Paul Malpas

As I explained in yesterday’s posting, that overwhelming depression that had descended on St Bede’s before my time and was throughout my stay and afterwards, according to my correspondents, tainting both student and teacher alike, never found its way to the sports field.  So as I hated my experiences at the school and pondered long and hard on the devastating effect it had on myself and others, I thought nothing of turning out for Old Bedian cricket and rugby teams.  There it was a different world into which the College never encroached and in fact the term was a slight misnomer in that at least 50% of the lads who played  sport at Old Bede’s had never attended the College

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For me the highlight of the sporting year was the annual cricket tour to the Wye Valley on which I went for four years from 1966 to 1969 until unfortunately work took over my life.  They really were magnificent days, setting off in a coach with a really decent set of lads, all older than me; lads I had revered at school for their prowess on the cricket team, lads who were playing at a high standard in league cricket and all treating me as an equal.

 

Lads like Joe Smith, a crazy left arm fast bowler from Unsworth, near Bury, who taught Classics at Stonyhurst College, that Jesuit pile in Lancashire.  He spoke with a broad Lancashire accent and I always wondered what Xenophon or Pliny would have sounded like, with its Lancastrian twist, to the privileged kids at that school.  To be any good as a fast bowler you have to be fairly crazy and Joe’s lunatic antics often used to get us into scrapes where we generally used to escape with honour.

 

Other lads on the tour who had been through the mincer that was the College were Dave McGarry, a very good footballer and batsman, who liked bowling leg breaks, and happened to be our in house chaplain and peacekeeper.  Chris O’Rourke, a top wicketkeeper/batsman who had trials for Lancashire and captained Stand in the Lancashire and Cheshire League and Len Whelan, a teacher and drinker, who had all the attributes of a good fast bowler but could not convert this God-given physique into cricketing ability but he made up for this fault with tremendous enthusiasm.  Len was married to a cousin of my future wife, Helen and went on to teach at Bede’s Prep many years later.  He died suddenly in the 1990s leaving his large family devastated.

 

The normal tour was a first stop at Shrewsbury or Ludlow, then onto Leominster, our usual headquarters followed by games at Bromyard in Worcestershire and at Hereford, playing the occasional game at Ross on Wye and always finishing off playing the Welsh Brigade army team at their permanent barracks at Crickhowell, near Abergavenny, having lunch in the Officer’s Mess and drinking out of silver goblets at the bar.  Crickhowell was a massive army camp and could always put out a very good team.

 

The second year we played them their team was captained by one aptly named Major Poncia, I tell no lie but he was actually a very good batsman who opened their innings.  We had taken three cheap wickets with Joe Smith bowling at his best when Corporal. Jones joined Major Poncia at the crease.  After an over or two settling in the Major drove a ball through the covers and shouted to Jones to run two.  Our cover fieldsman was a very able man and collected the ball at which Jones denied his captain and sent him back at the start of his second run.  The ball was returned swiftly to the bowling end justifying Corporal Jones’s fears. Major Poncia who had been embarrassed by his swift and ungainly retreat and enraged at this apparent insubordination, tucked his bat under his arm and marched down the pitch to the luckless Jones and demanded off the poor man that “when I say run, you’ll bloody well run Corporal”.  This bit of disciplinary action caused all us non-combatants to roll about the pitch laughing our heads off and this little piece of Army rebuke was repeated many times over by the northern bretheren and shortly afterwards the enraged and perplexed Major Poncia was bowled out to a completely un-Poncialike stroke.

 

The atmosphere became distinctly unfriendly from then on, we won the game easily and we had to fend for ourselves in the mess that night, we were not as welcome as we had been at lunchtime.  We did not know the ropes; we had no idea on protocol; we had never done National Service.  I bet Poncia wished us to be called up there and then.  We played one more game the following year but we had been demoted to the Sergeant’s Mess and no officers played and after that we became personae non grata alas.

 

Always these tours were carried out in blazing summer weather, playing teams who were genuinely talented and glad to see us.  They took time off work to play us midweek and gave us a welcome that is now rarely seen.

 

One year at Leominster, a most picturesque ground with a footpath running through it, whose users had right of way over the cricket and caused the game to be interrupted every now and then, we were chasing runs in the late afternoon when I went in and scored 50 off about 30 balls.  Even the footpath users stopped to admire the sport, we won and I was feted for hours afterwards .

 

Years later and Dave McGarry had just started his sermon one Sunday morning, I was late and found a seat at the back of  St Catherine’s church.  We had not met for a good few years but Dave spotted me and did a right turn with his prepared speech and dumbfounded the congregation with a ball by ball commentary on the closing overs of that day at Leominster.  I do not know if he was down on his collection that morning but at least he remembered an old mate.

