Category: Uncategorized

• 

Paddy O’Gorman was interviewing people on RTE radio as they were coming and going from the local district court in Dublin. He wanted to get an insight into their personal lives and how they ended up appearing before a judge.

One guy told Paddy he had just spent the night in a cell in his local garda station. He had been arrested the previous evening for ‘burglary and breakin and enterin and things like that’.

He wasn’t sure what the specific charge was, but that didn’t bother him too much because he had more pressing issues with the justice system. He complained that the blankets in his cell were dirty and he thought it was a disgraceful way for him to be treated.

Another character Paddy spoke to was equally unhappy because his partner was sent to prison for thirteen months and that was making his life difficult. She was caught stealing and because she was in jail, he couldn’t go to work. He had to stay at home to mind the five children but that wasn’t the only thing bothering him.

He brings his kids to the prison to see their mother every Sunday and he had a grievance because the kids have to take their shoes off and face sniffer dogs as the prison officers try to prevent visitors smuggling drugs into the prison. It’s hard on his partner too because she finds it difficult being away from her family. Maybe she should have thought about that a bit sooner.

There were others with similar stories, and the common denominator was the unfairness of it all and how badly the system was treating them. It wasn’t their fault so there was no question of them accepting any responsibility for the situation they found themselves in. The world was against them.

That’s the thing with criminals, they’re a selfish bunch. They have no respect for law and order and couldn’t care less about their victims, their neighbours, or their community. They refuse to accept responsibility for their actions because they see themselves as the real victims.

Some are I suppose. If there is a history of criminality in a family, then it will be more difficult for kids to avoid it. It’s part of their DNA so there’s an inevitability about it. Others come from disadvantaged backgrounds with little education and simply drift into that life by falling in with the wrong crowd and making bad choices.

I came across many guys in my time who dedicated their lives to crime and in most cases, they ended up with nothing to show for their efforts. Even those who had some level of success were still missing a decent quality of life.

Most of them had issues with alcohol, drugs or gambling or a combination of all three. They had no long-term strategy and the money they got from their illegal activities was generally blown on feeding their habit. There was no such thing as saving for the rainy day or providing security for their families.

Their ill-gotten gains disappeared as quickly as they arrived, up their nose, down their throat or on the back of some useless horse. It’s probably still the same.

At first glance, it might seem as if they don’t have such a bad life. They hang around all day doing nothing productive with no responsibility. They don’t work so they’re free to come and go as they please and like bats, they come out at night to annoy the rest of us.

Occasionally, they might do a little time in prison, but they’re soon back out to carry on as normal. Their time inside gives them a new notoriety and the opportunity to sport a few bad tattoos as proof of their incarceration which adds to the tough guy image.

It’s only an image though because real life is different. They like to give the impression they don’t have a care in the world, but that’s far from the case. They’re not as tough as they think they are, and the reality is that many find it difficult to cope with their chaotic lifestyles. Deep down, they’re tormented, and it bothers them because they know they’re going nowhere. Their lives are a mess.

For example, Aaron Brady’s, recent trial for the murder of Detective Garda Adrian Donohoe gave us a small insight into the distorted mindset of these people.

Brady was known to gardai as a petty criminal prior to becoming involved in the robbery of Lordship Credit Union in Dundalk in 2013. During the robbery, Brady, who was armed with a shotgun, ran to  the garda car as it arrived on the scene and shot Detective Garda Donohoe in the face at point blank range as he got out of the car. He died instantly.

Brady fled to New York and claimed he was having a great life and making lots of money on building sites. Living the dream. But that wasn’t the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

His true feelings were often expressed to his local barman after a feed of alcohol. He admitted feeling sorry for himself because he could never return home. The guilt of the murder was getting to him. He was a wanted man and longed for someone to pity him. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to do the things I’ve done,” he told the barman.

On the other hand, Brady couldn’t keep his mouth shut and that proved to be his eventual undoing. He told anyone who would listen that he was the man who had killed the garda. He liked the notoriety of being a gangster.  

In the real world, he’s a nobody, probably facing life in prison where hopefully, the blankets will be to his liking.

• 

Suppose you lived in a country that permitted capital punishment and one of your kids came home from school one day and said, “Hi mom, dad I know what I want to be when I leave school. I want to become the official state executioner.” I don’t know about you, but I would probably head straight for the whiskey.

Killing people isn’t exactly the profession I would want for one of my kids and if they insisted on pursuing that particular occupation, I wouldn’t want to know about it. They could lie to me and keep the tools of their trade out of sight. That would work for me as long as they kept me in the dark. Secrecy is good sometimes.

I came across an obituary in The Washington Post recently, written by Harrison Smith and the subject was a guy called Jerry Givens. He was 67 years old and died last April at a hospital in Virginia from complications associated with Covid-19.

The name didn’t mean anything to me, and it probably won’t mean much to a lot of other people either because for many years he kept a low profile. He was so secretive about his work that even his own family didn’t know he was Virginia’s chief executioner.

Givens had been working as a prison guard and assisted with the occasional execution but in 1982 he fell into the official position when the previous incumbent retired. One of the conditions of employment was that he keep his role a secret.

Givens had witnessed violence as a teenager and saw a young woman shot dead randomly at a party in his neighbourhood, just as he was planning to ask her to dance. For years, he believed that her killer deserved nothing less than the death penalty and each time he carried out an execution, he thought back to that killing.

