School days in St Aloysius

Jean's Journal with Jean Farrell

I wrote, recently, about St Aloysius Secondary School, on the Connaught side of Athlone. It opened in 1960. Readers were interested in this article. One man recognised himself in the photo of the young boys, at their PE lesson, in the grounds of The Dean Crowe Theatre (formerly Saint Peter’s Hall.)

The three eldest in our house, Sheelagh, Jean (myself) and Ursula were sent to Boarding School in Moate. My mother said this was because we’d never have been able to study, at home, with so many children in the house.

The fourth born was my brother Greg. He was ready for secondary school in 1967. This was the year that free second-level education was introduced. He, and my four other brothers, attended day-schools in town. I asked my mother why she didn’t send the boys to boarding school. Her answer was that she had read a lot about ‘very unpleasant’ behaviour occurring in boys’ boarding schools. I do think that cost also came into it, because at this stage she had given birth to ten children. Our Pearse, the last, was born in 1966.

In 1966, 24 boys started first-year in St Aloysius. The following year, because of the introduction of free-education, 48 boys arrived to begin their second-level education there. One of those boys was my brother, Greg.

I asked him would he write an account of his time in this new secondary school and here it is.

Memories of my school day, by Greg Coyle.

“It was 1967, and between finishing in the Batteries and starting in Aloysius, we had the ‘Summer of Love.’ However, we were a bit short on love in the education system here. Social history has revealed significant evidence of unregulated corporal punishment visited upon children. It was an ever-present reality in our lives and you had to take it on the chin, so-to-speak.

That autumn we didn’t go to ‘San Francisco with flowers in our hair.’ Instead, 48 of us headed up the side stairs into one of the great rooms in Lyster’s old mansion, known locally as The Park. It was acquired to become St Aloysius Secondary School.

We all assembled and were left together as one class, in a big room. This room had tall windows on opposite walls, the front looking out at the tennis court, the other to the orchard at the back.

Personally, what attracted me to St Aloysius School was the new outdoor swimming pool there. That summer we were allowed to use it. Before this, our swimming resorts were No.1, Hodson Bay or hitchhiking to Ballinasloe’s swimming pool. I was a good swimmer and would dash along the side edge of Aloysius pool, dive in near a corner and hop straight back out of the water to impress my pals.

Our class, in 1967, was very big, simply because free secondary education was introduced that year. The catchment area, as well as the town, was the southern part of the vast diocese of Elphin. Country lads came to join us, from south Roscommon and east Galway. They came into town on school buses.

Us townies hadn’t much exposure to rural lads back then, nor them of us. We were reared literally on the side of the street and played soccer all day. These country lads played only GAA and on real GAA pitches. Handball, too, was in their blood. However it only drew blood on our soft hands when we tried to compete with them.

Their accent too was from a different province. The furthest we ever got into Co. Roscommon was to Hodson Bay. Another differentiator was our superiority complex, longer hair and a non-conformist attitude.

It proved difficult for the teachers (mainly priests) to cope with an unruly class of 48 pupils. The attitude/hairstyle proved another serious challenge to the installed base of conforming, uniformity and discipline.

We settled in well, got along with the country lads and coped with the ‘get your hair cut or don’t come in tomorrow’ by wetting our hair, tucking it behind our ears, and hoping they’d forget. We had great fun together as a class, with the usual comical characters emerging, from both sides of the geographic divide.

A day that comes to mind was Fr Feeney ordering everyone to bring in a ‘togs and a towel tomorrow for a compulsory swim.’ Most of the country lads had never been in a swimming pool before. It was entertaining to observe them togging out in public for the first time. Then, seeing their faces as the priest supervised them getting down into the cold water. Meanwhile I’d dive in nearby to raise a splash, and hop out again making the sound of a seal.”

That was our (show-off) Greg’s experience of his school days. The introduction of free second-level education, in 1967, changed Ireland. Journalist Fintan O’Toole wrote recently that in 1919 we were the worst educated people in Europe. In 2025, we are the best.

The following is a complete change of subject. It will be of interest to those of you who (like me) gave birth to our babies, in Ballinasloe hospital, forty plus years ago. I saw this notice in last Saturday’s paper.

‘The death has occurred of Dr. Conor Carr, aged 90 years, on the 30th January 2025. A much-loved and respected obstetrician who dedicated over 40 years to the compassionate care of his patients, with 30 of those years spent at Portiuncula Hospital, Ballinasloe.’

Don’t we remember our visits to him so well? May he rest in peace.