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St. Eunan’s College Letterkenny Years and Years and Years Ago I have just had a shock. A casual surfing of the Internet turned up the official Web Page for St. Eunan’s College, Letterkenny, and its appearance triggered a host of memories. In particular a photograph of the main College building before the addition of various add-ons, church, recreation hall, football grounds, brought me back to the four years I spent there as a boarding pupil from 1941 to 1945. Hey, that was sixty years ago. According to the calendar, that is. If by any chance the calendar is correct, that means all my contemporaries, boarders and day boys, are in their seventies, and that just isn’t so. It simply couldn’t be. It was just a wee while ago that Coleman Lecky gouged my right leg with his football studs. I see the marks every time I take a shower. And it was only a few weeks later that a football jammed the middle finger of my right hand, tearing off the finger nail and leaving a permanent bump at the first joint, a souvenir I see a thousand times a day. They are still young boys, 14 to 18 years old, in my mind’seye, and they always will be. And "Paddy" Canon Kerr is still alive, reading his breviary while walking around the indoor quadrangle, completely unconscious that at the same time he is whistling a favourite ditty from World War I, "If you were the only girl in the world". I can hear him. I can see him. I see St. Eunan’s from a rather unique perspective. I was born two doors from its front gates, at College Row, and was photographed in its grounds on my first birthday, a prescience of days to come.
St. Eunan’s is built on a height above the town of Letterkenny, on Signal Hill to be precise, a steep climb above the Cathedral and the Loreto Convent. Fronting it was Bumby’s Brae, used as a short cut to reach the town. I also made its acquaintance at an early age, in somewhat memorable circumstances. Dashing down it, pushing the pram with me in it, my brothers Charlie and Barry failed to circumnavigate a rock and I went for a tumble out of the pram. Lets see now. A gouged leg, a jammed finger, and a dinge inmy cranium. I do have memories that carry a lasting impact of St. Eunan’s and its environs. No doubt others have penned their recollections of St. Eunan’s, the college on a hill. I have referred to it elsewhere in various Internet offerings, most recently in "The Vindicator Story". This present memoir is timed to catch the attention of former students who have not yet done so, in the hope that they may be encouraged to share their stories and thus build a social history of their times. What was it like being a student in the 1940s? Good. Bad. And sometimes in between. To a large extent it depended on the individual professors.Of these there was a mixture, lay and clerical, the latter forming the majority in keeping with one of the aims of the College, to encourage and foster the growth of religious vocations among the student body. Each morning the ringing of a handbell through the corridors awoke the sleeping boys at half past six. Washed and dressed they made their way to the indoor chapel, just steps away from the large study hall. They took their seats according to assigned order in the chapel, the younger in front, the older to the rear, where all was silence pending the celebration of Mass. Afterwards they moved quietly the few steps into the study hall where they spent a session completing tasks assigned the previous day. Another ringing of the handbell summoned them to breakfast, and at table they could talk, but not too loudly. A professor strode the length of the refectory reading his breviary, while at the head table sat the other members of the clerical staff, eating their breakfasts. After breakfast there was a break when everyone could talk. The morning rush to the jakes, a lavatory in a stand-alone building at the bottom of the grounds, gave the older boys who smoked an opportunity to have their first cigarette of the day. Looking back, this was in wartime, or as it was so insularly called, the "Emergency". The rest of the world had the war, Ireland in pursuance of its option for neutrality, had the "Emergency". Cigarettes were in short supply, cost a lot, and not many students could afford them, hence the student smoking population was small. Classes began at nine o’clock, ran for hourly periods until lunch time, and after that continued until three o’clock. From three until five we were free! Football, handball, hurley. That was it. Soccer? No siree. Head a ball? That was un-Irish. Rugby? OnlyWest Britons played that. Does anyone nowadays remember what West Britons were? Basketball? Swimming? Golf? You’ve got to be really kidding! I could go on, but I think you have the drift. From five until six it was back to the study hall, supper at six, another break, two more hours studying, and lights out at ten o’clock. All in all it was a healthy