The Children's CourtThe scrawny 14-year-old boy said matter-of-factly that he hadn't eaten all day.
"So, what do you live on?" said judge Angela Ní Chondúin, in court 55 of the Children's Court.
"Nothing," the homeless boy said, with his hands in the pockets of his navy tracksuit bottoms. "I don't even get a homeless allowance."
"Nothing at all?" the judge asked, with a mixture of shock and incredulity.
"No," the boy replied.
"So where do you get your food?" the judge asked.
"I rob it," he said.
The judge sat back and shook her head slightly.
The boy was in court for the latest addition to a string of robbery charges. The day before he had been picked up for stealing on Moore Street. A few days before that he was accused of stealing from Roches Stores. There were other theft offences in Santry.
He had been told to leave his home some time ago. His father didn't want him in the house because of the trouble he had been causing. In the meantime, he was staying in an out-of-hours emergency accommodation service in the city centre for homeless teenagers.
The garda, who towered over the small boy, said there were no beds available in the detention centres at Oberstown, Trinity House or at St Michael's. "There is no adult to take responsibility for him," he said gravely. "He wants to be locked up and the only way we can do that is if he is sentenced. His attitude is that he'll continue committing offences until he's locked up."
Judge Ní Chondúin wasn't satisfied. He wasn't due to be sentenced. She asked the garda and the boy's solicitor to check again to make sure there was a remand place available.
"I'm going to hold the boy here until the health board comes. I'm not releasing him on bail. I can't. If I've to stay here all night . . . I'm not letting the boy out of this building.
"It's absolutely scandalous. He has neither money nor protection. This court will sit until tomorrow if necessary." The boy, who had been expressionless until now, leaned forward and placed his hands in his face. When he took them away there were no tears. Just an empty, vacant stare. The 14-year-old's background was mentioned fleetingly in court. His parents had separated. The mother did not live in the family house in west Dublin. More recently, the boy said, his father told him to leave the house. "Why", the judge asked.
"Problems . . . just problems."
The judge asked what kind of problems.
"That sort of behaviour," he said, nodding in the direction of the charge sheets. "Stealing, drink and stuff."
"And your dad told you to get out?"
The boy paused and then answered. "I'm going to get killed in my area, over drugs."
"So he doesn't want you there because you're involved with the wrong people . . . and these fellas who say they'll kill you. Are you afraid of them when you're in town?"
"They don't be in town."
"Right", the judge said assertively, "I think it's absolutely essential that a bed is found."
In the afternoon the solicitor and the garda came back into the court. A third search had eventually turned up a bed. There had been a mistake, the garda explained, and there was a place in St Michael's House.
"I'm extremely happy that this has been sorted out," Judge Ní Chondúin said, before remanding him in custody in St Michael's for for a week.
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