Mid 60s TV at Mirfield Revisited – By Frank McGinnis

Posted on by markmurray1

Mid 60s TV at Mirfield Revisited –  By Frank McGinnis

I watched a BBC music show the other night. The Monkees were featured & it brought back memories of the Saturday early evening shows we were allowed to watch. I’m sure those who were at Mirfield at the time can name all four Monkees (no cheating). I also recall seeing a show, sure it was presented by Bob Monkhouse, compiled of old silent movies (keystone cops etc). I still like that stuff. (Nostalgia’s not what it used to be).
I may be wrong but I think we also endured a comedy show called ‘I love Lucy’. She must have been 102 but pranced around like a 92 year old. Oh….. shivers. The show that really stands out though is the one with a wee crinkly, wrinkly old man who played a schoolboy. Jimmy Clitheroe ? That was totally weird. Like the Krankies on crack. Have I missed any other shows ?
The holy fathers (for our sins) also let us watch Englands first match in the 1966 World cup. Against Uruguay, a boring draw. I don’t remember how that competition panned out. Like everyone else in Scotland I was washing my hair that summer. 🙂 Frank McGinnis

CSA Inquiry begins. A personal view, by Frank McGinnis.

Posted on by markmurray1

CSA Inquiry begins. A personal view, by Frank McGinnis.

I welcome the news that Judge Goddard’s Inquiry is finally able to commence. I should stress that my welcome is not a triumph of my optimism over realism. The British Establishment is funding the investigation into, what will primarily be, it’s own behavior. (He who pays the Piper calls the Tune). That other institutions will be scrutinised is of particular interest to ourselves who at various times attended the Verona Fathers seminary at Mirfield. I especially welcome the following:

The Inquiry wants to hear from anyone who was sexually abused as a child in an institutional setting.
The Inquiry will actively encourage victims & survivors to come forward to testify at public hearings. (anonymously if required)
The Inquiry wants to hear from anyone who reported abuse that was then not properly acted upon.
Institutions whose actions are called into question will be required to disclose relevant information & provide witnesses.
The Inquiry will investigate the role/advice of insurance companies in the handling of reports of their clients abuse. (I suggest that the Catholic Church Insurance Association have much to consider in this area).

It may be that this Inquiry will succeed in convincing our priests, politicians, entertainers and law enforcement agencies that sexually abusing children is wrong. That they should need such enlightenment shall no doubt remain a mystery to the rest of society.

It is not my Blog.

Posted on by markmurray1

It is not my blog.

It is not Kevin’s blog.

It is not Tony’s blog.

It is not Gearambo’s blog.

It was,  and still is,  a blog that is, primarily, for the many that went to the Comboni Missionary, Junior Seminary,  at Mirfield.

Do you want it to carry on.

Do you have things you want to write.

Are there others that have not contributed to it, but still want it to carry on.

We need to know.

Mark Murray

Thank you to those who have highlighted the abuse that took place at Mirfield

Posted on by markmurray1

Hi fellow friends who went to Mirfield,

Thank you to Mark and others who have highlighted the abuse that took place at Mirfield.

It has always stuck in my mind what happened to me. I was told one night when getting ready for bed to go to see Fr Valmaggia in my pyjamas. The boy who told me had a smirk on his face (funny how you remember these details). On going he weighed me, then told me to take off my pyjamas and lie on my back on his couch. He played with my privates and I remember him asking ‘Did you know that one of your testicles is bigger than the other?’ I didn’t answer and since then have wondered if that was a physical abnormality which would affect me but was afraid to ask about it.

Best wishes to all fellow students,

 

“It has helped me to open up to myself” – Boy X

Posted on by markmurray1

This post has been written on behalf of Boy X

 

Why keep this  Comboni Missionaries Blog going.

The question is there for all to answer.

I have recently spoken with someone who went to Mirfield.

The man I spoke to was abused  at Mirfield.

His answer was simple, so simple that in one sentence he summed why the Mirfield Blog, in his opinion, should carry on.

“IT HAS HELPED ME TO OPEN UP TO MYSELF”

Best to all,

Mark Murray

 

 

 

TO ALL READERS OF THE BLOG

Posted on by markmurray1

The first post on Comboni Missionaries Blog was written by Kevin Deignan in August 2011.

Kevin, Tony Edwards and myself  never believed, back then, that in July 2015 there would still be an interest in what was being posted and the comments that were being written.

I believe that it has been a useful tool in helping and supporting other people, not just old boys from Mirfield, but many others. The Blog has enabled the many, who have spent their lives blighted by childhood abuse,  to see that they are not alone, and more importantly, it has given them the strength and courage to speak out about the abuse that happened to them as children by adults.

Has the time come to close the Comboni Missonaries Blog.

Should the Blog take another direction. Should it have another agenda. Is there anyone that wants to discuss this. Is there anyone who wants to take over as an administrator.

Your thoughts would be appreciated not only by me, but also, I am sure, by the many that read it.

It has had an enourmous positive imact on my life.

Thanks to all who have played a part in this Blog it is because of you all that it has been so successful.

Mark Murray

 

Look at me

Posted on by markmurray1

I went to Verona and sat with  Nardo.

Look at me.  Nardo was not able. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

He said I am not worthy.

I said to another, a big Comboni, look me in the eye, he too was not able.

Go away and do not come back.

Where do you go now.

 

Mick Wainhouse – From Mirfield to Mercenary via the Paras

Posted on by gerambo

Mick Wainhouse

I wrote this a few years ago with Terry Aspinall, an ex-mercenary who wrote the book Soldiers of Fortune.