regime, interspersed with term exams, and the three big ones, the Intermediate, Matriculation, and the Leaving. The football/hurley field was quite a distance up the road from the College, and when free time did not allow it, students spent their outdoor hours walking round and round the paths through the grounds, usually in small groups. These tended to be made up of close friends, four, five or six in number, and for some lost reason each group was called a bus. On really special Sundays the whole student body were taken on a walk by one of the professors, and they were really special walks, covering miles and miles, and guaranteed to return everybody tired out and hungry. It didn’t always turn out that way. When turnips turned ripe, farmers might find a goodly portion their crop missing on Mondays. In tens and twenties the walkers dropped to the end of the column, hopped over a fence, tore up their manna from Heaven, and hurried to catch up with the column while another group of foragers took their place. On occasion I still relish a slice of uncooked turnip. Of the teaching staff I have mentioned only one so far, Canon Kerr, who was the President when I arrived. He had served as a chaplain in World War I, as had his episcopal superior, Bishop McNeely. In addition to his administrative duties he taught French. Other members of the staff included Father McLoone, "Arty", who succeeded Canon Kerr as President; Father Finnegan, simply known as "Steve", who taught English, and taught it well; Father Murphy, a mathematical whiz; Father McMenamin, otherwise "Big John", a kindly man who endeavoured to instill Latin into our skulls; Mr. McGrath who doubled as science teacher and physical instructor; Mr. Cleary who resided in College Row and later founded the High School in Donegal Town; Mr. Gallagher, "Buckie", who taught history and Geography; Father Sean D. McGlynn, not surprisingly dubbed"Shandy"; and Father Hugo Bonner. Perhaps the keepers of the official St. Eunan’s web page will some day compile a complete list of all former teachers to complement the roll of Presidents which appears on it. As a former De La Salle student from Ballyshannon I cannot resist recording that the current and twelfth President is Rev. Michael Carney, a Ballyshannon native, also educated by the De La Salle Brothers in Ballyshannon. I was happy to pay tribute to them in an earlier offering under the title Of Dedicated Teachers. To begin at the beginning, which is now a bit late considering that this memoir began some pages ago, first-year boarders had to undergo an initiation ceremony conducted by the senior boys. In light of revelations of horrors attendant on hazings in other jurisdictions, I hasten to add that at St. Eunan’s it amounted to little more than a ritualistic ducking under an outdoor tap at the jakes, when each new boy was baptised and given a nickname. This happened about a month into the start of a school year, which gave the seniors time to observe the physiological appearance and in some cases the psychological traits of the individual newcomers. The nicknames thus conferred followed their owners throughout their time atcollege and in some cases long into afterlife. Generally they were harmless, but in some cases where there was a pronounced physical feature, the bestowed nicknames must have hurt badly. Boys can be cruel unintentionally. As an aside, my very first nickname in life was bestowed on me by Mrs. Kelly, our next door neighbour in College Row. My birthdate was August 5th, the feast day of Our Lady of the Snows, and Mrs. Kelly marked my appearance on the world stage by dubbing me John Snow. The first-year students were housed in cubicles in a dormitory above the study hall. Each cubicle contained a bed, clothes closet, washbasin and jug on a metal stand, and room for little else. Once vacated in the mornings, their occupants were not permitted to return to them until it was time to go to bed. Strict silence was observed after dark. As the years went by, boys qualified for rooms, generally two students sharing, and later single rooms. The ban on returning to them during the day remained. Then there were the rooms in one of the towers.These had space for up to four, six, and maybe more beds. After lights out their occupants could choose to continue talking, until the last one wearied and fell asleep. Being at the end of a corridor, a tower room seemed a little removed from the dull conformity of other quarters, and they were much sought after. It was one of these rooms which gave me the chance to play the only prank for which I gained temporary renown. The night before term breakup there was unofficial sanction to permit talking after lights out. Occasionally the talk turned to argument and became louder and louder, especially in a tower room. Such was the case as I made my way in total darkness down to the chapel and into the sacristy. There I borrowed a black soutane and biretta. Thus