A Journey Through Life: From Darkness into Light

By J.J. Dean

In this book, you will read about a young child that experienced one of the worst starts in life, being part of the industrial schools in Ireland and seeing abuse at its worst. This book goes to show that although you can learn to forgive, these awful memories are always with you. Its only through forgiving that you grow in yourself and can go on to better things in your life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524681760

J.J. Dean

I was taken from my family at the age of four and placed into the industrial schools of Ireland until the age of 16. In that time I saw and experienced so much violence meted out by the Christian brothers and the abuse suffered by the majority of the children in their care. From there on I went on to meet my wife who helped me through the difficult memories of what I went through and helped me to live a happy and fulfilling life.

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© 2017 J.J. Dean. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/24/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-8177-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-8176-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1 Days Of My Youth

A Walk Among The Stars …

The First Of My Spiritual Experiences

Artane School

The Saint

Leaving Ireland

The First Of My Spiritual Work

Dean

God Lent You, My Son

The Lost Children

The Earth Will Cry Out.

Trust In Spirit

My Spiritual Journey

The Journey

Believing In Spirit And God

A Life’s Journey

Lourdes

Building The Foundation

I Look In The Mirror

Where Have The Children Gone?

The Jewel

Dot And Stan

About The Author

PREFACE

I have tried so many times to write my story; on two separate occasions over the past couple of years I have not been happy with the outcome, so I decided to shred them and forget all about writing my story. That is, until a couple of months ago whilst attending an evening of clairvoyance I was told in no uncertain terms by the visiting medium that what I had done was wrong, and my purpose was to write this book in order to help others who may have suffered as I had. It was a right telling off from Spirit, I may tell you, and somewhat of a shock and totally unexpected. But to be fair, whilst I was writing, I should have known that it was Spirit who was putting the ideas and words into my head. Where would someone like me get the inspiration to write a book? It’s not like I am overly clever or had the privilege of a good education. I believed that what I had written were words of my own, and I never considered that I might be getting help from the other side. I was truly put in my place by Spirit, and now I must attempt to do what has been asked of me.

I decided to write my book once again, and having achieved 26,800 words, I thought I was on my way to completing it. I was at a loss when, for some unknown reason, the whole thing disappeared from my computer, never to be found. Now, I am not a man of a suspicious nature, but I am beginning to believe that someone is making me work very hard to complete this book. And to write it as they dictate. I have the people at the Stony Stratford library to thank for their help in getting this manuscript forwarded to the publishers.

I was brought up in the industrial schools of Ireland which are written into the annals of Irish history as the most corrupt and despicable places where homeless, poor, or troubled children were placed. They lived with the fear of being physically abused at any time by the nuns, or being sexually or physically abused by the Christian Brothers in whose care many thousands of children were placed over the years. I was to go through twelve years of what I call hell, which left me with a hatred for authority and a devil-may-care attitude towards others, to finally meeting a girl who would change my life and bring four wonderful children into this world. I endured the agony of losing one of my children to cancer, which shook me to the core; however, it was an experience that started me on the road to investigating the spiritual side of life. This road was to change my life forever, giving me an insight into the world of Spirit and a greater understanding of what happens to lost children after death. Finding an answer that I feel so comfortable with and the knowledge I have gained helps me to give comfort and answers to those who have lost their little ones. The journey I have travelled from the pains of hell to the enlightened soul I have become was, to me, the greatest journey I could have made. I thank Spirit for the help it gave me throughout this journey of mine.

This book is dedicated to my wife, Grace, whose love guided me on to the straight and narrow and took me away from a life on the darker side, and to my children and their partners, my grandchildren, and great grandchildren for their love and patience that saw me through many difficult times and helped restore my faith when all seemed lost to me. To all my friends in the spiritualist movement, may you always be true to Spirit and to yourselves, and may you always walk in the light and love of the divine spirit. I offer a special thanks to the members of my circle who devote themselves to serving others and who work tirelessly for the benefit of those they meet and to the mother earth. This is a group that I am blessed to work with in search of the higher self and the development of our spiritual selves. Thank you, my friends, for sharing your spiritual love around the world.

This book is also dedicated to all the boys and girls whose innocence was taken from them when the Church, along with the government of Ireland, discarded them in the care of the nuns and the Christian Brothers who ran the industrial schools of Ireland, where love was unheard of and the strap replaced the comforting hands of a mother, and fear replaced love. They were places where fear was the rule of the day and the memories of our families were washed away, to be replaced by hatred for all those in authority. We can all pull through these negative feelings if we only have faith in ourselves and learn to forgive—not necessarily to forget! For how can one who has spent his childhood living in fear of being abused ever be capable of forgetting such a horrid childhood? There were many children who were continuously at the mercy of the Christian Brothers simply because of a nickname given to them, or who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, while others suffered the strap because the teacher had a bad night or got up on the wrong side of the bed. Many of these children in later years turned to alcohol or drugs to help them to forget, but many died from their addictions or committed suicide because of the abuse they suffered. I was lucky in that I was looked after by my spirit guides, who helped me to get through my time in these schools. I do believe that these schools should have been closed down years before they were, but they were of use to the courts in placing the homeless or the troublesome children out of sight of the public and off the streets. The public, in their ignorance of what went on behind the walls of these schools, were unaware of the suffering these children were going through, and being only too glad to see them of the streets.

