Irish writer John McGahern was undoubtedly a master of words, but he was also a teacher and over 60 years ago, I was in his last class. The school involved was Belgrove, Scoil Eoin Baiste (St John the Baptist) in Clontarf, Dublin. He was teaching third class with 56 pupils and I was eight at the time.
We didn’t have him as a teacher for more than a few months as he was to sacrifice his career for breaking the rules. His crime was marrying a Finnish divorcee, which saw him fall foul of the school authorities, especially the local parish priest.
My memories of McGahern are that he spent a lot of time looking out the window and was light on homework, which suited us fine. He also didn’t make much use of the cane, which was a real bonus.
It was a turbulent year for McGahern, but that was also the case for us as we had a succession of four teachers so we never really settled down as a class.
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McGahern’s novel The Leavetaking paints a picture of his last day assigned to the schoolyard. In my memory, the detail is perfect. The teacher with the bell controlled the chaos and McGahern describes his final time doing so. The book is more a work of faction than fiction. The headmaster he describes in it was known to us as Baldy.
He reflects exactly how Baldy used to run his hand over his head as if patting imaginary hair. He also mentions how he carried his weapon of war up his sleeve – a bamboo cane with the crook at the bottom. He does get one detail wrong, though. If you were in trouble on the yard, you were sent to the Wall and not the principal’s office, as the book states.
I suffered this fate a few times. “Costello and Smith, up to the Wall,” was the instruction from the teacher in charge of the bell after we committed some misdemeanour. Going to the Wall meant only one thing: facing the wrath of the headmaster.
However, here I knew I had some leverage. Many years before, my eldest brother Bernard fell victim to his anger. Baldy was patrolling the corridors and came across a class where the teacher was momentarily absent. With the cat away, the mice were taking advantage.
In secondary school, we moved on to the leather, which never had the same impact as the cane
He made an example of my brother and his pal by giving them “10 of the best” – five on each hand – and telling them to inform their parents. Back in the day, trouble with the teacher often meant more trouble at home.
However, my brother hadn’t done anything wrong and when my mother heard, she made a beeline for Baldy. My mother was a mild-mannered woman, but she let him have it.
This had long-term benefits for his younger brothers as when Baldy saw me at the Wall, his greeting was: “I’m surprised to see you here, Mr Costello.”
The resulting punishment was more a gentle stroking of the hand with the cane instead of the usual painful whack. In general, apart from the history with my brother, I found the headmaster decent.
In secondary school, we moved on to the leather, which never had the same impact as the cane. If the bamboo cane caught the tips of your fingers on a cold winter’s day, you knew all about it.
The leather used by the Marist priests we had were quite short and never inflicted the same kind of damage. The priests were, by and large, a decent lot and not given to excessive punishment.
Our local doctor on the Howth Road in Killester played a pivotal role in the ending of corporal punishment in 1982. Dr Cyril Daly campaigned vigorously for many years for its abolishment.
He was infamous in our house for signing off on our father’s death with: I have examined the above named and found him to be dead.
The trouble was he named a neighbour two doors down who was very much alive.
However, Dr Daly should be remembered and celebrated as someone who brought about real change for the children of Ireland. He helped banish the cane and leather to history, where they belong.
