My Schooldays at the Quay

Sullivan's Quay CBS, Cork City

The handball was made from the paper wrappings from  the pupils sandwiches and tied together with pieces of string.  The play area was the enclosed section of the school yard, between the two sets of double doors which led to the classrooms overhead.  Unlike regular handball, the game played here was almost like tennis with goal posts; and the opponents goal were his set of double doors.   Shot for shot was taken across the yard, oblivious of the fact that there were other kids running around and chasing each other, between the goals.  Looking down from there you could see a large school yard; skirted on the right by the toilets and on the left by the bicycle shed.  Beyond the toilets was a large rusted looking tank, containing the fuel for the central heating.  It was here that the school bullies held court.  Directly in front, you could see the secondary school, with it's outdoor iron staircases, which were the only access to the upper floor of that building.  The ground floor housed the first, second and third years; while the upper floor housed fifth and sixth years.  This floor also contained the science lab; the home of my favourite subject. 
The science teacher was the typical academic, with the mandatory glasses and brief-case, which swung with each step he took.  He also had an extremely noticeable wart on the very tip of his nose and when he spoke to you, it was as if he was speaking for the wart; for that was where your eyes were drawn to.  For all his idiosyncrasies, he was a most interesting teacher, who made physics sound like music.  I can't fully remember but I think we also had  him for voice production; which consisted mainly of breathing exercises.  My first year in secondary school required some shuttling; for the first year classes were moved to a prefabricated unit in Deer Park on Friar's Walk for most subjects.
One lay-teacher, in his mid twenties at the time, was, I believe, an absolute sadist.  He seemed to take a perverse pleasure out of inflicting pain and fear into the young hearts that he was given charge to teach.  Up to this time one of my favourite subjects was the Irish Language.  By the end of that teaching year, I had developed a hatred of it, that lasted for many years.   
He also taught geography and history which was also done through Irish.  My desk was at the top of the class near the window and the heater, which was some help on the cold winter mornings warming my hands before the leather strap was poised high in the air.  "The other hand,"  he would shout from behind his long hawk-like nose.  "The other hand I said, and I'll teach you to make a fool out of me"  as he brought the strap crashing down on the soft fleshy mound at the base of the thumb.  We would try to take our punishment with dignity, but by the time the strap had fallen ten or twelve times the tears would flow.  We were his first and penultimate class. 
All in all, notwithstanding my experiences with Mr. Torquamada, my days at 'The Quay' brings back fond memories.  For those were the days of the introduction of television to Ireland, of long summer days, fresh autumn evenings and the realization that girls were really quite nice when you got to know them.