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Authors: Sean O'Connor
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presented me with a steel mirror contained in a leather case. ‘There you are, Mum. You won’t be afraid of breaking that.’ Even when he was in prison awaiting trial he remembered my birthday and sent me a telegram. He also wired on his father’s birthday.
It has been said that as a small boy he was cruel to animals and that he once attacked a little girl so badly with a ruler that she had to be taken home in a taxi cab. Frankly I do not know of this incident and neither does his headmaster, who has nothing but good to say of him. Surely I, his mother, would have heard of this, if it had happened.
When he was about eight, he longed for a puppy. One day I bought him Doodle, a mongrel, for half a crown. He came rushing in from school that day. ‘Mum, did you get me that puppy?’ he asked excitedly. I can still see his blue eyes alight with anticipation as he flung his schoolbooks aside and tore up to me. I had the puppy hidden under a pile of mending in my lap and told him that I had not been able to buy it. His whole face fell . . . until the puppy wriggled out and he picked it up and cuddled it in his face.
I do agree with certain statements about my boy and those are in his attitude towards pain and fear. He would not show fear and though he hated the mere thought of inflicting pain – either mental or physical – on others, he was not afraid of it for himself. One day he came home from school with his wrist bandaged. When I asked him what was wrong, he replied airily: ‘Oh, just put my wrist out a bit, that’s all.’ Then he ate an enormous lunch and went off without even mentioning that he had a broken wrist and was going to hospital to have it set. He was always like that – cool and contemptuous of his own feelings, and considerate towards others. Once, I remember Mick, his young brother – who adores him still – excitedly demonstrating a rugby tackle on Neville who was then about sixteen and pretty hefty. The pair fell in a heap on the drawing-room floor. Neville was up in a flash and almost in tears because he thought that Mick, in tackling him, had hurt himself. The death of little Carol, the brother between Mick and himself, affected Neville considerably. He was only about six at the time, but I remember how grief-stricken he was. When Mick was born, he was delighted because he now had a young brother to look after.
My son did wrong in the eyes of the world, but the world also did him much wrong. He adored his young wife and baby son, and was deeply affected when they parted. Though his school record was not brilliant, he worked hard when he had to and his friends have never ceased to speak well of him. Even his days at borstal were coloured by happy memories because there he was loved and respected by all. The fact that he returned during the war to speak to the boys has been mentioned as an example of his arrogance. That is ridiculous – not only was he invited to speak but the governor during his time wrote to me only this month to say how much he appreciated Neville’s help at Hollesley Bay.
It was his wish to die, knowing the only alternative was to be confined and watched over for the rest of his life. And both his father and I are still proud of him because we know that he died bravely and, to the end, tried every way to spare us suffering. In one of his last letters he wrote, ‘As I see it, this last journey is just one more Op. This time it’s destination unknown and Method of Travel Uncertain.’ Those are the things I remember about my son – the good things that every mother remembers.
Everyone was more than kind to us in our trouble. I have nothing but praise for the kindness shown to me by both the police and the prison authorities. Our friends stood by us. We have received hundreds of letters expressing sympathy from complete strangers, and people in the district whom I hardly knew have crossed the road to tell me how they believed in Neville.
In the Bible we learn that
It has been said that as a small boy he was cruel to animals and that he once attacked a little girl so badly with a ruler that she had to be taken home in a taxi cab. Frankly I do not know of this incident and neither does his headmaster, who has nothing but good to say of him. Surely I, his mother, would have heard of this, if it had happened.
When he was about eight, he longed for a puppy. One day I bought him Doodle, a mongrel, for half a crown. He came rushing in from school that day. ‘Mum, did you get me that puppy?’ he asked excitedly. I can still see his blue eyes alight with anticipation as he flung his schoolbooks aside and tore up to me. I had the puppy hidden under a pile of mending in my lap and told him that I had not been able to buy it. His whole face fell . . . until the puppy wriggled out and he picked it up and cuddled it in his face.
I do agree with certain statements about my boy and those are in his attitude towards pain and fear. He would not show fear and though he hated the mere thought of inflicting pain – either mental or physical – on others, he was not afraid of it for himself. One day he came home from school with his wrist bandaged. When I asked him what was wrong, he replied airily: ‘Oh, just put my wrist out a bit, that’s all.’ Then he ate an enormous lunch and went off without even mentioning that he had a broken wrist and was going to hospital to have it set. He was always like that – cool and contemptuous of his own feelings, and considerate towards others. Once, I remember Mick, his young brother – who adores him still – excitedly demonstrating a rugby tackle on Neville who was then about sixteen and pretty hefty. The pair fell in a heap on the drawing-room floor. Neville was up in a flash and almost in tears because he thought that Mick, in tackling him, had hurt himself. The death of little Carol, the brother between Mick and himself, affected Neville considerably. He was only about six at the time, but I remember how grief-stricken he was. When Mick was born, he was delighted because he now had a young brother to look after.
My son did wrong in the eyes of the world, but the world also did him much wrong. He adored his young wife and baby son, and was deeply affected when they parted. Though his school record was not brilliant, he worked hard when he had to and his friends have never ceased to speak well of him. Even his days at borstal were coloured by happy memories because there he was loved and respected by all. The fact that he returned during the war to speak to the boys has been mentioned as an example of his arrogance. That is ridiculous – not only was he invited to speak but the governor during his time wrote to me only this month to say how much he appreciated Neville’s help at Hollesley Bay.
It was his wish to die, knowing the only alternative was to be confined and watched over for the rest of his life. And both his father and I are still proud of him because we know that he died bravely and, to the end, tried every way to spare us suffering. In one of his last letters he wrote, ‘As I see it, this last journey is just one more Op. This time it’s destination unknown and Method of Travel Uncertain.’ Those are the things I remember about my son – the good things that every mother remembers.
Everyone was more than kind to us in our trouble. I have nothing but praise for the kindness shown to me by both the police and the prison authorities. Our friends stood by us. We have received hundreds of letters expressing sympathy from complete strangers, and people in the district whom I hardly knew have crossed the road to tell me how they believed in Neville.
In the Bible we learn that
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