Tag Archives: verona fathers

Illusion Ripped Apart

Posted on by Kevin Deignan

The picture that I have painted of my life on the whole is a happy contented one.  I met the right woman, lived in some beautiful places and have shared good and bad times with our caring and supportive family.  I am a lucky man.  I have even dined out on my life story, giving several after dinner speeches.  Mirfield is always a well received part of my talks.  Once while regaling 150 “ladies who lunch” about Mirfield, I declared that I would have no hesitation sending an 11yr old child of mine into the same environment.  Unfortunately that statement may no longer hold true.

I have sung the praises of many individuals who were responsible for our care, spent many a night at numerous country inns talking to friends about the huge characters who influenced and helped shape my life and made me the person I am today.

Several years ago I attended a reunion that ripped this illusion apart.

At this particular reunion several disclosures were made.  These were talked about and touched on in a very casual manner, just a few old friends chewing the cud over a pint at the White Gate.  They fell in and out of the conversation between football canoes on the Calder and the Duke of Edinburgh Award.  It was only when I arrived back home  that the full implications of what had been talked about hit home.  My wife who has a good deal of experience of disclosure of abuse had always been skeptical of my belief that nothing of that nature could ever have happened at Mirfield.  My blind faith in the church and its custodians would not allow me to believe that such things could happen.

In Nardo’s Bedroom

Posted on by markmurray1

Occasionally the ‘God Squad’ would say our evening prayers in Nardo’s bedroom. This did not happen that often at first – the chapel was still Nardo’s preferred place to pray with “his group.”  I remember he had an electric organ and our evening sessions of singing, saying prayers and generally spending time in Nardo’s room became more frequent.

I remember, in particular, the folk hymn ‘Kum Ba Yah – this was one of our favourites – and we would sing it with gusto and enthusiasm.

It was around this time that some of us – myself included – would go and see him alone in his room.  I and, I suspect others, became quite jealous if we knew that other members of the group – “The God Squad Group” – had been in his room or were with him.

For my part, Nardo began asking me to come to his room at specific times during free time in the evenings and weekends.

Self Harming

Posted on by markmurray1

During the first term at Mirfield I just lived for the free day. As far as I remember, this took place during the middle of the term, and on a Saturday. Instead of spending the morning doing cleaning and housework, we were able to have ‘ free time’ from after morning mass until the evening service. On my first such day, I planned to get the train from Huddersfield to Liverpool and then spend time with my mum and dad in Liverpool City Centre. I could not wait, that Saturday could not come soon enough.

Because of my homesickness my studies during this period suffered, and I struggled in all aspects of the school curriculum.

I went through a period of self harming and became quite bald as a result of it. I would gently pull clumps of my hair out, put them together and then slowly stick them in my ear to give me a tickling effect. I would do this at various times of the day. However, I seem to remember that I did this, more often than not, during classroom lessons and during chapel services.

What I find incredible now, is that nobody at that time noticed what I was going through and how homesick and unhappy I was, and consequently how I was suffering mentally because of it. It was a very difficult and lonely time for me and I was pleased when Nardo arrived at Mirfield – he was attentive to me, and that took away the pain that accompanied my homesickness.

Depression

Posted on by markmurray1

It all felt so sudden and traumatic. One minute I was with my family and part of it. The next I was alone and on my own.  With them driving off, waving goodbye and leaving me. My family had been substituted by many anonymous strangers.

All the security and love, the things that made me who I was, had gone and left me. The attachments, the touches, the sounds, everything that I had come to know and love, and be loved by, were no longer with me.

Even now, I find it difficult to use words, and to find words to describe the loss, pain and fear that I experienced then.

It didn’t seem to matter that the move to Mirfield had been discussed numerous times beforehand. I was a child, and until it became real, I viewed the move through the eyes and mind of the child that I was. The idea of the move was one of excitement and adventure. The reality was very, very different.

