Triumphing over my boyhood hell

Having opted out of education, Dubliner Christy Fleming was sent to an industrial school. He tells Joy Orpen that his boyhood years were hell. But in the end, his courage allowed him to triumph over those who had abused him

“This severe, merciless beating had me in pain for weeks. But my mind took an awful lot longer to heal”

When Christy Fleming was 13 years old, he embarked on a terrifying journey.

He’d fled from an industrial school in Co Cork in a desperate attempt to get back to his family in Dublin. For several days and nights, he scurried along railway tracks, hiding in ditches and eating raw turnips. Then, a lucky encounter took him from Portlaoise to Dublin in a warm train carriage.

Arriving in Heuston Station, he was taken to Pearse Street Garda Station — just minutes away from his home. But tragically, he was dragged, kicking and screaming, back to Cork, without his family knowing he’d been just a stone’s throw away. Such were the cruelties that existed in Ireland not so very long ago.

Today, Christy (74) is the epitome of the perfect gentleman. He stands straight, talks quietly and has impeccable manners. Yet there is every reason why he should be exceedingly angry, given that his childhood was cruelly robbed from him.

Christy was one of four children whose widowed mother worked tirelessly to keep them in their small flat in Townsend Street. “My father died suddenly when I was a baby,” he says. “But I don’t have memories of being poor and having nothing.”

However, he has great memories of the supportive community that existed in Townsend Street. The boys played football in the open spaces within the buildings; parties were held there, too, with everyone joining in. Christy sold newspapers in College Green to help the family finances. He also got threepence for delivering turf to neighbours in a box cart.

He attended the Christian Brothers school in Westland Row, where poor boys like him were banished to the back of the classroom. Unfortunately, his eyesight was poor, so he couldn’t see the blackboard. He was kept back twice, and finally, when he was 12, he walked out the door and never returned. “I didn’t see any point in going to a school that had given up on me,” he explains.

His mother begged Christy to continue his education, but her efforts were in vain. Eventually, he landed in court because he was deemed to be “uncontrollable”. He was sent to Greenmount Industrial School in Cork. Within hours of his arrival, he realised he was in trouble. There were witch hunts and severe punishments for boys who wet their beds. Younger boys were bullied by older boys, and a general air of cruelty and disrespect permeated. “I quickly learned that I had to watch my back at all times,” says Christy.

In his second week, following a fight, he found himself in the office of Brother John*. He was told to put his hands, palms down, on the desk. “He whacked the back of my hands as hard as he could with his bamboo cane,” Christy recounts. The Brother then became so enraged and “out of control”, it took one of his colleagues to bring the vicious assault to an end. Christy was left with lacerated hands and legs that needed urgent medical care. “This severe, merciless beating had me in pain for weeks,” he says. “But my mind took an awful lot longer to heal.”

Some months later, Christy was moved to an industrial school in Upton, Co Cork, where he and another boy were put to work shredding leather and old tyres to feed the boiler. “It was very hard work — from 5.30am until 8pm — but I had to learn how to cope,” he volunteers.

During this period, he made his epic journey to Dublin. As a consequence, upon his forced return, his head was publicly shaved and his bare feet were stamped on, breaking a big toe. “Now, you won’t be running anywhere,” he was told by Brother Peter*.

According to Christy, that very same man abducted him and four other boys and took them by van to a farm. There, 13-year-old Christy was allegedly raped by the farmer and Brother Peter, while a priest took photographs. “I can still smell the sweat of those evil bastards,” he says, with tears in his eyes. Christy fought off his abusers and screamed loudly, but he was no match for them. He believes they didn’t sexually assault him again because of his aggressive, determined resistance.

However, the viciousness left mental and emotional scars, which remain to this day. “The idea that those animals raped me made me feel deeply ashamed,” he says. “The abuse kept going through my head.”

One day it all got too much, so Christy went into a barn, intending to end it all. As he battled with his thoughts, his work buddy called out, “You OK, Christy? Brother Peter is coming,” and that act of friendship saved Christy’s life.

A few months before his 16th birthday, Christy was released. Brother Peter escorted him to the train back to Dublin. “He continually stressed that I should put the past few years behind me, and get on with my life,” Christy says.

Christy then joined the Irish Army and saw active service in the Congo. “The confidence I got from wearing that uniform was amazing,” he says. “Now, I could hold my head up high.” On one occasion, he had an enemy fighter jet firing at him right overhead. While running, he tripped and his rifle went flying. The plane returned, spewing bullets, but his comrades dragged him to safety. Christy received three medals for his service and bravery. He had hoped to make the army his life, but unexplained seizures meant he had to leave after just four years. .

That same medical condition caused him to lose many other jobs over the years in his new home in the UK. But it didn’t stop Mary, the love of his life, marrying him. They have four children and several grandchildren. Eventually, Christy was diagnosed with epilepsy, compounded by

nightmarish flashbacks to the childhood abuse, and the Congo.

Once diagnosed, his epilepsy could be managed, allowing him to enjoy steady employment. After many years of working hard, he ended up as a highways’ inspector for Waltham Forest Council. He’s now a computer buff as well, and stays in touch with his former comrades in the Congo.

Christy never told anyone about the sexual abuse, not even his beloved Mary. But once he’d got over the traumatic experience of appearing before the Redress Board, he decided to tell the whole story, and he does so now in his book, aptly titled, You OK, Christy?

“When I told Mary, we cried, and then we hugged. It was a great weight off my mind,” he says. “My whole family gave me terrific support. So much has happened, but in the end, I did achieve what I wanted for my own special family.”

What a truly courageous man.