 

The A49, which went through most of the towns we played at, was for me the best 100 miles of road in the country.  For many years afterwards I detoured and took it remembering the good times of youth and at the same time trying to blot out my wasted years at the school.

This Christmas whilst indulging in a bout of omphaloskepsis and at the same time suffering  great pain emanating from my nethers, I asked myself where it all went wrong and eventually after much gazing I narrowed it down to a day in February 1957 when I set out from Duncan Road, in Longsight, Manchester to catch a bus up Stockport Road to Ardwick Green and St Gregory’s School to take my 11+ examination.  In those days every child took this examination to see whether they were good enough to go to Grammar School, Technical School, or in fact remain insitu at their Primary School, to waste their time in the mundane until released at 15 or 16 to fill the unskilled jobs that the country was full of at that time.

So armed with pen and pencil, ruler and pencil sharpener all wrapped up in a little wooden pencil case, we sat in quaky  miserable silence in the grim classrooms of the aforementioned school whilst we were examined in the arts of Arithmetic, English and IQ.  I, unfortunately, was classed as very bright and St Bede’s College in Alexandra Park, Whalley Range was my lot.  This was a  school that gave all parents of the time a great buzz and advanced them up the local society pecking order a great deal and turned decent  working class folk into the yuppies of their day.

However for us guinea pigs thrust into the cauldron of early baby boomerism,  St Bede’s was not at all what it was supposed to be.  From the very first day or at least from the day that the gloss wore off, we were aware of a canker in the place.  Nobody was happy, nobody smiled.  Staff and pupil alike could be seen to not enjoy themselves.  This aura of gloom and misery descended from the top but we could not put our finger on it.  For all our years at the school and for many years afterwards, whilst we tried our best to forget the experience, we were bound up in totally negative thoughts of our time at Bede’s.  We now know what this gloom and misery was all about and we can put our hard times into perspective and try and remember the few decent things from those days, like Spike Martin’s classes and the sportsfield where this despondency never encroached.  I do not ever remember the authors of this wretched atmosphere walking down Alness Road and onto Brantingham Road where our playing fields were situated.  No, Messrs Duggan and Burke just sat in their studies and grimaced while they thought of the next best boy to abuse or the next stupid College rule to make.

I had six years there and on the cusp of third level education when Duggan decided my face did not fit and that I had to go.  He took his time about it and must have examined me closely from a distance before he decided I was for the chop.  He did not even inform my parents as any right man would have done.  For my part I was so badly damaged mentally by my experiences I was glad of a way out.  I had lost touch with reality.  I had become an automaton only able to turn up in the morning and go home at night, not able to soak in anything that the devastated and underqualified staff had to offer.

So at 17+ I left the school, thrown onto the midden that I had been told would not be there for us top 6%, with not an idea in my head as to what I wanted to do, with never a steer by anybody at the school about what was at all possible for a well qualified midden dweller.  Basically I was back with the lucky kids who failed their 11+ level, only they had had four or five years to sort out  where they were heading  and were  content with their lot.  In actual fact due to the sticky consistency of this middden it became intensely more difficult to escape from than the morass that those who had failed their 11+ and left school at 15 or 16 found themselves in  I have never ever got over that feeling of uselessness that I suffered at that time.  Six years spent in expensive and at times intellectual education and then wiped off the blackboard like chalk scores at the end of a game of darts.

The only saviour of this whole chapter was that I was back amongst my own, the uncomplaining, hard working underbelly of Manchester and because of them I had inherited this willingness to work and work hard, so I soon found myself a mattress, a job on a building site, where I could at least come to terms with my lot.  The only trouble was, my aquaintances and those of my age group had had two years more experience of this dilemma and had learnt  the angles and ways of humble life.  I had to learn fast and I did but I do not owe one iota of that cunning reflex to Bede’s.  I had reached the end of my six year vaccuum and I was starting again as if at 11 years of age to try and make something of what Bede’s did not give me.

How can a school with the reputation that St Bede’s had, waste so much of young people’s lives.  The very time when young boys need two strong and helpful arms to save them if they stumble,  all St Bede’s offered was a one way ticket to oblivion.  As I have explained in previous postings 20 – 30% of each years intake were unceremoniously discarded when all they needed was some help to get over whatever personal hump was blocking their path but all Burke wanted was a well oiled smooth running educational establishment regardless of personal hurdles.  I remember him coming into our class one day and saying ” B…… your father died at work this morning you will stay in school and go home at the normal time” then swept out of the room.  The boy was devastated but dare not move.  The teacher embarrassed beyond belief but too emotionally  immature to react.

Whereas we now know what Duggan wanted, a smooth young fragile boy, personally picked out of the many hundreds that came before him.  He seems to have had no interest in the school or the staff.  They were just there for his own personal and vicious ends.  These poor abused boys were discarded as soon as their use was over.