He took it all in his stride initially. As far as he was concerned, it was justice and he believed killers deserved to be killed. He got a day or two off each time he ended a life to get over it and that was that. 

He held the position of executioner for 17 years and during that time, he put over 60 people to death until circumstances led him to become a prominent activist against capital punishment.

In 1985, Givens was scheduled to execute Earl Washington Jr., who had confessed to raping and killing a 19-year-old mother of three. Washington had been diagnosed with severe learning difficulties, and just nine days before his planned execution, his lawyers secured a stay.

In 1993 DNA testing revealed that he was innocent, but he wasn’t pardoned until 2000 and ultimately became the first person on Virginia’s death row to be exonerated because of DNA testing. That sowed doubts in Givens’ mind about the justice system.

Givens left the service but was convicted of perjury and money laundering soon after. In 1999 prosecutors said he bought a car with a friend using money that Mr. Givens knew came from drug dealing. He maintained his innocence but spent four years in prison, reading the Bible and thinking about Jesus’s teachings on forgiveness. He decided the death penalty was unethical.

After his release from prison, he supported himself by driving trucks for a firm that installed and repaired highway guardrails. “I’m no longer taking lives,” he said. “I’m putting up equipment that will save lives. See? This is how God works.”

Closer to home, Albert Pierrepoint was another executioner. He operated in the UK between 1932 and 1956 and what William DeLong wrote about him would lead one to believe that unlike Givens, Pierrepoint had no qualms about performing his duty.

On July 15, 1953, notorious British serial killer John Christie was about to be executed at London’s Pentonville Prison. Immediately before he was to be hanged, Christie, his hands tied behind his back, complained that his nose itched. The executioner then leaned in and told him, “It won’t bother you for long.”

During his career it is estimated that he killed around 435 prisoners, but he once claimed himself that the real number was closer to 550.

Albert Pierrepoint was born March 30, 1905 in Yorkshire and at the age of just 11, he wrote in an essay, “When I leave school, I should like to be the Official Executioner.”

His father and uncle were both executioners and he wanted to continue in the family business. His father died in 1922, and Pierrepoint inherited the notes, diaries, and journals he’d kept on how to hang people.

In 1932, he attended his first execution in Dublin when he assisted his uncle, Thomas Pierrepoint, and got to observe and assist in other executions after that. He eventually earned a reputation for being extremely quick, calm, and efficient during his executions.

At the end of World War II, his workload increased immensely. Britain’s most famous executioner made a name for himself by hanging 200 war criminals. Between 1945 and 1949, Pierrepoint travelled to Germany and Austria many times to execute some of the most disturbing Nazis to have committed atrocities during the war.

After that, Pierrepoint became famous as a sort of quasi-war hero and made enough money to buy a pub named The Poor Struggler and people flocked to the pub to be served a pint by Britain’s Nazi executioner.

But in 1950, one of his pub’s regulars was sentenced to death for the brutal murder of his girlfriend. He got drunk at Pierrepoint’s pub, and even sang a song with Pierrepoint, before heading home to commit his crime. He was sentenced to death and Pierrepoint performed the execution, the only time that he regretted doing his job.

Albert Pierrepoint died of natural causes in 1992 aged 87.

• 

Dr. Ciara Kelly is a broadcaster on Newstalk radio and every Friday, she does a show that’s live and unscripted, and the topics are determined by the listeners. Anything can happen. I tuned in last week and I heard her opening the show with a call to the nation; She was asking her listeners to send her tampons and she wanted as many as possible.

That grabbed my attention because I thought the woman was having a crisis. It turned out she was collecting the tampons to bring them to the offices of the Advertising Standards Authority for Ireland (ASAI) to protest at a recent decision they took to ban an advertisement on TV. She said she would donate them to charity afterwards.

The ad in question had been running on the TV for a while and featured two women on a pretend talk show, with the pretend host explaining the importance of ensuring that a tampon is inserted correctly to avoid discomfort. The pretend host demonstrated to the pretend audience how the tampon’s applicator worked and told them; “You gotta get ‘em up there girls.”

The ASAI received 84 complaints about the advert and upheld the claim that it had caused “general offence” so they pulled it. Dr. Kelly was outraged and said thousands of people had contacted her show to rail against the decision and she wanted to send her collection of tampons to ASAI to show that more people were in favour of the advert than were against it. She wanted them to reinstate it.

ASAI Chief Executive Orla Twomey told RTE’s Drivetime that in the previous four-and-a-half years there were only seven advertisements that had generated 60 or more complaints, so 84 complaints suggested it caused widespread offence. Most of the complaints were from women.

I saw the ad myself several times but didn’t take much notice of it. That’s understandable because it wasn’t designed to attract my attention, it was intended for the female audience. I didn’t have an opinion about it either way, but it certainly didn’t offend me. It obviously bothered some though because they went to the trouble of lodging a complaint.

84 complaints indicated widespread offence according to the ASAI, but the number of viewers who saw the ad must have run into the hundreds of thousands if not millions. I was never great at mathematics – sums to you and me – but even by my calculation, 84 is hardly a significant number.

