Occasionally a nun would lose her mind and let the inmates out a bit early, not needing the bell. And Seamus being the youngest of the lads probably wanted a lunch-hour where he wasn’t the brunt of the battles on the way home.

“He’s probably already home.”

And the three of us took off not wanting the little rascal to be first to any of the largesse that Bridie would bestow on us today.

I won the race cause I was the fastest, but that didn’t stop Brian and Sean from trying as hard as they could, closing the gap near the finish line the back screen door of Cloonmore.

The patchy screen door that mostly kept the flies away was the Crier at Cloonmoore. Every arrival and departure was dutifully announced by the squeaky spring  that opened and pulled shut the portal.

“Beat ya!” Mike said because he always won.

Slam went the door.

“Beat ya,” Brian said coming in a nearby second.

Slam went the door.

“Loser,” Sean yelled because he didn’t have Seamus to beat today.

And that’s how everyday went. Every event had some form of competition woven into it; a winner, a loser, but everyone tried hard. The older winners would have their comeuppance… someday.

No one ever held a grudge or pouted about their loss. We just moved onto the next race.

“I’m starved.”

“What’s for lunch?”

Can I have seconds?”

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Bride responded.

“To the sink and wash your hands,” Bridie commanded.

And with sparkling mitts, the three of us jumped into our chairs and grabbed our soup spoons in anticipation of the steaming aromatic soup.

‘Oh, I gotta go,” Michael announced. Washing your hands could bring an emergency piddle to the fore.

“Up the stairs,” Bridie commanded, “you’re getting too old for the bucket.”

“Oh, Ma pleeeease,” Mike begged.

“UP,” Bridie commanded again.

Cloonmore had only one bathroom…upstairs. If you know how it is to be a young lad and have to go, you know that there is a need for an emergency plan, and that’s where the bucket came in. Bridie kept it stashed on the enclosed back porch and broke it out only when there was an emergency, which was often. As a young lad, you always waited till you couldn’t hold it any longer.

Holding his crotch and hopping like a dancer, Mike started to make his way up the bare, wooden, curved back stairs. After four steps you turned hard right; after another four steps you turned hard right again and finally landed in the upstairs hallway with the bathroom and relief straight ahead. By the time you got there an unwound your dingy from the underwear folds, you were in a frenzied state.  At release point the first stream rarely hit the intended target and then an AAHHHHH! as the stream met the water and a look up to the ceiling in appreciation of the moment and finally a little clean-up for the wayward initial spray.

Back in the kitchen, “Who is missing?” Bridie asked. And then it dawned on her that her Baby- Seamus was.

“Jasus.” Did he walk home with yee, as Bridie’s concern grew.

“No, Ma.”

“Did you see him?”

“No, Ma.”

All we cared about was getting to the cheese sandwiches.

And then from the top of the back stairs, “He’s up here,” from Mike.

Mike had heard some shniffeling when he was relieving himself and checked the boy’s bedroom when he was done, only to find Seamus face down on the bed crying hard and holding the back of his legs with one hand.

“What happened,” Mike inquired.

“Nothing,” Seamus said.

“What happened baby brother, that hardly looks like nothing.”

“She beat me.”

“Who!”

“Geraldus.”

By then Bridie had made her way up the backstairs and to the sobbing Seamus.

“Get the bandages and oil!”

Mike chased down the gauze and oil while Bridie comforted the sobbing Seamus.

“Here, Ma.”

As she applied the gauze and balm, his gasps softened and then faded away.

On the back of his legs from the bottom of his arse to the top of his knees were welts that extended across both of his legs. You could see the crease marks where Geraldus had used the edge of the plywood, not the flat side.

After soothing the bruises with the gauze and balm, Bridie tucked her baby in and promised the wounded lad with the best grilled cheeses ever. Down in the kitchen she grilled the cheese sandwiches and warmed up the now chilled tomato soup and made sure that the other three lads were fed and up the stairs she went toting a tray with steaming soup and golden grilled cheese sandwiches. When she got to the bedroom door she looked in and found a child in slumber and softly tiptoed over to the side of the bed and planted one of her soft Irish kisses on his forehead. She again arranged his covers and looked down at her baby Seamus.

‘How could someone do such a thing, and by a messenger of God,’ Bridie thought.

Back in the kitchen, Bridie queried the other lads and discovered that Geraldus had a pattern of child abuse.

“Have you seen this before,” she asked.

“She hit me across the face with it last year.” Sean replied.

“With what,” Bridie asked.

“Mr. Lucky,” all three boys said in unison.

“Mr. Lucky!” Bridie responded incredulously.

Michael chimed in, “She’s been doing it since I was in third grade.”

“Why hasn’t anyone said anything,” Bridie begged.