I was born in the Coombe Hospital in Dublin, Ireland, in 1942, to James and Esther. My father worked as a labourer in the coal yards on the Dublin docks. It was the best job he was suited for; he could not read or write, as he had spent his youth working instead of going to school, like most working class people of his time, for the poverty that ravaged Ireland in his day left no time for schooling. Like many young men at that time, he became involved with the Irish uprising and spent his time running errands for the Republican movement till eventually he was captured and served time in Dublin Castle. I have no idea where they lived after they were married, but what I do know is that they ended up living in the slum areas of the tenement buildings in Parliament Street, Dublin, with eleven children to feed. Life for them, as for the majority of Irish people, was very hard. With just my father working, things would often become very strained between my parents, which would have a negative influence on the whole family. This would often lead to bouts of shouting and hollering at each other, and so, as one could expect when two people are confined to a small area in which to bring up a family, sometimes this led to outbursts of violence, which in turn resulted with the authorities stepping in and placing us all before the Dublin courts. And as I think back to the life these people had, it bothers me that even though they lived in poverty, the church still expected them to put their last few pence into the offering plates on Sunday morning, while the priests lived in their big houses with plenty of food on their tables. They did not go hungry or live in filth, but lived the life of Reilly, and still they asked for more from the impoverished.

As I am sitting here writing, my mind is drifting back to the very earliest memories of my childhood, to the dark days after our family was brutally torn apart by the Dublin courts, and my siblings and I were sent to the industrial schools that were situated in different parts of Ireland. This action not only tore our family apart, it became for me a time that was fraught with fear, anger, and sadness. The memory of that day was etched in my mind and remains there to this day; I was taken from my family to what was to become a period of time where fear ruled over a life that was no longer mine, in essence. I was but a prisoner of the state and the Church of Ireland. I was just four years old when I was taken from my mother and the rest of my family by the Dublin courts, after it became clear to them that she could no longer afford to keep the family together. Living in a tenement building in absolute poverty became too much of a strain on her, and left her with no other choice but to hand us over to the courts to be placed into care. My father, who was working at Carrols coal yard, would after work each day go to the pub to spend the money on his favourite drink. He did this without any thought for the family who were sitting at home in a single filthy room, hungry and cold. Sadly, this was the case with the majority of men living in the tenement buildings. It was an escape for them and a way for them to forget for an hour or so the situation they and their families were living in. With eleven children to feed, my mother eventually went out to work as a cleaner, making the best of the few bob that she earned, doing alterations on her clothes to make them look newer so as not to let the neighbours know how bad things were in the family. Pride was worn like a great cloak against the whispers of the neighbours. The older siblings in the family would look after the younger ones and take them to school. On Saturdays my brother John would be given the money to take Christy and myself to the picture house to see the latest matinee. This was to prevent the three of us being found wandering the streets to be picked up by the police, but things got so bad that eventually my mother had no option but to hand us over to the courts.

My brother Christy and I were sent to convent school in Rathdrum, County Wicklow, which is on the border with Dublin, a place I came to hate and yet where I found a great love and a spiritual connection with the surrounding countryside, the beauty of County Wicklow. The garden of the Emerald Isle, with the mountains standing tall and the river running through the surrounding fields, was heaven to me, and the memories of its beauty have stayed with me to this day. It was a place where I simply loved to lie on the ground and feel the heartbeat of Mother Earth and smell the scent of its blanket of fresh grass and wildflowers. Surrounded by the tall trees in the background while listening to the singing of the birds, my heart would fill with a stillness and a love for this beautiful land. Although just a child, I knew that only God could have created such a beautiful place. The convent in Rathdrum was run by the nuns, who were great teachers, but completely lacking in love and compassion. Very quickly, with the beatings and punishments, there were many times when I felt their wrath and mostly for silly things. I do remember on one occasion, while I was standing by the entry gate to the school and thinking of my family, a car happened to pass by and the driver and passengers waved to me, smiling, and as is only polite, I waved back smiling and excited that someone was showing me some kind of recognition. Then out of nowhere, one of the nuns grabbed me by the hair and began beating me with all her strength. When I asked her why she was hitting me, I was told that I could have caused an accident. Well, as it was the only car on the road, I could not but think she was beating me out of frustration or anger, or simply because she may have had a bad night, but whatever the reason, there was no need for the aggression inflicted on me. Sometimes these nuns could be very spiteful for no other reason than so they could show us who was in charge. I came to have no respect for these people for allowing them to cause me such anger, which I now regret. On another occasion on a summer’s day, we had what all schools look forward to—‘sports day’—and the prize for the winner of the big race was a snakeskin belt. I fell in love with this belt and decided to enter the race. I promised myself that I would run like never before to try to win this wonderful trophy. On the day of the race, I ran my heart out; with my lungs nearly bursting, I