Throughout history Monday has been a bearer of bad news. And Monday is certainly no friend of myself and my family. On a cold and dreary November Monday morning in 1947, my five sisters and I heard that our father had died in a car accident the previous night. We then awoke on the Tuesday morning to find that our mother had died in hospital, of stomach cancer, during the night. She was totally unaware of the fate of her husband.

The Irish Times reported these events faithfully on Tuesday and Wednesday, November 11th and 12th, 1947 and went on to become a most incredible force and source of security in the lives of us six orphans - the youngest of whom was myself, aged three.

I have now returned to my homeland from north America, after an absence of 30 years, to research and write a book about my childhood and also to complete my first book on global capitalism that I started while living abroad.

While I have no recollection whatsoever of my real parents, my two eldest sisters as surrogates did a very creditable job in the circumstances. We six children remained on our own in the Sandymount family home, while an uncle living in Inchicore became our legal guardian. My eldest sister, Susie, became "the father", going out to work in a publishing house at the tender age of 16, while the next eldest sister, Maureen (14) took on the mother's role.

My early childhood years were probably relatively normal for the Irish poor of the 1940s and 1950s. Unlike Frank McCourt of Angela's Ashes, I never remember lacking food or footwear, but the housing conditions were very severe.

It's difficult to imagine now, how we all survived the bare stone kitchen floor, the rotting insanitary outhouse that was frequently blocked, the lack of hot running water and heating, the absence of any bath or shower, the kitchen flooding, the damp rot, the roof leaks, the draughts and broken windows, and the two small bedrooms for eight people (later six). My adolescent years were by far the toughest, when I had to construct a public persona from what felt like a sorry mess (me). I became chronically shy and self-conscious - and very studious and athletic.

In theory, you would expect a family that endured and survived such hardship to be close-knit but in practice quite the opposite has occurred, in many ways. What has served to separate and alienate us from each other are the very same things that are the root cause of widespread addictions, violence, hate and prejudice - namely fear.

I have become a big believer in the increasingly popular notion that there are only two basic emotions - love and fear - and that all the negative emotions, such as hate, guilt, shame and anger are derivatives of fear, while all the positive are derivatives of love.

I am totally convinced that our natural state is love and that the loss of it in childhood, wholly or partially, leaves a hole that we desperately attempt to fill with outside approval, which some seek through achievements, monetary and material success, fame and fortune. Others, less fortunate, engage in addictions, violence, power/control games etc to ease the pain and dispel the fear.

The deprivation and poverty of my childhood fuelled my ambition to succeed and, for a while, succeed I did. I managed to get a degree in business at UCD, qualify as an accountant in London, work in the Middle East and Africa briefly and eventually settled in North America. At the peak of my powers I attained a six golf handicap, a high amateur squash ranking and was closing in on millionaire status when I got knocked off my galloping horse. I never truly succeeded in getting back on, which is another story.

A major job loss, I believe, triggered the memory and pain of my childhood losses. When things didn't go my way in the job market, I panicked and then engaged in the usual flight and fight.

Since then it seems that I have spent most of my time in Hell but thankfully with an extended period in Heaven also. I have been through the gamut, from depression, divorce to business failure and financial devastation.

Having come full circle, my priorities and ambitions have changed somewhat. While survival has again become number one priority, I am now more focused on wisdom, love and peace of mind. I have also developed a deep and passionate interest in spirituality.

The search for answers, understanding, relief from depression etc, has resulted in the book that I started abroad and which I returned home to complete.

I had not realised the crucial role that The Irish Times played in my life and survival until I started the research for the book on my childhood in the National Library. The reporting of the tragedy in the pages of this newspaper prompted a flood of sympathy and money so powerful that it inspired the editors and staff to start a fund called The Brown Fund, which reported almost daily the names of donors and the amounts they sent. The mini-editorial that appeared on December 5th, 1947 above The Brown Fund listing had the following to say about the national response:

"In all our experience we never have known a more genuine expression of public sympathy; we confess that the sum of money which has been raised has exceeded our most sanguine expectations."

The fund officially closed at £1,680 13s 9d, (equivalent of about £37,400 today) on December 23rd, 1947, with The Irish Times undertaking to administer the fund for 12 years, which was calculated to be a reasonable amount of time for the youngest orphan, myself, to become capable of fending for himself. I would be remiss if I did not use this opportunity to express my heartfelt gratitude to all the donors and their families.

The editor of the newspaper at the time was the legendary Bertie Smyllie and the news editor was Harold C. Brown (no relation), who officiated at the official closing ceremonies of The Brown Fund. To the families of these caring journalists I say thanks so much.

Five of the six orphan Browns are still alive and well, with four living in Ireland and one in England. I did not have any children of my own, so unfortunately the family name dies with me, but I have 13 nephews and nieces, and they themselves are in the process of creating a similar number of sons and daughters.

Maureen, who stayed single and childless, died at the age of 57, and I attribute her suffering and relatively early death to her childhood trauma, when she became the "mother" of the family. I often wonder if the ghosts and goblins in her mental attic had been confronted and dissolved, in a timely fashion, whether she would have lived longer and suffered less.

The answer to that will only be known, I suppose, when we get to understand the role of nature and nurture in our lives. But I've come to believe that everything that happens is simply destiny; that there are no mistakes, no rights or wrongs and no "could haves" or "should haves". Just what was, is and was meant to be.

Robert Brown can be contacted at harbour@gofree.indigo.ie

His web site is at: www.owlhead.com