“She’s real mean and told us that there would be hell to pay if we told our parents.” Mike said.

“Well, today’s the last day for Geraldus and Mr. Lucky, boys.”

“She never lets anyone go to the bathroom either,” Sean said. “And the room smells like it.”

We all felt better after downing Bridie’s grilled cheese triangles, dunking each corner in the soup and then biting into them, leaving a stream of soup on your chin with each bite. The combination was one of our favorites and always left us with new found strength and energy to head back to St. Eddie’s and take on the Nuns again for the next three hours.

“OK, boys,” Bridie said, “Let’s go see Sr. Geraldus.”

Without a cue, Michael ran back upstairs to check on Baby Seamus and again found him sleeping like a little angel. And that’s just how everyone in the house treated “Seamie” especially the older girls who paraded him around as if he was their own little doll. He was that cute.

The four of us marched down the alley to St Eddy’s like a crusade looking for a villain, looking to take back the innocence that had been shattered that very morning. You see, one of the most precious things to Bridie was the innocence of a child. A child was to be protected from the pangs of the world…at all costs.

We marched through the side door at Eddy’s without announcing our presence and turned into the Principal’s office, Bridie leading and the three lads in close tow.

“Can I speak to the Principal,” Bridie requested to the school secretary.

When Bridie was determined which was almost always, she donned a look on her face that could scare the pelt off a skunk. Her head tilted, her lip curled and her eyes pierced, like a general at the fore of battle.

“Oh, yes Mrs. Brennan,” the secretary responded, knowing Bridie and her previous forays.

Sr. Michael came out of her office garbed in the typical Nun habit with the giant string of rosary beads swinging at her side. The clang from the beads always announced a Nun’s arrival. It was the one thing they couldn’t keep quiet.

With one long gaze, Sr. Michael knew that whatever was at hand was serious.

“Do we need the boys,” Sr.Michael asked.

“Yes, we have a story to tell,” Bridie asserted.

We all marched into the Principal’s office and stood like soldiers at an inquest.

Sr. Michael closed the door behind us, keeping the inquiry away from the snoopy secretary.

“Who’d like to start,” Sr. Michael started.

And Bridie led in with how Seamus had been beaten with Mr. Lucky and Sean chimed in with how he had taken one across the face and how the room smelled and then Brian and Michael with their own accounts of years past and the abuse Geraldus had meted out at the hands of Mr. Lucky.

“OK, boys off to class you go and keep our meeting a secret.”

“Yes sister.”

We opened the door and headed to our afternoon class as Sr. Michael asked the secretary to summon Geraldus to the office.

I remember feeling so good walking out of the office knowing that a wrong that had existed for so long was about to be corrected. I was only twelve.

After we left, Bridie stood erect and determined and in minutes, the stocky Geraldus entered the office with her usual look of disdain. It was a disdain that she carried with her every day and every moment. One that spelled an aura of discard for the very children that she was assigned to embrace. How she had operated this long with such an attitude was the real question. Abusers intimidate as well as abuse.

Sr. Michael started.

“What possible reason could you have for beating Seamus with your stick,” Michael demanded, assuming that the accusations were true.

“He talked out of turn like he always does,” Geraldus shot back asserting a sense of justification for her actions.

“Why don’t I know about this Mr. Lucky and how long have you been using it?”

“It’s always been my secret weapon and how I keep order in my class.”

Bridie had remained quiet until now.

“Well you’re going to have to find a better way than beating eight year old children with a stick and you’re going to have to find another school too.”

“When my child comes to school tomorrow with his bruised and beaten legs …and I will be escorting him, you better not be here.”

“The habit you’re wearing is the only thing keeping you from getting your own beating. And it certainly isn’t hiding the monster within.” Bridie raised her fist and shook it at Geraldus. Geraldus stepped back.

Bridie looked back at Sr. Michael. “If I find her here tomorrow, there will be hell to pay.”

“Do we have an understanding, ladies,” ignoring their religious status. They didn’t answer or even feel like they needed to because Bridie had certainly conveyed her resolve. Bridie left the silent room and with it Sr. Michael’s dilemma.

When she got back home she looked in again on the sleeping Seamus and thought to herself that the abuse that had been inflicted on eight year old children was finally over…at least at St Edmunds. And she wondered again how empathy and caring could get so lost and give birth to such evil.

The next day Bridie escorted her healing lad to the door of his classroom to make sure Geraldus was elsewhere, finding a sub in her stead and gave the wounded warrior a pat on the arse just above the bruises. Bridie stood back, peaking around the corner to make sure “Seamie” would be ok.

He found his seat and lowered himself into his chair, gingerly and without raising his hand belted out to the sub, “Will we get recess today?”

Bridie just smiled.