Almost standard issue on minis over here. Iâd imagine itâs an import.
Not if itâs a 191D
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There is that.
I had this on a T-shirt many moons ago and got a few slaps one day off a local wannabe Provo.
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Swap nun for Christian brother and youâd have every school story an elderly neighbour of mine ever told me about school.My mother would often tell me of how the Master in her national school would bate the shite out of poor joe Connolly because he was a citeoig.They had a poem for him also.
Master Tim he is so slim
He goes to mass on Sunday
He prays to god to get a rod
To beat the childer on Monday.
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Happy fuckin days eh
I can remember getting turned upside down repeatedly in junior infants for getting the sign of the cross wrong, itâs bizarre even now to think of it. This was a female teacher too btw for all the difference it makes. Mad country back then.
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I remember the aulâ Master handing me a penknife and sending me out to cut 6 sally canes so theyâd season nicely. I was to 1st to road test them upon return.
There was a sort of boycott of his funeral, not organised or that, just we didnât go. The Priest was super angry - this may have been exacerbated by someone asking him to confirm that the rotten bastard was actually dead.
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That was serious, that made you a protestant
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I could have been a Swahili for all I knew after the third or fourth root up in the air 
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There used to be stories around monaghan town of Christian Brothers breaking young lads arms and so on. This would be late 70s early 80s. And obviously them all getting away with it.
Iâd say all of us in the 70âs and 80âs got a right few hammerings, it didnât really do me any harm. I got such a belt across the head when I was around 7 or 8 one day off the master I soiled myself with fear and had to spend the rest of the day in soaking trousers, looking back now that was an absolutely savage thing to do to a innocent young lad. I was only a small handy lad back then. A punch into the head from a big bollix who around 6 foot 2
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There was some amount of savages around in those times. I remember a good buddy of mine (who sat in front of me) who couldnât master the tin whistle at all and when heâs turn came I used to nestle in close behind him and knock out the melody whilst he made sporadic movement of his fingers along the whistle in front of me.
We got away with this in week 1 but the game was up in week 2. I got thump on the side of the head the felt like a kick from a cow. My mate got worse⌠A verbal humiliation and the shite kicked out of him.
Another poor little bastard couldnât pronounce vegetable and paid dearly for it.
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I agree wholeheartedly that the treatment of children back then was awful, but I do think we have gone too far the other way these days.
Last night I went to the off license in Cabra to pick up a few cans (Carlsberg) and the McDonalds there was essentially under siege, as usual, by a group of 15-20 children. Staff have resorted to holding the automatic door shut to keep them out. I spoke to the security guard, a black lad with the patience of a saint considering what was getting shouted at him, and he told me this was a nightly occurrence and, that there was little point in calling the guards as, if they even arrived, they wouldnt do a whole lot except tell the kids to clear off. As soon as the guards left theyâd be back.
A good old fashioned clip round the ear wouldnât be the worse thing to happen to a few of these fuckers if you ask me.
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Childhood for muldoons seems so grim
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yeah there was a lad who couldnât pronounce âthrowâ until he was about 10, he used to say âthrenâ he used to get awful stick off the teacher, shit like that would give them an awful complex in later life
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That was what used grind my gears. Youâd get flaked for getting stuff wrong that you didnât know how to do.
That oul tin whistle story is a beaut.
I remember we got pen pals in primary school from America. Ireland was a different country then. Start of the 1980s. We were about 8 I think.
The first letters were handed out with the little passport photo of your new pen pal. I remember being taken by the quality of their penmanship and the smell, feel, size and colour of American paper.
One of the lads at my table started to sob. As an aside he later moved away down the country as his Dad was a cop (he eventually played inter county football for his adopted county).
I looked up and asked him what was wrong.
He was crying tears at this stage and responded through them âI got a niggerâ.
As he said the N word the teacher walked behind him and furiously shouted âwhat did you just sayâ
He responded âI got a dunkeyâ - he meant donkey. He was pulled out of the room and took a bit of a bollocking but corporal punishment had been banned by that stage and we were in a brand new school with very young teachers who would not have had the balls to risk a career apart from the odd throw of a chalk, duster or a chair at your head.
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I shouldnât laugh but 
Ah but we were happy