Looking back – especially when looking at the first term – I realise that what I was going through and feeling and experiencing was depression. I remember spending a lot of time on my own, sobbing my heart out – literally – and being totally withdrawn and existing and living in a world of my own.

My biggest fear was that, whilst I was away, everything at home would change and consequently I would not be loved by my family any more.  I needed constant reassurance that this was not happening.  And so wrote letters home every day, with either my mum or dad – usually my mum – replying to each one.

Mirfield

Posted on by markmurray1

Fr. Fulvi visited us at home, and a weekend visit to Mirfield was arranged. My mum seemed especially keen for me to go, but my dad was not so enthusiastic. Some Catholic families thought that it was a great honour to have a priest in the family. The words “God chose you, you did not choose God,” I remember being said several times both before and during my time at Mirfield.

I do not remember much about my weekend visit. I recall being dropped off by my mum and dad and seeing the big building for the first time. It was very daunting going in the dormitory – with maybe 40 beds in it. I played football, went to the services – I don’t remember mixing with the other boys very much. However, I also don’t remember missing home – probably because I knew mum and dad were coming for me on Sunday night. I don’t think it occurred to my consciousness that this was, more than likely, going to be my home for the foreseeable future.

So in September 1969 I found myself being dropped off at Mirfield, the Verona Fathers Junior Seminary, to begin my training to be a missionary. I have this memory of everyone waving to me as they went back home.

The moment my family left me I knew I had made a terrible mistake. What was to follow was a period of extreme pain, fear, loneliness and isolation.

Verona Fathers

Posted on by markmurray1

The first time I heard the name the Verona fathers, or Mirfield for that matter, was when Fr. Luciano Fulvi came to my school.  He was what was known amongst the Verona Fathers as their Vocations Director.  And it was his job to go around all the schools in the UK “seeking out” potential vocations for the priesthood and the religious life.  He must have done this job very well.  In the 1960’s junior seminaries were full.

It seems bizarre to me now, that as a child of 12 years old I could make such momentous decisions about leaving home and attempting to train to become a missionary.  No one in my family believed, or would have thought for one minute it would be me – my brother yes – but not me.

Anyway there I was, sitting in my class listening to Fr. Luciano Fulvi talk about the African Missions.  Or more importantly, as far as I was concerned, the African wildlife.   Even then I was passionate about wildlife and nature.  His stories of lions and elephants and of hunting and fishing were what hooked me.  The missions or missionary work did not play much part, and why should it?  I was a child and a dreamer and I already had that Nile Perch at the end of my rod and on the hook.

When Fr. Fulvi asked the inevitable question at the end of his talk, “is anyone interested?” my hand shot up and I ticked the box to say I wanted more information.

An Appeal

Posted on by Tony Edwards

In the last couple of years I have attended Old Boys’ reunions and I am pleased to say that there is still an irreverent cheeky playfulness at work amongst many of these middle aged men. As the drinks flow and humorous stories are exchanged of our wild and often unsupervised free time, the conversations turn to a more dark side. Sadly, it is clear to me that relationships between some of the boys and Priests were neither cold nor distant but something altogether much darker and more troubling.

Over the years, whenever I have spoken of my time in the Verona Fathers I have spoken only of my fond memories, of the camaraderie and the freedom given to us to explore and play.

I use this blog today not only as a cathartic exercise for me, but also as an appeal to you as an Old Boy, the only people capable of understanding my long term attachment to Mirfield, and the subsequent  revelations that have exposed the extent of the betrayal.

If you have a story you wish to share, if there was a part of your life which is still in pain like mine and that of others please feel free to contact me.

Rules of the Road

Posted on by Kevin Deignan

These last few posts and comments have been pretty hard core.  My memories of Nado are of his peculiar appearance which was matched by his even wierder behaviour.  I always looked upon him as a religious fanatic.  He would always take the literal meaning of the bible which seemed unusual as the literal meaning was meant for cultures that existed many centuries ago and needed some kind of reinterpretation to have a similar impact in the modern world.