But what do I know? The cynic in me says this is just all about clever marketing because the real winners are the manufacturers. Everyone is talking about their product and it got top billing on most talk shows for a week. Not only here but in the UK as well. That’s what advertising is all about so, as ads go, this was a humdinger.

There’s another issue though. The ad was also designed to educate women, younger women in particular, on how to use the product properly and safely. According to the messages Ciara Kelly received, it seems there are many girls who are unsure about how to use a tampon correctly and they found the ad very useful.

It’s all irrelevant now anyway because it has been consigned to the cutting room floor never to be seen again which just goes to show that issuing safety advice can be a tricky business and can land you in a world of trouble. Sometimes, doing the opposite can land you in hot water too. Not issuing safety advice cost one company close to €50,000 in damages and legal costs when they failed to show an employee how to polish a wine glass safely.

An article by Personal Injuries Team Ireland reported that a judge in the Circuit Court recently determined that a waitress should have received training in the safe way to polish wine glasses. He was satisfied on the balance of probability that management was negligent by not providing training and she was awarded €25,000 damages and her legal costs.

A forensic engineer was employed to give evidence in the case and he said the injured party had demonstrated how she had been holding and polishing the glass with a towel when the accident occurred and in his opinion she hadn’t been doing it correctly. She should have been stopped by her employer and shown how to do it safely.

She had demonstrated in a photograph provided to the court, how she held the base of the wine glass in one hand while polishing the bowl with her other hand in a twist and turn fashion when the stem had snapped.

Had she been shown how to do it safely she would have been cupping the bowl of the glass in one hand while using the polishing cloth with her other hand. Having polished the glass in such a manner it would have been highly unlikely on the day that the stem would have snapped and injured her.  

I’m not a trained glass washer but I can still manage to dry one without losing a limb. That’s because it’s not rocket science. It’s obvious the stem is the weak part of the glass and the clue is in the design. It’s skinny, it’s made of glass and it looks fragile, so be careful when handling it. My kids have cleaned wine glasses and they’re still alive too.

All this proves that life can be complicated. On the one hand, instructing young women on the correct use of tampons to prevent causing discomfort can upset people. On the other hand, you are likely to incur the wrath of the law if you fail to teach someone how to clean a wine glass safely. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

• 

Our household has had some benefit from the Corona Virus. With all that time we had on our hands during the lockdown, the house was never so clean. As soon as a piece of dust drifted towards the floor, there was a scramble for the hoover. It was like a Special Forces operation, swooping to repel the invader with high fives all round when the threat had been eliminated.

Pharmaceutical laboratories weren’t as sanitised as our kitchen. Surgeons could have carried out heart transplants on our island unit. The cleaning was all down to boredom and anything that distracted us for a few miniutes was welcome.

I decided to tackle the painting even though I have no interest in D.I.Y. I had no intention of going mad either, I just wanted to do enough to keep me occupied without wearing me out. So, I dressed appropriately to look the part, gathered my gear and set about touching up the hallway.

That set off a chain reaction because as soon I finished one area, it embarrassed the space next to it. What had looked fine all along, suddenly looked grubby beside the freshly painted piece so that had to be done too. The ‘touch-up’ soon developed into a full-scale redecoration.

My wife has been going around the house like a tornado since the schools closed. She’s not like me. She likes to be busy and she has endless energy so as soon as she was finished indoors, she moved outside. She chopped bushes, pruned things, got rid of weeds and did other stuff that’s beyond my interest but in fairness to her, the place looks great.

Most women I know, appreciate a bunch of flowers or a piece of jewellery on special occasions but my wife is different. If you want to make her day, giver her a power washer, a pair of wellies and stand well back. She is at her happiest when she’s removing grime and she’ll stay at it until she has no feeling left in her fingers.

Most of us were doing the same thing, so many of our homes are probably spotless by now and that got me thinking. In normal times we have a national problem with littering and dog fouling. We’ve been banging on about it for years but despite all the campaigns, signs, posters and threats of fines, it has continued unabated, but would it change in a post Covid-19 world?

I had hoped for an awakening during the lockdown because I reasoned that litter louts were hardly throwing rubbish on their own floors. They were unlikely to be discarding their cigarette butts in their own driveways or allowing their dogs to foul their own gardens or pathways. If they were, then it would be interesting to see how they survived when there was no one around to clean up after them. Not too well I reckon.

It would be great if litter bugs and irresponsible dog owners could see litter and dog fouling the way the rest of us see it, as a blight on the community. I won’t hold my breath though because the signs aren’t good.

There was a piece in The Echo recently about Fennell’s Bay, Myrtleville, and Church Bay men’s pool which were left in a state after being jammed with young people partying in the warm weather.

A local councillor complained that huge amounts of rubbish were left behind, including tents, foldable chairs, disposable BBQs, jumpers, and numerous empty bottles of vodka and whiskey. She complained they were leaving everything behind and using the beach as a toilet.

Unfortunately, that’s a common sight in other areas too. Photographs of discarded waste appear constantly on social media with similar stories of woodlands, beaches and beauty spots being treated like landfill sites and toilets. Young people are getting the blame for much for it and it has been suggested that parents have a role to play in preventing this kind of behaviour. That’s true of course but if the parents themselves are the culprits, then they won’t be fit and proper role models for the youngsters.

