended St Brendan’s national school in Loughrea, Co Galway, in the 1950s. He says he was sexually abused by a De La Salle Brother.
“This involved being called up to his desk at the front of the class and while he checked your homework copy with one hand, he put his hand up the leg of your pants and groped your testicles and penis,” says Liam.
“I also suffered emotional abuse from him. I thought I was the only victim but, unbelievably, I discovered that a classmate had the same groping experience.”
John (not his real name) attended Scoil Choilm CBS primary and secondary schools in Crumlin, Dublin, from 1970 to 1983. He has “vivid memories of furiously violent Christian Brothers and lay teachers beating my classmates on a regular basis”, he says.
“At the time and being so young, I was almost awestruck seeing such levels of fury and violence [and] was not sure how to process this. In some way, I think I became used to it.
“The parish priest was Fr James McNamee ... He invited ‘the best boys’ to his swimming pool in Crumlin village. My father was adamant that he brought me swimming and no one else. [He] died over 30 years ago, and I often think that he must have known or had some inkling about what was going on,” he says.
“Many of us went our separate ways as we progressed into various secondary schools ... Over the years I have learned of at least five suicides among my friends who were in primary school, and I have met others who have addiction problems. I often wonder if this is because of abuse.
“I feel there is national sense of grief about this. This is a deep scar in our society.”
Marian (not her real name) attended Dominican Convent, Sion Hill, in South Dublin in the 1970s.
“On our first day, before we went into the school, sixth-year girls made a point of getting to us before the nuns did. They warned about [a nun, now deceased], telling us: ‘She isolates first years and runs her hand up and down their back to see how developed they are [whether wearing a bra or not],” says Marian.
“She tried it on me and I turned around and screamed: ‘Ugh, get your hands off me.’ I stood up to them but I have struggled with how I was treated. I am a survivor, but I am damaged.”
Seeing his secondary school – St Mary’s College in Dundalk – on the list of those from which allegations of abuse were heard by the scoping inquiry was, “not a surprise”, says Garrett, who asked that his surname be withheld.
“I remember being a young teenager and one particular day my best friend at school came in tears to me, distraught and beside himself. He couldn’t get the words out and when he did, I didn’t know what the words meant. ‘What does he mean? Fr X did what?’” he says.
“He told me most of the details, which to be honest I couldn’t process nor really comprehend. I hadn’t heard of such things before but I believed my friend and he wouldn’t be this distraught over some misunderstanding.
“After comforting my friend, I thought the best thing was to inform a lay teacher; I got beaten [with] a wooden stick for ‘lying’. I went home beside myself and eventually told my parents what happened. They believed me. The next day my father went into the school. It wasn’t long after when the priest was apparently shipped off to London,” says Garrett.
“I’m no longer in contact with the person that this happened to. But I’d love for them to know that some of us did and do believe you.”
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