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Authors: Noël Browne
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first time since I had been there as a child. It had changed little. On our way home I was surprised to
find myself being overcome by a sudden overwhelming black depression. I was compelled to stop the car and get out, in an attempt to conceal my emotions from my wife. Somewhat to my embarrassment
and surprise I was overcome by waves of uncontrollable tears. I leant on the car roof until these had passed, a bit ashamed of myself at this unusual happening; I then got back into the car and we
continued on our journey. The contrast between my two lives in Athlone and then Ballinrobe, and the memories of my family, had left their own mark.
Eileen’s agony was now about to begin. In her early twenties, she was to endure a succession of crushing ordeals that led to her lonely death in a tuberculosis sanatorium in Italy.
Eileen was cast in the mould of my mother. I could not pay her a higher tribute. She had a quality which led people to admire her courage and, if at all possible, to help her. She was
good-humoured, charming and highly intelligent, and much admired for her classic black-haired blue-eyed Celtic colouring. So that she could take care of us all, she chose to remain unmarried, never
even to enjoy the fleeting happiness experienced by my mother and father during their tragic years together.
Before our arrival Eileen, a first-class administrator, had found work in a holiday home, owned by a Miss Salter, in Worthing. It was one of those institutions found in England during its
colonial period, the only homes known by the children of the colonial administrators. For reasons of health or education, the children could not join their parents in the colonies, so children and
parents were deprived of each other’s company and of any family life together; the children went from the unloving life of the public school to the equally uncaring life of the holiday home.
Miss Salter’s generosity made it possible for all of our family to live in this home, where Eileen acted as manager, administrator and housekeeper.
By a fortunate coincidence Miss Salter had a sister who was joint proprietor of St Anthony’s school in Eastbourne, a small Catholic preparatory school, and she had me admitted to this
exclusive school, free of charge. Once again I was to be rescued from my frighteningly insecure future. In spite of the harrowing experiences through which we had just lived, with the resilience of
a child I became occupied with my next new experience and in October 1929 I set out for St. Anthony’s from London in the buggy seat of an open sports car driven by an actress friend of
Eileen’s named Eve.
3
Education in England
U NDER the teaching of the Christian Brothers in Ballinrobe I had come to believe that the English were a race to be hated, the
nation which had tormented and persecuted our people for many centuries. I had become a militant Irish republican, waiting for the day when I could join those others now in jail or ‘on the
run’ and, if need be, die for Ireland. I was also deeply committed to a particularly paranoid, militant brand of Catholicism, which condemned the Protestant faith of the British people.
On my arrival in Britain, the discovery that the grass grew green, the sun shone and the swallows flew freely above was a real surprise to me. But this phase of my aggressive republicanism, and
certainly my anti-British convictions, obstinately survived my stay in St Anthony’s. Other misconceptions about the British could not survive against their astonishing hospitality and
generosity and their acceptance and care for many of our family, and for tens of thousands of strangers from Ireland such as us, rejected by their own.
St Anthony’s was a preparatory school intended exclusively for the education of the sons of wealthy Catholic families. However, since there were not sufficient English Catholics to keep it
filled, it had become pleasantly cosmopolitan, with a high proportion of Central
find myself being overcome by a sudden overwhelming black depression. I was compelled to stop the car and get out, in an attempt to conceal my emotions from my wife. Somewhat to my embarrassment
and surprise I was overcome by waves of uncontrollable tears. I leant on the car roof until these had passed, a bit ashamed of myself at this unusual happening; I then got back into the car and we
continued on our journey. The contrast between my two lives in Athlone and then Ballinrobe, and the memories of my family, had left their own mark.
Eileen’s agony was now about to begin. In her early twenties, she was to endure a succession of crushing ordeals that led to her lonely death in a tuberculosis sanatorium in Italy.
Eileen was cast in the mould of my mother. I could not pay her a higher tribute. She had a quality which led people to admire her courage and, if at all possible, to help her. She was
good-humoured, charming and highly intelligent, and much admired for her classic black-haired blue-eyed Celtic colouring. So that she could take care of us all, she chose to remain unmarried, never
even to enjoy the fleeting happiness experienced by my mother and father during their tragic years together.
Before our arrival Eileen, a first-class administrator, had found work in a holiday home, owned by a Miss Salter, in Worthing. It was one of those institutions found in England during its
colonial period, the only homes known by the children of the colonial administrators. For reasons of health or education, the children could not join their parents in the colonies, so children and
parents were deprived of each other’s company and of any family life together; the children went from the unloving life of the public school to the equally uncaring life of the holiday home.
Miss Salter’s generosity made it possible for all of our family to live in this home, where Eileen acted as manager, administrator and housekeeper.
By a fortunate coincidence Miss Salter had a sister who was joint proprietor of St Anthony’s school in Eastbourne, a small Catholic preparatory school, and she had me admitted to this
exclusive school, free of charge. Once again I was to be rescued from my frighteningly insecure future. In spite of the harrowing experiences through which we had just lived, with the resilience of
a child I became occupied with my next new experience and in October 1929 I set out for St. Anthony’s from London in the buggy seat of an open sports car driven by an actress friend of
Eileen’s named Eve.
3
Education in England
U NDER the teaching of the Christian Brothers in Ballinrobe I had come to believe that the English were a race to be hated, the
nation which had tormented and persecuted our people for many centuries. I had become a militant Irish republican, waiting for the day when I could join those others now in jail or ‘on the
run’ and, if need be, die for Ireland. I was also deeply committed to a particularly paranoid, militant brand of Catholicism, which condemned the Protestant faith of the British people.
On my arrival in Britain, the discovery that the grass grew green, the sun shone and the swallows flew freely above was a real surprise to me. But this phase of my aggressive republicanism, and
certainly my anti-British convictions, obstinately survived my stay in St Anthony’s. Other misconceptions about the British could not survive against their astonishing hospitality and
generosity and their acceptance and care for many of our family, and for tens of thousands of strangers from Ireland such as us, rejected by their own.
St Anthony’s was a preparatory school intended exclusively for the education of the sons of wealthy Catholic families. However, since there were not sufficient English Catholics to keep it
filled, it had become pleasantly cosmopolitan, with a high proportion of Central
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