On my regular walk in Cobh, there is a fenced off site where a terraced house was demolished. A metal barrier was erected to block access, but people have been throwing black bags of home refuse over the fence. Some bags burst open and disposable babies’ nappies were visible amongst the rubbish. I doubt those responsible were children.

It seems to me that dog fouling is also on the increase. That’s not surprising because too many dogs are roaming public areas unsupervised, free to leave their deposits wherever they like. Those irresponsible owners are not children either.

There are serious fines for dog fouling, but my local representatives have advised me that it is unenforceable. That same response is echoed across the country but it’s a lame excuse. Without enforcement, littering and dog fouling will continue.

Many years ago, I was driving to work in Mayfield and there was a car ahead of me. A carton of leftover chicken and chips was suddenly thrown out the passenger’s window and scattered all over the road. Soon after, another box of food and a drinks carton flew out the driver’s window.

They saw nothing wrong with what they had done and were annoyed with me for stopping them and delaying their journey. It took a little effort on my part to make out a report and issue summonses, but I prosecuted them for littering.

They both travelled from Limerick to Cork after taking a day off work, and the judge added to their inconvenience by fining them which made it an expensive day out. If our local authorities were more proactive in this area, we might make some headway.

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• 

I spoke to a guy recently who has never driven a car in his life. He’s a couple of years younger than me and in all that time, he’s never sat behind the wheel of a car. He has no interest in cars and never needed one either.

He spent most of his adult life in the fishing industry and grew up close to where his boat is moored. Shops and pubs were nearby too, so everything he needed was within walking distance.

My initial reaction was to feel sorry for him for losing out on the driving experience but when I thought about it, I realised that he’s the lucky one. He has been spared all the stress, aggravation and expense associated with car ownership and he has avoided forking out a small fortune on motoring over his lifetime.

The AA did a survey back in 2018 and they estimated it was costing the average motorist over €10,000 a year to keep their car on the road.

Anyone who owns a car knows only too well that they don’t come cheap. They’re expensive pieces of kit and the cost doesn’t end with the purchase price either, that’s only the start of it. Getting it from A to B will eat a hole into your wallet too but many of us don’t have an alternative.

We pay a hefty amount of tax when we buy the car in the first place. We pay a Government levy when we insure it and a good deal of tax goes on every litre of fuel that we put into it.

We also pay road tax before we take it out of the driveway but I’m not sure exactly why. There was a time when this money went back to the local authority for the upkeep of the roads and we all got the benefit of that. But not anymore.

On the 1^st January 2018, the Government directed that all money raised through motor tax would be paid directly to the Revenue Commissioners, which means that the money we spend on motor tax is no longer going towards improving the condition of the roads.

Looking at the state of them now, that’s not difficult to believe. So, where is it going? Well at one stage it was being used to prop up Irish Water so maybe it should be called a river tax instead. Wherever the money is going, it’s clearly not being spent on our infrastructure.

I have damaged many wheels in potholes over the years and it’s always been at my own expense. The roads are in a shocking condition and it’s difficult to find out who is responsible. Try claiming for a damaged wheel and you’ll see what I mean. The motorist isn’t getting a fair deal and the future isn’t looking too bright either.

The Green Party recently secured a role in shaping the future of this country and I think that could be bad news for us motorists. Their leader, Eamonn Ryan, would prefer if we were car-pooling, walking or cycling but that’s not our only obstacle.

A few years ago, the Government told us that petrol engines were bad for the environment and diesel cars were the way forward, so we were encouraged to buy them. They were very persuasive and reduced the road tax on diesels as a further incentive. So, for the first time in my life, I bought one and the tax was only €200 a year whereas it was €800 on my petrol car.

I followed it up in 2018 with another one but no sooner had I arrived home with it than the Government changed its mind. They did a U turn. The diesel car had suddenly regained its bad boy status and we were told to get rid of them because they won’t be available after 2030.

The Government wants us to go electric so they’re pushing up the tax on diesel cars. I have just taxed mine for 2020 and it cost me €80 more, so it’s already on the rise.

I’m beginning to feel like an outcast. I’m responsible for killing polar bears in the Arctic Circle. It’s my fault the ice cap is melting, and Greta Thunberg will soon be calling to my house. I’ve become the bad guy and that’s all very familiar to me, so I know how it’s going to end.

The next time I change my car, the salesman will cry when he sees me. He’ll shake his head and apologise for not being able to give me a good deal on a trade-in. He’ll explain how it’s not his fault. He would love to do a deal, but nobody wants diesels anymore.

There will be tears in his eyes as he explains how his world has been turned upside down. His children are hungry and going to school in their bare feet because the market is flooded with cars he can’t sell.

It’s always the same whenever I look for a trade in. I somehow always manage to have the worst car on the market. It’s the wrong make, the wrong model or the most unpopular colour so, I know I’m going to lose out. Diesel engines went from hero to villain in a short period of time and it’s going to cost me.

One person who is not going to be bothered by all this nonsense though is my auto-less friend. He couldn’t care less about the state of the roads or the current rate of road tax or the high cost of insurance or a salesman’s starving children.

He just wants a footpath to walk on and a boat to fish from and he doesn’t have to worry about falling out with Greta Thunberg either.

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• 

I’m a two fingered typist and I can’t tell you how many words I type in a miniute, because you would only laugh. I get by though, no thanks to the person responsible for designing the modern keyboard. What were they at?

