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Breton Humors
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Liam's London Diary
There wasn?t much therapy about when I was growing up Dublin in the forties and fifties. Matters were not discussed openly and especially if they were deeply personal. I am not quite sure how the little communication that was there worked. I suppose you attended an extra novena or you added a bit to the family rosary, and that was strong stuff to put forward a personal wish for gratification.
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The adults who were controlling our lives seemed to move in two channels.The women tended to go for the heavenly course in which it was hoped that numerous and prolonged supplication would lead to a good result. The men favoured a more direct approach through the pint of Guinness and small one in which it was hoped that a whispered conversation to the cronies in the pub might result in a spot of fixing and drinks all round. Between all the dithering and maneuvering it seldom occurred to any of the principals to sit down and really discuss and talk through whatever was ailing the concerned. |
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The school elders were a class of their own. We had a Kerry Latin teacher who could whip the skin off your back with his cynicism. To belittle was to rule, to make fun of was to hold the power. The History teacher was a violent thug who presented his argument with a flailing hand and the Bookkeeping master threatened to punch your teeth down your throat if it occurred to his fevered imagination that you were not paying him full attention. The Christian brothers, with a few notable exceptions, permitted a sexual molester among their own to roam free and allowed nearly all their members to rule with slashing leather and sadistic cane. A kind word or generous action was looked upon as weakness amongst this brave band of Irish educators. Not much room for therapy there. |
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I was living in Hornsey Rise, London, when I found my way into therapy. I went to my local doctor with the complaint that I did not want to talk and the man actually listened and did not scoff. After a series of assessments, I found my way to the rooms of a Hampstead therapist. As I sat back in the upholstered leather seat of a book lined room with heavy satin drapes keeping out the evening light from the adjoining heath, I talked about myself and my life and my problems and what I wanted to do with my life. Yes, I was allowed to talk about what concerned me and not be dismissed as selfish or me fein, which is an Irish expression for self seeking. Its an interesting theory that the English who had so repressed my race had given me permission to rise and be me. After about nine months of twice weekly sessions the therapist recommended that I join a group therapy to polish up on the work that I had done in the hallowed Hampstead drawing room. Hampstead will always remain to me a place of class, of style, of freedom, of life itself. |
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I joined my group therapy in a mansion block off Baker street, and that lasted for nearly eight years. We met every Friday evening and it was mainly a professional group with a barrister, social workers, a maths teacher, education officers, sundry others and myself, a warehouse operative. As the maths teacher summed it up one evening when he said, something special happens in this room, and it certainly did. We all belong to several groupings throughout our lives. Our first group experiences are usually family ones involving mother, father, baby. Then this is enlarged to include more members of the family - brothers and sisters, grandparents and often even uncles and aunts. Obviously the family group experience is a very important one to the extent that that who you are in the family can have a strong bearing on who you become as an adult We had around eight in the group with the group leader who was in charge and paid. |
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We were allowed to express anger, hate, jealousy, appreciation, even love; all the good and nasty emotions. I don?t want to shock you but we even talked about sex. What a feeling it is to communicate, to feel heard, to be able to listen. |
I look back with fondness on all those people. They were in their way true friends for they allowed me to enter into their most intimate lives and I invited them into mine. We were all on the quest to improve the quality of our lives, not by putting others down or ignoring the rights of all to find the real essence of their beings. To recognise the beauty in our lives and to develop our skills and interests. Not to be made fearful by Catholic or other Gods and put down for carrying the burden of our humanity. Not to be punished for challenging or mocked for not marauding with the common herd. To be me, yes, and to recognise you in your full value and integrity.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun
W B Yeats from the Song of Wandering Aengus
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