Representing the Child's Memory: an Ulster

Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 REPRESENTING THE CHILD’S MEMORY: AN ULSTER CHILDHOOD RECONSTRUCTED by PATRICK DOHERTY A thesis submitted in partial fulfilment for the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the University of Central Lancashire FEBRUARY 2020 1 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 2 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 ABSTRACT In this thesis I examine the potential for the self-representation of an Ulster, rural, Catholic childhood in 1950s -70s through the creative practice of writing my own memoir in the first person, present tense and the aging child’s point of view, in a fractured, non- linear narrative. My memoir uses the child’s language appropriately in accordance with my understanding of child development gained from a lifetime of teaching. My memoir underscores, through personal experience, the revelations of child abuse over the past thirty years as exposed in the Ryan Report in 2009. My narrative strategy of using the first person and child’s point of view demonstrate the impact upon the individual child of a society’s suppression of the silence and violence within the home, school and church. My memoir is accompanied by an exegesis which critically examines my creative writing output and practice. My memoir contributes to the development of a young child’s cognition and its development through to adulthood. It is a contribution to an evolving body of memoir in response to social and familial conditions in mid-twentieth century Ireland. 3 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract P. 3 Acknowledgements P. 5 Memoir I am Patrick P. 6 Exegesis P. 182 Works Cited P. 221 Works Consulted P. 225 WORD COUNT Memoir 72 221 Exegesis in total 18 298 Exegesis excluding quotations 16 161 Memoir and Exegesis excluding quotations 88 382 4 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Dedicated to Catharine 5 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 I am Patrick By Patrick Doherty 6 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 My name is Patrick. I am a sinner, a simple country person, and the least of all believers. I am looked down upon by many. That is why I cannot be silent…. Although I am imperfect in many ways, I want my brothers and relations to know what I’m really like, so that they can see what it is that inspires my life. Saint Patrick Confessio CE 497 7 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 8 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 GLOSSARY aise. Ease. amadan. A fool. auld. Old. binch. A bench. bink. The vertical face of the turf plot. brae. A low hill, slope. camogie. A team game played in The Republic of Ireland using a small ball and a stick. carageen moss. A red, algae grown on rocks used to make sauces. cead mile failte. Gaelic for ‘welcome’. corphouse. The Irish three days’ wake in the home. crater. A poor little fellow. creel. A large wicker basket. disc cutter. A machine with two rows of metal discs attached to the back of a tractor for chopping lumpy soil. drooked. Drenched. dulse. Edible seaweed. ESB. The Electricity Supply Board. futen. Standing three pieces of wet turf in a conical shape. graip. A four-pronged fork. hames. A pair of curved, metal tubes that fit around a horse’s collar. harrow. A spiked, flat, wooden frame dragged over soil to break it up. hauld yir wisht. Be quiet. hoor. A slut. juke. To bend low. kerry. To carry. kerry on. To continue. make a right hames of it. To make a mess of something. oxter. Under the arm. peoreens. Small potatoes. pirties. Potatoes. pit. A heap of potatoes. planter. A machine attached to the back of a tractor for planting potatoes. 9 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 riddle skip. A waist-height wooden frame holding two metal meshes of different sizes to separate potatoes. rodeen. A path. sally rod. A thin branch from the weeping willow tree used for punishing children. scutch grass. Long thick grass. shuch. An open drain. skip. A waist-height, wooden frame to put potatoes on. slat mara. Seaweed used for fertilising soil. splits. Potatoes cut for planting. St. Brigid’s Cross. A cross made from rushes to celebrate the Feast of St. Brigid on 1st February. stooks. Four sheaves of corn in a conical shape. tauld. Told. wan(s). One(s). whin. Thorny bush with yellow flowers. 10 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 Malin Head This is as far as this country takes you. Ireland ends here, rocks like rams’ pointed horns. The ocean’s magnet, it pulls you northwards. And the rocks, the ram, they look for the blue, the red intoxicating stain of born and being. This place, Malin Head is hard. I wish I could let you walk this landscape. It has no fear of death. It invites flight, Gyrfalcon, my beautiful gyrfalcon, you, my rock, my ram, my Malin Head, son of the moon eclipsed by earth, my red night, in my head tonight I think I will cope. I’ll go to my sleep and dream at my ease. I wish all you wish, I wish you reason. Frank McGuinness The Stone Jug 11 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 I sneak along the outside of the playground wall. I know I shouldn't be doen this. I don know why. It’s playtime. The sun makes me sweat even afore I reach the end of the wall. The boys play near the toilet built against the wall. It stinks. There’s a big hole in the middle of the long piece of wood. The bucket is underneath. Bits of newspaper hang on a rusty nail. There’s some in the bucket, bits on the wood and some on the floor. I run up the rodeen* to the top of the hill. I think I can see our house. It’s the only red roof. I don’t know why it’s called Crega. The rodeen down to the shore is steep an rough. This is the first time I’ve seen the fiels an river from up here. They look so wee. I wish I was a bird looken down on ivrythen. I try to work out which fiels are ours. They are steep. I must watch out for the loose gravel. The water in the shuchs* runs along the rodeen all the way down to the shore. It flows fast over stones. It disappears under the long grass an splashes into holes made by the cows an sheep. I slurp some water. Me teeth chatter. I splash some on me face. An auld* bath is sunk in the shuch. Water splashes in one end an out the other. Green stuff floats on tap. Cow dung sticks on the edge. I kerry* on down the rodeen. The fiels an river seem bigger an flatter now. I sneak past the two houses at the end of the rodeen. The doors are open. A black dog sits near wan* of them. I think it’s Danny Shield’s house. I hope the dog doesn’t bark. I run. The river looks even bigger down here. The water is still an dark. I remember Daddy sayen that means it’s deep. I think this must be where he catches salmon. I want to go wi’ him and see the big salmon fighten their way out of the net. ‘You’ll hev to wait a wee while longer. Yid faal in and be drownded*,’ he’d say. ‘I’ll be good. I promise.’ ‘I tauld* ye afore. Yir not comen’ th’day. Yid only act the maggot.’ I cudn’t understand why he didn’t fish duren the day. He’d see better and I cuda gone too. I luck behind. The tap of the hill seems so far away. I ken’t see the school. The cottages are smaller too. I luck for Crega. It seems so far away that I’ll niver reach it. The 12 Patrick Doherty PhD Creative Writing February 2020 house isn't below me anymore. I think I’m on the same level. There’s smoke comen from the chimley. I kerry on down to the river jumpen over shuchs. I don’t know what time it is. It must be after dinner. I’m scared. I stand by the shuch I hev to cross. The barbed wire is too high to climb over. It’s too loose to crawl through because the wooden posts hev been knocked down by the cows. The water is low. The sides are steep and slippery. I luck for the best place to cross. I find a spot where the wire is broken. I must watch out for the sinken sand. I balance wan foot on the first stone and the other foot on the bank. I move onto the middle stone. Just as I take the final step I slip on the slime. I pull me foot from me sinken shoe. I jump onto the bank. I grab the lace floaten on the water. I pull and pull until I get me shoe out. Me socks an trousers are wet an mucky. I bang me shoe on a stone. Some muck faals out. I take me sock aff an hobble up the slope. Me fut is freezen. Crega lucks bigger. It seems so long since I left the school. I’m scared as I get nearer home. I’m too scared to return to school.

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