The ‘Qwerty’ layout gets its name from the first six letters on the top row but why not just place them in alphabetical order instead?

One explanation I heard was that the keys on the original typewriters stuck together regularly when typing at speed, so the strange keyboard was designed to slow the typists down. That doesn’t make sense though because touch typists don’t even look at the keys.

Anyway, if you can’t read or write, it makes no difference what kind of keyboard is in front of you, it still won’t make any sense. That’s what life is like for people who are illiterate. They can’t recognise those letters and have no idea how to put them together to form words.

Reading isn’t only essential for normal everyday life, it’s also an enjoyable pastime, but there are many who find themselves locked out of that world. It’s estimated there are about 781 million adults worldwide over the age of 15 who are illiterate.

The National Adult Literacy Agency is an independent charity in Ireland committed to making sure people with literacy and numeracy difficulties can fully take part in society and have access to learning opportunities that meet their needs.

In their 2019 report they pointed out that 1 in 4 adults struggles with everyday maths such as working out a 20% discount or dividing up a bill and 1 in 6 adults finds everyday text, such as a bus timetable or medical instructions, hard to read and understand. Those statistics shocked me.

For as long as I can remember, I have been a big reader. As a child, I walked down to the local library every Saturday morning to change my books. Most of my friends did the same. It was a ritual and there was a buzz out of picking up a new read to get stuck into.

I have maintained this passion all through my adult life and there is never an occasion when I don’t have a book on the go. Call me sad, but I love a good browse in a book shop. I could spend the day in there inhaling the smell of the paper, the glue and the ink.

Even though I have a Kindle now, my preferred option will always be the paper version. The Kindle has a lot of advantages, being light and easy to carry, especially when travelling. Being able to download a novel in a matter of seconds is a bonus too, but you just can’t beat the feel of the real thing.

By the way, I have no difficulty loaning a book to someone but if you ever borrow a book from me, do not under any circumstances bend the corners of the pages to mark your spot. That is complete vandalism and could earn you a world of pain.

But whether it’s a book or a Kindle, reading is something that every child should be encouraged to do. It is regarded as one of the most important practices to stimulate the intellectual development in kids. A child will never be alone if he or she can get involved in a book and experts will also tell you it does wonders for a child’s vocabulary, comprehension, independence and confidence.

Most readers agree that a film is never as good as the book either so, whether you’re a bookworm or a curious child or someone who just likes to read a newspaper, there is a world of entertainment to be had from reading. It’s not for everyone though.

Ashley Armstrong wrote a story in The Guardian about Chris Dawson who is the billionaire founder of ‘The Range’ which is a chain of retail- shops in the UK, selling everything from lawn-mowers and hammocks to artists’ sketch-pads.

He now has 160 shops including one in Eastgate in Little Island in Cork and his annual sales are counted in the hundreds of millions of pounds. Mr Dawson, aged 68, claims he is unable to read or write properly and started out as a market trader in Plymouth before he founded ‘The Range’ in 1989.

He says he has never written a letter in his life or read a book but despite his illiteracy, he has gone on to make his fortune. He told The Sunday Times: “I was put on this planet to make money and I start thinking about it the minute I wake up. He said he “didn’t see much of school at all and left without being able to read or write properly.”

He started out selling teas to builders on construction sites at the age of 14, before progressing to selling watches from a briefcase on a market stall. He sold everything he could get his hands on from the back of a lorry and used the profits from his wheeler-dealing to open his first store. He is very successful, but Dawson is more the exception than the rule.

Illiteracy isn’t as rare in Ireland as you might think either and we rank 15th out of 24 countries. At this level a person may be unable to understand basic written information. But there is help available for those who want it, so it’s not the end of the world.

Free literacy and numeracy classes are provided nationwide by the Education and Training Board adult literacy service and classes are open to all. Nobody has to suffer in silence and help is available. There is a whole new world waiting to be explored for those who take that first step.

I wrote a piece a few months ago about the experience children have in primary school today compared to what it was like for some of us back in the sixties. In particular, the way the religious orders disciplined children in my time.

Discipline isn’t the right word either because it was physical abuse, nothing less. There was one brother in my school who was the biggest offender and that was the principal. I explained how the children cheered when they heard the news of his death following an accident.

There was a lot of reaction to that article and one guy who read it was ahead of me in the same primary school, and he told me it brought back memories to him.

He also remembered the day the principal died and everyone in his classroom clapped. Because he was older than me, he had more of an understanding of the reign of terror that existed in that school and he said some of the other teachers were afraid of this man too.

Another man contacted me the old-fashioned way. He found my name in the phone book and called my landline. I rarely answer that phone because it’s usually some foreign guy telling me that I have a problem with my broadband that he can fix for me if I just give him my credit card details. Instead, it was a lovely gentleman who wanted to talk about the article.

We’ll call him Tom and he said he was closer to ninety than eighty. He’s a regular reader of ‘The Echo’ and likes my column so he’s obviously highly intelligent. While my head was swelling to twice the size, he told me that he was very taken with the piece about the primary school days.

He was an interesting character and he related some of his own experiences including a story about a particular brother he had a run in with. Tom was in school one day and his arm was in a sling. I’m not sure if he told me why but if he did, I can’t remember but in any event this brother decided that Tom needed to be disciplined.