It is about Mick Wainhouse who started at Mirfield in 1963 before being expelled in 5th year. Many of you will know him.

He joined the Paras who took part in the Bloody Sunday killings and was booted out and jailed for robbing a sub-post office in Northern ireland.

He then became a mercenary in Angola with his close Para friend ‘Colonel Callan’, Costas Georgiou.

Here is his story – From Missionary to Mercenary.

First Contact with Jim Kirby

Posted on by gerambo

First Contact

I put my name down with Friends Reunited for St. Peter Claver’s College, Mirfield.

It’s funny but I always thought that I would be in touch with those I’d met at the college again. I don’t know why I thought that as there was no internet in those days and I had completely lost touch with all of those who didn’t live in the same town as me. In fact, Id’ lost touch with even some of those who lived in Greenock.

But I knew I would be in touch with them again.

Jim Kirby

There were a few emails exchanged through Friends Reunited but the first major contact was when I arranged to talk to Jim Kirby on the phone.

He had actually been in the year above me and, to be honest, I didn’t really remember anything about him beyond his name.

However, when I talked to him on the phone it was my first real contact with anyone from that past life for around 35 years.

It was great talking to him.

The last time we had spoken man hadn’t yet landed on the moon, Celtic hadn’t won the European Cup and the Beatles hadn’t released Sergeant Pepper.

Those events were now quite ancient history and yet they hadn’t occurred last time we had met.

What Did You Want to be Dad?

Posted on by gerambo

What Did You Want to be Dad?

The other day I was watching TV when my 13-year-old daughter asked me “What did you want to be when you were young Dad”?

I had a quick think to when I was 7 or 8. “ A footballer” I replied. “I wanted to play for Scotland”.

“But after that” she asked not wanting childish sporting fantasies to be counted. “I wanted to be a priest” I replied. “Why would you want to be a priest?” she asked, a little askance.

“I wanted to help people” I replied. “I wanted to help Africans. I wanted to bring them God”.

She didn’t seem impressed by that. So far it was just one of those conversations. It was what she asked next that hit me. “What did you want to do after that” she asked.

I thought for a few moments. She expected me to come up with something else. I thought I would too.

No answer came.

“Nothing” I replied.

Bolt From the Blue

It hit me like a bolt of lightning. I was 53 years old. I now realised that I didn’t want to be anything after the age of 13.

How much does that explain?

It was like a thunderbolt out of the blue from a simple question.

I had gone through secondary school without a goal in mind. There was nothing I particularly wanted to do. I knew that I would have to do something. I was told that this was OK, that it was better to go to University with no particular career in mind, to keep an open mind.

I did go to University. I didn’t particularly like it. It was like the curate’s egg, good in parts – but I couldn’t be bothered studying. In the end I couldn’t be bothered to even go to many of the classes.

All Clear

It all became clear.

Why would I?

I didn’t want to be anything. I didn’t want to go to the ‘theatres or cinemas’ that a university degree would buy me a ticket into. I knew I had to do something. It’s just that I had no real passion for the opportunities that were presenting themselves.

I passed the Maths exam but failed the English and the Economics. As I had seldom gone to any of the classes in the second half of the year I was surprised that I had even passed my main subject Maths. You could do re-sits. I had had to pass one of the other two at the re-sits. I could go forward with passing one of those and re-sitting the exam for the other one in second year.

Summer Holiday Resits

I stayed up at my grandparents over the summer holidays so that I could study without being distracted my my ten brothers and sisters. The only problem was that I didn’t study much. I couldn’t be bothered. I know it was important. I knew that it was crucial to my career. But I just couldn’t do it.

I did go up to the room to study, but you could take a horse to water but you couldn’t make it drink – and I didn’t drink much water that summer at all.

I did a little near the end. I went up to do the re-sits at the university. You had to do three essays altogether. The first one I did pretty well, I thought. In fact I thought I had done it particularly well.

I didn’t know which of the other two I would do first. They were going to be a more difficult proposition but I was sure that I could do it. It would have been a case, in football terms, of having an early lead and then doing enough in the second half to hold on to that lead.

However, I couldn’t be bothered. I couldn’t even be bothered to start the questions or make any attempt at them. I took a decision then.

I wouldn’t do them. I knew exactly what it meant. I knew that my university career was over. It had always been expected that I would go to university and do well. I had expected it too.

All Over

However, it was now over. I couldn’t leave till the first hour of the three-hour exam was up so I spent the next twenty minutes doing this game of letters that I had made up where basically football teams are allocated a letter and score goals in a knockout or league competition based on how often their letter appears in a text half line. I used the exam paper as the text.

The marker of the paper must have got a surprise. On the first three pages would have been a very well answered question. When he or she would have turned over they would have found an indecipherable jumble of letters and numbers.

I left after the first hour was up, handing in my truncated paper.

What Had I done?

I remember sitting in Glasgow Central Station pondering on what I had just done. I knew that my university career was over. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to plonk a university degree in front of potential employers to help me get a good job. I knew exactly what I had done. But my main emotion as I sat there on the station bench was not a feeling of fear. It was a feeling of exhilaration.

I knew life would be more difficult now. But I was pleased. I had quit education. I had got a monkey off my back. I was no longer flogging a horse that had long since perished. I would now have to drive in fifth gear.

I didn’t really understand it at the time. Why did I quit? Why did I not want to study? Why was I exhilarated by leaving university?

I didn’t understand the answer to that question till my 13-year-old daughter’s question 35 years later.