garbed I made my way back to a third-floor tower room, and, at a moment of rising noise, burst in, switched on the lights, and in my best mimicry of Hugo Bonner laid down the law. "Bidh do thost! Anois!" The sudden darkness into light blinded the boys in the tower room. They saw only the black outline of a priest, drew their covers up to their heads, and fell silent. I plunged the room into darkness again and closed the door. There wasn’t a murmur from that room for the rest of the night. Since we all left to go to our homes next day they had no chance to retaliate, and I escaped with my life. Over fifty years later one of the boys in that room, Michael O’Gara by name, an inspector with the Department of Education, then living in Rossnowlagh, told me they had received the fright of their lives that night. He and his wife Bernie were visiting Ottawa, Canada's capital, in 1989, and it was my pleasure to roust them out of their comfortable beds in the Westin Hotel on March 17, and shepherd them to Mass in St. Patrick’s Church, since elevated to the status of Basilica, on Nepean Street. Bernie counted the number of co-celebrants and was amazed they numbered over forty priests. Thanks to a jewel of an Internet intermediary, I was able to make contact with Michael when endeavouring to recall the names of all the teachers who staffed the college in the early 1940s. His memory, still functioning, buidheachas le Dia, despite a lifetime spent in the civil service, was able to supply those names I had difficulty recalling. St. Eunan’s was an all-Irish institution. That meant that all subjects, with the exception of English, were taught "through the medium", i.e. in Irish. I don’t know if it is still the case. I doubt that it is. But to this day I can’t do higher math in English. Trigonometry and calculus, Latin and Greek, history, geography, and science, were all taught in Irish. It had its blessings and its drawbacks. It helped in passing examinations, and passing the obligatory big three was a prime object of the exercise. But in later life, and I regret it, my Irish fell into disuse. There was one unfortunate experience in promoting the use of the native tongue when an over-zealous professor promoted "the wearing of the fainne". The fainne was a small circle of gold worn on a lapel. The emblem was meant to proclaim that its wearer was an Irish speaker, a sort of masonic symbol that could be easily recognised by other Irish speakers at home or abroad. No doubt the promotion was well intentioned, but by imposing the wearing of the fainne instead of leaving it to a matter of choice, rebellion was inevitable. A trivial affair, the loss of a free day, ignited passions. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and so was the fainne. Gold fainnes by the score were cast on the front steps of the college. For the first and last time those steps were literally paved with gold. And the whole affair faded into college folklore. Corporal punishment. Today it is a no-no. Even then it wasa rarity. But when it was used it had lasting effects. Who will ever forget being ordered, "Go to my room. Bring back the cane that hangs behind the door. And hurry!" The long trek to the second or third floor, the sterile room with its cane-hung door, and the return to class instilled more dread than the punishment itself, usually six of the best on the open palms, all the while trying to show no sign of pain in front of one’s peers in class. Anyone looking for an exposé of cruel and sadistic practices perpetrated by the priests and professors of my day will have to search elsewhere. There is no whining here. Any caning, and I repeat it was rare, was deserved. I speak from experience. What was an objectionable practice was the biffing administered by prefects in study hall. Two prefects, senior boys chosen as leaders, presided at raised desks at either end of the hall. They enforced silence, and gave occasional permission to leave the hall during study time. And they had absolute power. If a boy broke a rule, the prefect would descend, make his way to the boy’s desk, and biff him on the back of his head with the knuckles of a clenched fist. Sometimes the biffing sounded more like a bashing. Prefects were not always perfect. Enough of that nonsense. One of the highlights of term was the granting of a "free day" in the middle of a work week. It was up to the field for a whole day of football or hurling. And what mattered if it rained? Any free day was a good day. You togged out in a downpour, played in a downpour, got soaked in a downpour, and dressed again in a downpour, your clothes soggy when retrieved from underneath the hedge where you left them. Lucky were those whose bath nights fell on such a day. They had a chance to get rid of the mud. There were, as I remember, three bathrooms for the student body, and boys were allotted time for a bath once every two weeks, whether they wanted it or not! Since our college life