Today, 8^th December 2011,  some very bad news has been given to me through the offices of the Salford Diocese and it is really very bad news for the past, present and future priests of the Diocese.  Fr Barry O’Sullivan, the Safeguarding Coordinator, is moving on.  The man, more than any other human being in this area, responsible for keeping the lid on clerical abuse in Salford, is going.  The priests of the Diocese will be sad and sweating.  What in God’s name will the new man bring.  Will he be honest and true, as he should be, to overcome the problems he faces or will he be a deceitful obfuscator like Sullivan

The news was leaked in the Keeping Connected newsletter issued by the Safeguarding Commission to all its officers and volunteers in the Salford Diocese.  With it is an attachment from Mike Devlin, the Chair of the Commission, which is a particularly nauseous piece of flimflammery which has been written by a man who seems to have sold his soul to Mammon.

I give it you in its entirety and will then comment on its content because we cannot let this type of rubbish be fed to the body of the Church without reacting in some way and also the demise of a man as awful as O’Sullivan should be remarked upon and celebrated.

 

FATHER BARRY O’SULLIVAN

 Para 1.  Father Barry is moving on to a new challenge. In the New Year he will be devoting himself to his work as a Chaplain at Strangeways Prison. In addition he will be completing his PhD at Manchester University.

 

Para 2. He will remain involved with the Safeguarding Commission in an informal consultancy capacity so his knowledge, experience and expertise will not be lost.  Father Barry has held the post of co-ordinator for over10 years now.  He was the person chosen by Bishop Brain to implement the recommendations of the Nolan Report in our diocese.

 

Para 3. In that time Father Barry, together with his staff at the Safeguarding Commission, has dedicated himself to establishing a structure and systems aimed at the protection of children and vulnerable adults.

 

Para 4. The Salford Diocese Safeguarding Commission has led the way in producing its own Resource Pack and Training Manual. The national body CSAS has used our materials as a template for other dioceses. Under Father Barry we have been recognised as an example of excellence. Father Barry is frequently invited to attend and speak at conferences and to advise other practitioners.

 

Para 5. Together with our administrator Pam Jones, our training consultant Alison Williams and our Safeguarding adviser Uschi Muller, Father Barry has been responsible for a rolling programme of training and education to Parish representatives, volunteers and diocesan clergy which is regarded as a model of excellence by the national body.

 

Para 6. Father Barry’s greatest achievement, in my opinion, is the way in which he has approached his job as Safeguarding Co-Ordinator. At the beginning many people in the diocese viewed the Commission and the Co-Ordinator with a degree of suspicion, mistrust and resentment. At best the Co-Ordinator was a necessary evil. Father Barry through his tireless dedication, patience, belief in his mission has won over the hearts and minds of the vast majority of the congregation of the diocese. There is now an acceptance his role and the work of the Commission is essential and carries many positive benefits for us all. Father Barry’s own passion is to allow Priests to have confidence in their ministry – a confidence which will flow from a sound safeguarding structure and system based on our Christian beliefs and underpinned by our modern understanding of human behaviour, psychology and risk management.

 

Para 7. We have been very fortunate to have had Father Barry at the helm for the last 10 years. He leaves the Commission in very good shape. He has promised to make himself available for consultation in the future.

 

Para 8. In the New Year the Trustees will appoint a new Safeguarding Co-Ordinator and Father Barry and the rest of the Commission will work together to ensure as smooth a transition as possible.

 

Para 9. On behalf of the Commission I thank Father Barry for all that he has done. It has been a privilege to work with him and we wish him all the very best for the future.

 

Mike Devlin

Chair

 

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What an unholy load of tosh that is.  Obviously they are giving a good reference to O’Sullivan just to unload him.

 

Comments.

Para 1.  Obviously the fortitude of prisoner’s minds have been weakened by O’Sullivan’s 10 year distraction of clerical abuse.  Their souls need stiffening and Barry is obviously the man for this neglected area.  My other thought is that if Barry can manage a PhD from Manchester University, my faith in this revered institution would be seriously eroded.  Barry’s poor use of English, which has been well documented in the past and will not have improved in his dotage, would not I am sure set him up for an 11+ examination never mind a PhD.

 

Para 2.  Barry’s abilities as Coordinator of the Safeguarding Commission have been well tried and tested and found to be woefully wanting, so any future input will obviously not be required.  Devlin, if he does not know this by now should follow Sullivan to HMP Strangeways on Southall Street.  Take as an example of this lack of care the list of Old Bedians who sought a meeting with him after his name and e-mail address was posted on the Manchester Evening News following the Bishop’s “apology” regarding the sexual abuse of young boys at St Bede’s by the then Rector, Monsignor Thomas Duggan.  Having been contacted by them, Barry saw fit to ignore them.