He hit his good hand with a cane until he couldn’t take anymore so Tom offered his bad hand which was also caned. The next thing he remembers is opening his eyes and he saw one of his classmates standing over him and realised he was lying on the floor. He reckons he must have passed out for a few seconds from the pain.

Tom described himself as an inoffensive child but when he picked himself from the floor, he was filled with a rage. He saw the brother standing at the blackboard with his back to him and he marched up to him and poked him in the back of the neck. When the brother turned around, Tom told him that if he ever laid a hand on him again, he would throw him and his collar out through the window.

That’s a sterilised version of what he actually said because the true version was a bit more colourful and unprintable.

At home that night, Tom was going over the events of the day in his mind and figured that he was for the high jump. He reckoned he was probably going to be kicked out of the school which was going to create a serious problem for him. Where would he go after that and what would his parents say?

He decided to go to school early the following morning to speak to the principal and maybe get the punishment reduced to a suspension or something. As he was heading out the door, his mother asked him why he was going in so early. He told her he had some homework to finish and he was meeting up with some of his classmates.

When the principal arrived, he invited Tom into his office and asked him what the problem was. Tom told him his story of the previous day. All the time, Tom remembers that the principal was tapping his pen on the desk in front of him. When he was finished his tale, Tom sat back and waited for the guillotine to fall.

To his surprise, the principal just looked at him and told him that he was one of the quietest boys in the school and not to worry. Tom asked him if he was going to be expelled and the principal again told him not to worry and guaranteed him, he would never hear another word about it.

Tom was surprised with this turn of events and happily returned to his class. He had no further trouble from that brother and not too long after this, the brother left the school and Tom never saw or heard from him again.

Years later, he read about the inquiry into Letterfrack Industrial School in Connemara, Co. Galway. This school was run by the Christian Brothers and the scene of much physical and sexual abuse. It came as no surprise to Tom to discover that his old tormentor was one of the main abusers.

Tom was concerned that the offender may have ended up in Letterfrack because of his complaint and I think he felt responsible for the abuse some of those children received at the hands of that man.

The truth of course, is that he prevented more children from being abused in his own school by taking a stand which was a very brave thing for a child to do. I reminded him that he bears no responsibility for the actions of a demented brother. That guilt rests with the organisation that just moved the problem from pillar to post without ever dealing with the real issue.

• 

Fin Dwyer wrote about the deaths of four members of the Sheehan family outside Castletownroche in a dispute over land back in 1886. William Sheehan was evicted from his farm during the Land War and emigrated to New Zealand. Within a few months a gruesome discovery back in Ireland changed everything.

His former neighbours were cleaning out an old disused well when they discovered the decaying remains of William Sheehan’s mother Catherine, his sister Hanna and brother Thomas. The RIC quickly identified William as the main suspect.

He was located in New Zealand and was brought back to stand trial for the murders in Cork.  He was found guilty and he later claimed he had murdered his family members because his mother would not allow him to marry the woman of his choosing.

While looking into the story, I came across this account of the hanging taken from the Freemans Journal which was the forerunner of the Irish Independent, but it was published in Waikato Times in New Zealand:  https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WT18860313.2.43

I think it’s a fascinating insight into the final hours of a condemned man written in the language of the time, 1886. The hanging took place in Cork city.

                                               ——————————————————

To-day Wm. Sheehan paid the penalty of the cruel crime of which he was convicted at the last Cork Assizes —the murderer of his mother, brother, and sister, near Castletownroche. The culprit, from the first moment he was charged, acted the hypocrite by indignantly protesting his innocence and threatening dire consequences to his accusers for the inconvenience caused him.

During the trial, and even when sentence of death was passed upon him, he manifested the same thorough insensibility, and apparent absence of any of the feelings of our better nature of which even the moat depraved are not wanting. When he was located in the ” condemned cell ” after sentence had been pronounced, he appeared to be utterly oblivious of his position, remorseless and callous to a degree.

Since then, however, thanks to the benign influence of religion, he was a changed man. The ministration of the prison chaplain reconciled him to his fate, and he faced it in the true spirit of penitence. He always declared Browne’s innocence of any participation in the crime, but he did not know the result of his trial, except he learned it from his wife at the interview which he had with her about ten days ago.

Since his removal to the condemned cell, Sheehan took his meals regularly and well, and slept soundly at night. He ate his supper last night in the usual way and retired to bed at ten o’clock. He directed his attendant to wake him at three o’clock, which was done, and from that till half- past six o’clock, when the Rev. Father Barrett visited him, he was engaged in prayer.

The chaplain and the condemned man then proceeded to the chapel, and they continued the devotions. The unhappy man then made his last confession, and the Rev. Father Barrett celebrated the sacrifice of the Mass, at which Sheehan received the Holy Viaticum. After mass they received the Litanies together, and at a quarter to eight the chapel bell began to peal forth in slow and melancholy measure the death-knell. The sound of the bell, as it was heard in the chapel, was like a summons from the grave, and the victim heaved a long deep sigh as it fell upon his ear.