I remember on one occasion being driven by him to the A1 to hitch-hike home .  We were behind a lorry and Nado insisted on driving with the bonnet of our mini clubman underneath the rear of the lorry.  When I pointed out that this was a slightly dangerous manoeuvre, Nado replied that as Jesus was always with us there was no need to be afraid.  His driving was ledgendary always at 100 mph.

Can any one remember the trip to Scarborough??

It started off by driving down a one way street in Leeds against the flow of traffic, being stopped by oncoming police and turned around.  Just a verbal warning that time, remember ‘Jesus was with him.’

Next was a game of chicken with a large tractor and cultivator on a single track country lane. We approached the tractor head on at mach 1 and as God was always with us the tractor ended up in a ditch as our transit flew by.

The next incident occured as Nado attempted a very poor hill-start and rolled into the car behind us.  Obviously Jesus was not in that vehicle as he was always with us.  So we pulled away and left them to it.

The grand finale happend in Dewsbury.  We were trying to set a new land speed record at night down Dewsbury high street, in a transit van.  On passing a stationary bus at a bus stop a pedestrian stepped out in front of the bus and into our path.  He glanced the side of the Transit and was flung onto the road.  Here is the dilemma: was God with him or with us?  I believe that his God was with him because by rights he should have been killed.  However God the father, son, and holy ghost were traveling that day in the Transit with Nado and us.  On stopping to help the poor man it soon became obvious that he was an illegal immigrant.  He refused any offers of help even though he had a serious injury to his leg.  He tore up witness statments that one of the boys had taken and sent us on our way.

So ended our day trip to Scarborough!!

In my youthful naivety Nados behaviour was eccentric but now I am older and wiser and from what I have read I realise that there was a darker side to this man.

Betrayal

Posted on by Tony Edwards

I am not interested in retribution, apologies or compensation for myself. My concern is with the question of betrayal by others and the harm that betrayal has done to us.

Firstly, Romano was, at best, eccentric.  He behaved in very different ways to his two contemporaries, Father Eugene Murtagh and Father Frank McCullagh.  There was hardly any comparison with the behaviour of more senior Clerics, such as Cerea, Stenico or Wade  – his extreme religious views, his intimacy with young boys, his erratic behaviour.

For example, he would often punch boys in the middle of the chest with the heel of his clenched fist.  I, and others, believe that his bizarre actions must have been observed and well known by others in positions of authority in the House of Verona, yet he was charged with the pastoral care of vulnerable young men.

Secondly, I find it hard to believe that Romano was a one off.   I was at Mirfield for a very short time yet I quickly found myself exposed to a lack of due care. Therefore, turning a blind eye to uncomfortable situations was perhaps endemic.

Thirdly, I feel a deep sense of betrayal to my father, whose chest swelled with pride when Romano brought me home for a brief visit. For many years after my Father would relate this story with pride, that the Italian Priest thought so much of his son that he brought him home for an unscheduled, unannounced visit.

And finally the deep sense of betrayal to those young seminarians, my friends and brothers who may also have suffered a lack of care and support that was rightly due to them.

A “Caring” Adult

Posted on by Tony Edwards

More than forty years have passed since that evening and from time to time it comes back to me. It is quite possible that I have managed to suppress the full impact of that night; it is also highly probable that for many years it affected my sexual desires and actions. The memory of holding the naked torso of an adult male can creep up on me when I least expect it.  For example, when I have recognised the vulnerability of my own children, wondering how a ‘caring’ adult can take advantage of an innocent child.   Sometimes it comes to me during or after a sexual encounter.  I have never raised this issue in counselling, nor have I contacted the Verona Fathers to discuss the trauma this issue has caused me.  I have instead chosen to block it from my mind and tried not to think of it.

Only Father Romano Nardo will know what actually happened that night.

All that remains is the memory that I never went back to his room or the God Squad and I lost my respect for him.