Growing up in Limerick during the 1950s, it was commonly believed that the only way to handle a bully was to face him down. However, the bully in my life was my teacher, a Christian Brother. This gaunt, sinister-looking man was noted for his use of “the leather”, which he liberally meted out to the pupils for even the most minor failure in school lessons; not an easy threat for a small, 10-year-old schoolboy to face down. However, the solution to my difficulty materialised from an unusual direction.
One particular morning, during English class, the teacher began asking each pupil to spell a word. As spelling was not my strong point, I was apprehensive. When my turn came around I was asked to spell “laugh”. In my panic I stuttered: “L-A-F”. First there was total silence. Then the teacher screamed, “L-A-F, L-A-F, You stupid boy I’ll give you something to L-A-F about”, as he charged down the classroom to where I was standing. His face was purple with rage as he brandished his leather about him like a person in a craze. I was terrified.
First, I could feel my vision clouding over. Then, as he drew near, I felt a sour feeling in my gut, as my partially digested breakfast began to force its way back up my throat into my mouth, from where it exploded outwards in foul-smelling spray. It hit the teacher in the chest and slowly spread down his black soutane, bringing a halt to his charge.
He was stunned and never uttered a word. He immediately left the classroom and returned some time later with a change of clothing, but made no reference to the event. As far as the rest of the class was concerned, I was a hero: the only schoolboy who had ever faced down the teacher. Throughout the remainder of the year, the brother never again asked me a question. I had effectively faced down and defeated my bully.
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