At six miniutes to eight the chief warder appeared at the chapel door and gave the order to move. The culprit was scarcely able to walk, and he leaned on the left arm of the priest, a warder walking abreast on the left. Then followed the sub-sheriff (Mr Gale), the governor of the gaol (Major Roberto), the deputy governor (Mr Patterson), and three warders. From the chapel to the execution chamber is about forty yards. The scaffold platform is level with the ground outside, so that the first idea which the condemned prisoner receives of the use of the room is when he sees the rope hanging from an iron beam overhead.

The procession having arrived opposite the door of the chamber, the executioner made his appearance, and at once proceeded to pinion the man. This operation was performed with some tediousness, and then the executioner took the place of the warder at the left of the culprit, and they stepped in on the trap. On the route from the chapel to the scaffold, the Rev. Father Barrett recited the Litany, Sheehan pronouncing the responses with a firm voice.

Precisely at eight o’clock the bolt was drawn, and the unhappy man was launched into eternity. Before the trap fell, he, in an audible tone, begged God’s pardon for the murder he had committed. He recited an Act of Contrition, and the chaplain gave his absolution, and then breathed into his ear several pious aspirations such as “Jesus, have mercy on me,” ” God be merciful to me a sinner,” “Holy Mary pray for me.” The bolt was no sooner drawn than the black flag was hoisted over the battlements of the prison, thus announcing to the group of about fifty persons who had gathered together on the Gaol Road that the law’s stern vengeance had been satisfied.

Berry was the executioner. The drop was fix feet, and death was instantaneous. The body was kept suspended for an hour, and then cut down and removed to an outer yard, where it was viewed by a coroner’s jury previous to its consignment to an unhallowed grave within the precincts of the gaol. The face, as he lay in the rude coffin, presented the usual appearance of death from strangulation. The skin turned a livid bine, the mouth was distended, and the eyes only half closed. He wore the same raiment which he wore at the trials. The black flag was hauled down at one o’clock.

Sheehan was only thirty-two years of age; his height was 5ft4in, and his weight 1461b.

The complete stories of Cork’s Castletownroche murders are available in a two-part podcast series ‘A Land to Die For’ by Fin Dwyer

Funerals of ex colleagues are sad occasions at the best of times, but they do give us an opportunity for a catch up with people we probably haven’t seen for years. It’s always an interesting experience and there are usually a few surprises.

For example, at a funeral shortly before the lockdown, I met a character I had worked with in the eighties. I knew him well, but I didn’t recognise him initially. We started talking and even then, I couldn’t place him. My brain was screaming at me that I knew him, but it took a few minutes to make the connection.

In my defence, it was a cold day and he was wearing a cap and a scarf, and appearances can change in thirty years.

I met another guy who retired over thirty-five years ago but you wouldn’t think it to look at him. He’s in his late eighties now and enjoys good health and doesn’t seem to have aged a day. Others also managed to defy the ageing process, but it wasn’t all good news either.

There were shared memories of fallen colleagues, and complaints of bad prostates, dicky hearts, dodgy knees, hips and backs. There was no shortage of walking wounded and it wasn’t that long ago since we were all young, energetic and invincible.

We’re far from invincible now and these gatherings are a reminder that the clock is ticking so it’s time to forge ahead with whatever plans we have while we’re still able. No point in putting things off because circumstances can change quickly.

In 2018, I got a glimpse of how tenuous our grip on life can be. It came out of the blue and while I was recovering from surgery, I decided to drive on with my own plans and as soon as I was fit enough, I was off to Cyprus with my buddy, John O’Connor.

I am a regular visitor and I hope to be spending a lot more time there when my wife retires. The climate suits me fine, the people are friendly, and the food is great so what’s not to love. It’s a beautiful island.

It reminds me of an Ireland back in the sixties but without the dampness. The entire island is only about the size of Munster so it’s very intimate. It has over three hundred days of sunshine a year and I love to feel the heat on my bones. I feel better for it so unless something crops up to spoil my plans, Larnaca is where you’ll find me.

I won’t rough it though. I like my comfort and while peace and quiet are top of my list, I won’t be cutting myself off from the rest of civilisation. I’m very happy in my own company but I won’t be doing a Billy-no-mates on it, like David Glasheen did.

Mr. Glasheen is in his mid-seventies and he gave up his wealthy lifestyle twenty years ago for the opportunity to live on a desert island. He was born in Australia, but his family came from Cork, which is very appropriate given that his name is Glasheen.

Matt Young wrote a story about this guy and it’s quite a tale. Mr Glasheen is an Australian millionaire turned castaway, who walked away from his life and became Australia’s real-life Robinson Crusoe in 1997.

He has endured the toughest landscapes in the largest unspoilt wilderness in Northern Australia and one of the last remaining wilderness areas on Earth. “The wild is pretty severe. It’s a tough world. Things are forever going wrong, and you’ve just got to deal with it. You’ve got to work with the elements.”

Except for the annual grocery shop to Cairns, Mr Glasheen spends most of his time on the island, where he lives in a renovated WWII outpost.

This character is 77 years old, but he moved to the island after losing his fortune in the stock exchange crash of 1987. Before that it was estimated that he was worth about 27 million dollars as chairman of a Sydney-based company which specialised in gold mining.

He invested in luxury real estate along Sydney Harbour but after the Black Monday crash in 1987, the Dow Jones dropped a record 508 points and Glasheen’s stock fell rapidly too.

He lost $7.25 million that day alone, and the next few years saw his life spiral into bankruptcy and a broken family. He divorced his wife in 1991 and by 1993, the banks had moved in.