covered our transition into early adulthood, almost without exception we underwent the experience of shaving for the first time. When we started, a month might elapse between shaves, and as the years passed the interval became shorter and shorter. For seniors it became almost a daily ritual. This presented a problem, a serious one. During the "Emergency" good razor blades vanished from shops--Blue Gillette had been long the choice of many--and the blades on sale were of poor quality. Not alone that, their cost ate into pocket money. What to do when a blade went blunt? Some genius discovered that pressing a razor blade against the inside of a glass tumbler and rubbing it back and forth restored its edge, at least for one more shave. Some of us managed to coax three, four, and even five extra shaves from an otherwise spent blade. Another treat was marching as a full group down town to attend a matinee in the local cinema. For some reason, watching Jimmy Cagney in "Yankee Doodle" at one such matinee remains embedded in memory. During my final year one huge improvement was the erection of a recreation shack close to the handball alleys. Inside was a huge fireplace, a radio, and wonder of wonders, a billiard table. This was really living. This being during the "Emergency", the college furnace was fuelled by turf, and there was always a huge stack of turf from which we extracted barrowfull after barrowfull to feed the fireplace in the shack. It was the only place where we could keep warm in winter. What little skill I acquired at pool or billiards was that which I gained in that shack. College wasn’t all a waste of time. One of the tower rooms on the ground floor doubled as a classroom and library. It also was a sanctuary in bad weather when students could not parade around the grounds during rain. The library books, however, were limited in number. In fact one bookcase contained the entire collection, which never changed from one year to the next, at least during my time. And the books were dull. The only volume that seemed to pique student interest was one with the large title "She." But Rider Haggard did not offer the insights we desired. Only much later did I appreciate reading it, and that was when the "Rumpole of the Bailey" television series was aired. Hilda, Rumpole's consort, whom he dubbed "She who must be obeyed", owed her forbidding name to that very book. As this brief memoir draws to a close, it is but fitting that I should pay respect to all my former companions, who are still in their youth as I now see them, the golden lads of yesteryear. Some became priests, chemists, engineers, lawyers, teachers, entered public life, emigrated, or died before reaching manhood. Even while still a student at St. Eunan’s one young boy, Edward Mangan from Brackey, Ballintra, died. Another and closer friend, Martin Keegan, a native of the Ballyshannon area, who had entered the novitiate, was stricken with consumption and died soon afterwards. One of the more notable successes in later life was scored by Ray McAnally who became an actor of international renown on stage, screen, and television. Even as a senior student at St. Eunan’s while I was still a lowly junior, he laid the basis for his later renown, filling lead roles in the annual Gilbert and Sullivan operatic performances produced under the direction of Fathers McLoone and Finnegan. These performances were one of the highlights of the academic year. They were mounted in the great study hall, and a visiting performance was staged in the Loreto girls school, an eagerly awaited event for both the boys and the donors. For some obscure reason the boarding girls attending the Convent school were always referred to as donors. Nowadays, according to the St. Eunan’s web site, both institutions combine to stage such offerings,an unthinkable proposition in the strictly segregated 1940s. Ray McAnally was a fair-haired, handsome youth, from the Inishowen Peninsula. His father was a bank manager in Buncrana. Ray at first thought he had a vocation for the priesthood, but the theatre was his true calling. He gave a lifetime of pleasure to his public, in Ireland, England, and throughout the world. I believe TV viewers will always remember his portrayal of a Labour Prime Minister (Harold Wilson ?) in "A Very British Coup". Mention of priestly vocations brings to mind the annual retreats. These were given each year by a member of a different religious order, the Dominicans, the Redemptorists, the Franciscans, and the Jesuits. By the time we left we were connoisseurs. Their sermons reflected their training, theology from the Dominicans, passion from the Redemptorists, meekness from the Franciscans, and reason from the Jesuits. No doubt I simplify, but who will ever forget the thunder of a Redemptorist at full throttle? At the end of each retreat there was the annual renewal of vows when the congregation were asked to renounce the devil and all his works and