Free Scars that Run Deep by Patrick Touher Page A

could have stayed forever up here. It’s so peaceful, so clean.’
    I nodded in full agreement, wishing the same things from life as him.
    On our return home, Seamus never said a word. The few times that I glanced at him I got the gut feeling he was thinking of how different life as a child growing up in Barnacullia would have been and what he had lost out on, as I did.
    I realised just then how difficult it would be just getting used to life on the outside. I wondered: would I make it?

7
    THE CATHOLIC BOYS’ Home was a four-storey Georgian building, red brick with a very neglected appearance. It was in a terraced row of Georgian buildings with below-level basements. It was the wishes of the Board of Management that we should look for proper lodgings, and we were encouraged not to make the hostel our permanent home. There was no television to enjoy after work. I played hurling and football, though I began to like soccer, which had been forbidden at Artane. I loved playing the matches that were quickly organised by our soccer fanatics, John and Seamus.
    As I recall, there was no such thing as unemployment pay or dole at the time. All Artaners were skilled tradesmen and, what’s more, we didn’t mind hard work or getting up early. This stood us well in tough times though I had so little money.
    The Catholic Boys’ Home became a meeting place for Artaners who lived in digs or who had joined the army. I knewof many lads at the time who had lost their jobs and found it hard to deal with people or to fit in, who simply got fed up and joined the army. Many went to England to join up. But wherever they chose to go they brought their skills with them.
    The dormitory I was placed in had approximately twenty-four beds, all wrought iron painted green. To match the walls I guess, which were a faded cream and dark green. The dining room was painted similarly – deep cream, and below the dado rail a deep awful dark green, more suited to a toilet, which were also painted cream and dark green. Not to spoil things I guess! Evening tea began at 6pm.
    As the weeks passed by I was very disheartened by this awful place they called the Catholic Boys’ Home. A shelter for young Catholics without proper moorings and rife with sexual abuse.
    I walked in my sleep. This caused me many problems as I crept into other lads’ beds in my sleep. It was okay when they turned out to be ex-Artaners, but not so good when they were total strangers. I was reported and summoned to the office and threatened with dismissal.
    The thoughts of me being left homeless scared me, yet in reality what could I do to prevent myself from sleepwalking? I hated my life and the Catholic Boys’ Home.
    One evening I decided to take a shower, certain I was alone. Once under the shower, I felt the heat of another behind me. His voice was soft, deep but breathless. I realised it was Brown Tango. He said, ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Now the time has come. You are so handsome, I want you. I’m go-na have ye, and we’re alone, Collie.’
    As he embraced me, I knew I had to fight my way out of this. But how, with what? I was naked. He was taller and stronger than me. ‘Please leave me alone. Please,’ I cried. He was trying desperately to force himself on me. I struggled, we both fell to the floor. I heard voices. I shouted, ‘The Burner, help me. Please, please.’
    Brown Tango swore at me. ‘Bastard. I will kill you and them if they come near us.’
    â€˜Are you okay, Collie?’ It was the Burner and Stewie.
    I cried out, ‘Please help me. Please get ’im away from me. Please help.’
    Stewie dived in on top of Brown Tango followed by the Burner. A fierce fight broke out. I stood up. The Burner was lying beneath the shower. He’d slipped and hit his head on the tiled floor as Stewie fought Brown Tango. I decided to help him and pull Brown Tango to the floor. It was one fight I knew I had