He later heard of a lease that was available on an undeveloped 64-acre island within a national park in Cape York, on Australia’s remote peninsula called Restoration Island. He moved there and now lives in a wooden beach shack and mostly lives off the land, growing his own vegetables and catching fish, crabs and shrimp.

But despite having limited electricity, fresh water and having to face regular battles against deadly wildlife, the bearded exile insists he feels safe on the island. There are snakes, spiders and crocodiles but it is safer here than lots of other parts of the world he says, and he can go to bed knowing that he is not going to be attacked by humans.

The only down-side for him is that he misses intelligent conversation and the physical contact of other people. So, while we share a Cork connection and a fondness for a nice island, that’s where the similarities end. He is happy to endure hardship for his desert island lifestyle – I’m not.

I’m prepared to put up with the odd mosquito bite or an occasional glitch with the air conditioning. I’ll even put up with the Wi-fi dropping from time to time but any more than that and I’ll be on the first plane back home.

• 

It’s not unusual to see reports from the courts of criminals receiving lenient sentences despite having a long history of criminality. Habitual offenders with lengthy lists of previous convictions getting a smack on the wrist. It’s the kind of thing that drives most people nuts. 

It’s also soul destroying for the investigating gardai who regularly invest a lot of time and effort into getting an accused before the court in the first place. Criminal investigations are complicated and time consuming.

Gathering and evaluating evidence from the scene of a crime is a specialised, scientific process. Taking statements from injured parties and witnesses, questioning suspects, making arrests and organising charges all takes time. It also involves a considerable volume of paper.

The reward for the efforts of the investigating officers is a successful prosecution and a spell behind bars for the culprits. But there are many examples of habitual criminals receiving sentences that seem incompatible with their record of illegal activity.

Defence lawyers often make a standard case for leniency. Their client has a long history of criminality but it’s not his fault. He’s had a tough life and just fell in with the wrong people. Family was dysfunctional and gave him no support, so he never had a chance.

He developed issues with alcohol and drugs, but the good news is he’s making a valiant effort to turn his life around. He’s moved away from the area and has disassociated himself from the bad influences in his life. He’s attending rehab for substance abuse and is in a committed relationship.

He is determined to become a better person. He apologises for the hurt caused and wishes to express his profound regret at his behaviour.

The defendant may even shed a tear, the cynic might say for effect, and that’s it. The tried and tested formula for getting a clip around the ear. Tell a sob story, express remorse, give an undertaking to become a better person and Bob’s your uncle. He might be back on the street before the ink is dry on his prison tattoo.

So how many chances should a persistent offender be entitled to before he can reasonably expect to have the book thrown at him? Quite a few apparently.

Liam Heylin had a story in The Echo about a couple in their 90s who returned home to find an intruder had smashed his way in through a bedroom window. The house was not ransacked but it had been disturbed by the intruder and a bloodstained towel left at the scene. The burglar cut himself while smashing the window and getting into the house.

The culprit was caught and was jailed at Cork District Court for 10 months in respect of this burglary. He also received two six-month sentences for other burglaries, but they were made consecutive to the 10 months, leaving him with a total jail term of 16 months. He had 128 previous convictions including 38 counts for carrying out burglaries and five for theft.

His solicitor, seeking leniency, told the judge that his client had pleaded guilty to the burglaries at the earliest opportunity and cooperated with the garda investigation. That sounded good but in reality, he didn’t have much choice. As well as the DNA match, there was video evidence from a neighbour’s CCTV so there was no point in trying to deny it.

He previously turned up at the home of a woman in her 70s. The householder returned home to find someone had broken in through a kitchen window and stolen €1,000 worth of jewellery. The woman lived alone in the house. The judge said it was awful that a person of this age had to deal with something like that at this stage in her life.

It was awful but the sentences he received previously didn’t act as much of a deterrent as evidenced by his long list of convictions.

Liam also reported on another case where a woman caught handling stolen property received a jail term of eight months. It wasn’t her first time before a judge either. She had 193 previous convictions, two for handling stolen property and 43 for theft and one was for robbery.

In 2019 she received an eighteen-month sentence for multiple thefts and was due to complete that sentence in December 2020. However, on March 2^nd 2020, nine months before that end of that sentence, she was out again.

Not only was she free, but she was back in front of the judge again where she received another six-month sentence. But incredibly, just six weeks later she was free again on temporary release and in front of a judge once more. This time the judge imposed an eight-month sentence on the charge of handling stolen property.

So, she has been returned to prison to complete her original eighteen-month sentence which will be completed with remission, by December 2020 and the new eight months she got won’t increase her time in custody.

Her solicitor said she was doing quite well in prison which surprised me given that she seems to spend so little time there.

In another case, a seven-month jail term was imposed on a Dubliner who went to a house party in Cork and then broke into a car belonging to a pharmacist. He was caught red-handed, sitting in it. A window of the car had been smashed and the culprit pleaded guilty to taking the car without permission, interfering with it and causing criminal damage.

He had 161 previous convictions. In his defence, the court was told that he left the country to get away from people. He was addicted to drink and tablets but got clean until he went to a party and took drink again. He can’t remember what happened he was so intoxicated but apologised for his behaviour.

Sound familiar?