pomps. "Do you renounce the devil?" "We do." "Louder." "We do!" "That’s not loud enough!! Do you renounce the Devil?" A loud voice: "To hell with the bastard!" It happened in Derry, but that’s another story. I have recounted that the years I spent at St. Eunan’s were during the "Emergency". One of its effects was to curtail supplies of sporting equipment. In 1941 it was impossible to secure football jerseys in the college colours, and for a number of years the G.A.A. team had to don white and green jerseys. The shortage also affected football boots. It was difficult to get sufficient numbers of boots in correct sizes, and I suffered the indignity of being issued rugby boots two sizes too large. I suffered with those boots for an eternity, and was reduced to begging for the loan of somebody else’s boots on match days. Being on the team meant that we played against various teams on a real pitch, the Letterkenny Town Gaelic grounds, and on very rare occasions—the "Emergency" again—got to travel to other venues. Those were really exciting occasions. I shall never forget the Sunday we travelled to Stranorlar—or was it Ballybofey?--and played on their home ground. They had a tremendous advantage. They knew the ground. It had one helluva dip at one corner and was not a level playing field by any means. Again I write from experience. The first time the ball was directed at that corner I raced to intercept it. The ground fell sharply away, the ball sailed high overhead, and I went flying down the slope. Not for the first and certainly not for the last time did I feel a complete eejit. Talking about being an eejit, there was the time in my very first term when my pocket money ran out. My dearly beloved Mother, who had foreseen such a circumstance, had arranged that if an emergency arose I should write and let her know I needed "buttons". Well, I did so. Unfortunately she was away in Dublin, and since the letter was addressed "Mr. And Mrs."my Dad opened it. I hadn’t specified what kind of buttons, so over to McGonigles or Stephens he went, and got an assortment, shirt buttons, trouser buttons, jacket buttons, coat buttons, and any other buttons he could think of. It was a very neat package of buttons that I received. He had done a wonderful job, and I had enough buttons to last me for years. Mother laughed her head off when he told her about the trouble he had taken, but their dearly beloved son wasn’t laughing at the time. One of our saddest moments came when it was announced that our College President was retiring to assume duties elsewhere in the Dioceseof Raphoe. It was the first time I saw sorrow at the communal level. Somehowour "Paddy", Canon Kerr, had acquired the affection of a whole student body. Now the familiar rotund, silver haired figure in canonical soutane and biretta, was being parted from us. In one last demonstation of affection, ropes were attached to the car that was to take him from us, and a select group of students slowly pulled it to the college gates while the rest lined the route and wished him God speed. That almost brings this memoir to an end. All that remains is to include a group The Annual Picture of Staff and Students 1943-44. This was the last year that Canon Kerr was president. He is the gentleman in the middle of the front row. Scattered throughout are those I remember with a particular fondness, but for all I have that respect and good will which increases only with the passage of time. Also at the end are two treasured list of students, one extracted from the house examination results of June, 1943, the other a list of boys from all over Donegal who sat for the college entrance examination in 1941. This latter includes the names of their teachers and primary schools. The first is given in alphabetical order. May those who are still alive derive a few nostalgic moments of pleasure from seeing them preserved in the new archives of cyberspace. The photograph of the house in College Row where I was born brings to memory the old Irish saying, "Where our sod of birth was we all know. But where is our death sod? There's the big question." (See The Hawk of the Erne - "Melaghlin's Tale"). Postscript: St. Eunan, more properly Adhamhnan in Irish, was a Donegal man, born in 627. He is remembered chiefly for his biographyof Colmcille, the third member of the three great saints, Patrick, Brigid,and Colmcille, evoked in the traditional greeting "Dia, is Muire, is Padraig, is Breege, is Colmcille dhuit", the blessings of God, Mary, Patrick, Brigid and Colmcille be with you. As recorded by the Franciscan Brendan Jennings in his masterly"Michael O Cleirigh, Chief of the Four Masters", published by The Talbot Press in 1936 (p.53), Eunan "who was one of Ireland's most distinguished saints, had championed the rights of women, especially their exemption from military service." His feast day falls on September 23, an important date in the college year when students traditionally enjoy a "free day". Letterkenny, the home of the Bishop of Raphoe, has grown greatly in recent years. It is a thriving centre of newly created high tech industry. At the time of which I speak, its one long, very long, principal street, had little to commend it. The town Square did lend a pleasant break to one side of it, and it was very familiar to the boys of St. Eunan's as it was the location of the only barber's shop available to them, a very high tech establishment in its own right. It was the first one we knew where the barber who cut our locks had an electric clippers! He could shear our heads in jig time. The era of manual clippers was over, and we were thankful for it. Inexpertly wielded, they could yank out a tuft of hair in an unexpected and painful fashion. Friends of my mother who lived there were the Horrobins, and I shall never forget the delightful omlettes cooked by none less than Captain Horrobin himself. His son George was the projectionist at the local cinema, and switched on occasion with Bernard Croal, the projectionist at the Rockand later Erne Cinema in Ballyshannon. The "Wee Donegal Railway" station was at one end of the town, a great distance from the college. We were obliged to clean out our rooms and cubicles for the end of terms, and by prior arrangement our suitcases were picked up by horse cart and brought to the station. Sixpence a suitcase was the going rate. On our return journeys we often lugged our suitcases the entire way up to the college to save the tanner or bob for ourselves. On one memorable winter break Pat McGettigan from Ballyshannon knew of a lorry driver who made a regular run between Raphoe and Ballyshannon, and arranged for us to get a lift, thus saving much of the train fare. It was a good idea, but the day was bitterly cold, and standing in the back of an open lorry through Barnes Gap was the coldest experience of my life. Nowadays I live where snow and ice last four months of the year. And I have worked in Yukon in the depths of winter. Barnes Gap in an open lorry, with a cutting wind sprinkled with rain blowing in your face, is colder than either. The following is a list of students, given in alphabetical order, extracted from the house examination results of June, 1943: PREP A.
Carolan, Thomas James PREP. B.
Boyle, John Joseph Brendan JUNIOR
Boyle, Conal Joseph SENIOR C.
Conlon, Patrick Joseph SENIOR B.
Browne, Joseph SENIOR A.
Carr, Michael Joseph Please note: The list above is not a complete roster. Many are absent due to a variety of circumstances. Two names whose omission I regret are namesake John P. Ward and Cornelius C. Maguire, otherwise known simply as Johnny P. and C.C. I roomed with Johnny P. for a year, and C.C. came from the Purt of Ballyshannon. John P. established a very reputable legal practice in Donegal Town, and C.C. followed his father's profession as chemist in Ballyshannon. This second list is of boys from all over Donegal who sat for the college entrance examination in 1941: Candidates under 14 years of age on 1st August, 1941
Charles O'Doherty, St. Connell's, Mr. Chas. McDyer Candidates under 15 years of age on 1st August, 1941
Charles Boyle, Thorr, Mr. J. McBride Over age Candidates
Daniel B. Carron, St. Eunan's, Rev. Bro. Wilfrid M'Kinney & O'Callaghan, Printers, Letterkenny. P. KERR, President. The appearance of only one woman's name, Mrs. M. McAuley of Doochary, in the list of teachers is a commentary on the times. Her pioneering role should not be forgotten.St. Eunan's College will celebrate its centennial anniversary five years from now, in 2006. Whatever shape that celebration takes, be it a reunion or otherwise, this former student will attend, if only in spirit. In what could be considered in today's terms "breaking news" I am delighted to pay tribute to the success of the 2001 St. Eunan's basketball team which has just won the Under-19 School's Cup by defeating St. Mary's, Tralee, at the National Basketball Arena in Tallaght. Thanks to the Derry People and Donegal News Internet edition of Friday 9th February, 2001, I wish to add to their fame in cyberspace by re-recording their names as given in that publication: Peter Rose, Finnian Bannan, Cian Friel, David Leech (Capt), David O'Brien, Brendan McAteer, Conor Wilkinson, Lochlann Mac aBhaird, Ciaran O'Neill, Connor Reid and Donard Leonard. Coach Father Paddy Dunne. I wonder which one of these athletes will take time in his seventies to record his memories of St. Eunan's in those far off years that are today's golden years. May God's blessing be with you all. Beannacht Dé oraibh go léir.
John Ward Post St. Eunan's, John Ward was editor of "The Donegal Vindicator", official reporter in Dáil Éireann, Editor of Debates in the House of Commons, Canada, and is presently webmaster of "A Home Page withan Irish Flavour" ©. He lives in Ottawa with his Saskatchewan born wife, has two daughters, and a grandson named Brandon.
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