 

Para 3.  The establishment of a structure and systems aimed at protecting children and vulnerable adults was carried out by others.  Barry would not have a clue about sentences never mind structures.

 

Para 4.  This Resource Pack and Training Manual produced by others owes nothing to Barry and as we know of the frailties of the CSAS, is it any wonder that this august yet vacuous institution would not want to pick up some pieces from other sources?

 

Para 5.  How can Pam, Alison, and Uschi live with themselves being surrounded by Barry and his ilk, but perhaps they need a job too much?

 

Para 6

i)  In the beginning, in the middle and at the end many people have been found to be correct in treating the Commission and the Coordinator with suspicion, mistrust and resentment and regarding O’Sullivan as an unnecessary evil.

ii)  Fr Barry’s “tireless dedication, patience, and belief” does not exist.  Devlin must be talking about another man unknown to us.  Read my other blog postings to discover the real Barry.

iii) If O’Sullivan has a passion that is that great, what is he doing leaving.  The job is not half done.  No, Sullivan’s only passion is for his two little white terriers that trip around him wherever he goes.

 

Para 7.  Another of Devlin’s nursery rhymes.  The Commission will obviously be in good shape but by his leaving not by his previous deeds.  O’Sullivan’s name is synonymous with chaos and obfuscation.  Good shape etc. cannot come into any equation that includes Barry.

 

Para 8.  God help the new Coordinator if O’Sullivan is going to meddle, he will have to be a strong man to deal with the nuisance of Fr Barry and the pomposity of Devlin.  What the Diocese needs first and foremost is a man or woman who can support the victims and not the entrails of the Diocese.

 

Para 9.  This sentence shows Devlin up for the man he is.

 

So there it is in its entirety, in my opinion O’Sullivan was useless, chaos was his middle name.  His only thought was his dogs. Victims of abuse did not enter into his scale of vision.  I am glad to see him go and hope the Diocese and its safeguarding ambitions improve with the new man, but somehow I doubt it.  If Brain could pick such an imbecile once, he surely is capable of managing it a second time and also the tawdry Devlin is still there with the same philosophy and the same ability to bore any potential victims to apathy.  When he authored that piece on Barry he shook the world with his banality.

Something tells me that the new regime at St Bede’s College, the Kearney/Pike putsch, which wrestled control from its erstwhile and commendable head, Mr Michael Barber, in June 2011 after months of infighting, is running scared.

 

Recent well reported incidents show that the imbecilic behaviour of the new commandant, Mr Daniel Kearney in pulling down the portcullis and lifting the drawbridge are a sign of a man demented.  A man besieged.

 

The pupils, themselves, consider they are in a place more akin to a stammlager than a premier educational establishment in a leafy suburb of Manchester.

 

Certainly there is a war on, the poor administration of the Catholic Church against the powers of good and decency.  So Kearney in his wisdom is keeping the enemy away by closing any known loophole in his defences.  He sees St Bede’s going in the direction of St Benedict’s in Ealing.  In fact St Bede’s historically is in a far worse place than that.

 

These ridiculous defences that Kearney has put in place are too late and facing in the wrong direction.  The horse has bolted.  The problem for Bede’s and throughout its last 60 years and probably beyond, was that the enemy was from within, the outside world were mainly friends if they had been allowed proper access.  This enemy, this evil, was contained inside the establishment and because of its containment, propagated itself.

 

The list of propagators, of suspected offenders, is getting longer as the weeks go by and nothing Kearney can do will stop the murmerings of the disaffected.  The school is clean now and has been for a few years since the last recalcitrant left the staff roll.  He has yet to be named but most or any of the female ex-pupils in the 25 to 37 age bracket will tell you if you approach them clandestinely.  These ladies are now mothers, mostly in high income households and the last thing they want is dirty linen.

 

To get back to my point, Kearney’s misdirected outrages have to stop, the gates of the school have to be flung open, fresh air needs to invigorate the place. This was happening under Barber, then the stutter and back to square one.  This present day enclosure is so reminiscent of Duggan’s dark days it could lead to worse perpetrations.  In a prison the most evil of crimes are committed.

 

This hopefully will not happen, the staff have more, pardon the word, spunk in them than that.  Since June and Kearney’s Grecian sphinxist rise to the top, there have been skirmishes and almost blows, but the Bedian teacher is too mature for that.  There are other ways of skinning a cat and the majority of staff have that skill in spades.  Beware Mr Kearney, your days are numbered.  This is not the 19^th century but the coup de tete will be the same.

 

A short one today but I hope it gives encouragement for those who need it and advice to those who need it also.