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Borstal Boy
This miracle of autobiography and prison literature begins: "Friday, in the evening, the landlady shouted up the stairs: 'Oh God, oh Jesus, oh Sacred Heart, Boy, there's two gentlemen here to see you.' I knew by the screeches of her that the gentlemen were not calling to inquire after my health . . . I grabbed my suitcase, containing Pot. Chlor., Sulph Ac, gelignite, detonators, electrical and ignition, and the rest of my Sinn Fein conjurer's outfit, and carried it to the window . . ." The men were, of course, the police, and seventeen-year-old Behan. He spent three years as a prisoner in England, primarily in Borstal (reform school), and was then expelled to his homeland, a changed but hardly defeated rebel. Once banned in the Irish Republic, Borstal Boy is both a riveting self-portrait and a clear look into the problems, passions, and heartbreak of Ireland.
386 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1958
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About the author
Brendan Behan
73 books155 followersEarly association with the Irish republican army and experiences in prison influenced works, including
The Quare Fellow
, the play of 1954, and the autobiographical
Borstal Boy
in 1958 of Brendan Francis Behan, writer.
Brendan Francis Behan composed poetry, short stories, and novels in English. He also volunteered.
A mother in the inner city of Dublin bore Brendan Francis Behan into an educated class family. Christine English, his grandmother, owned a number of properties in the area and the house on Russell street near Mountjoy square. Peadar Kearney, his uncle and author of song and the national anthem, also lived in the area. Stephen Behan, his father, acted in the war of independence, painted houses, and read classic literature to the children at bedtime from such sources as Émile Zola, John Galsworthy, and Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant; Kathleen Behan, his mother, took them on literary tours of the city. From father, interest of Behan in literature came; his mother originated his political ideas. She politically acted in all her life and personally befriended Michael Collins. Brendan Behan lamented "The Laughing Boy" at the age of thirteen to Collins. His mother gave the affectionate nickname, the title, to Collins. Kathleen published "Mother of all the Behans," a collaboration with Brian Behan, another son, in 1984.
Peadar Kearney, uncle of Brendan Francis Behan, composed Amhrán na bhFiann , the national anthem. People best knew "The Patriot Game," the song of Dominic Behan, his also renowned brother; Brian Behan, another sibling, a prominent radical political activist, spoke in public, acted, and authored. Brendan and Brian shared not the same views, especially when the question of politics or nationalism arose. Brendan on his deathbed presumably in jest asked Cathal Goulding, then the chief of staff, to "have that bastard Brian shot—we've had all sorts in our family, but never a traitor!"
From a drinking session, Brendan Francis Behan at the age of eight years in 1931 returned home on one day with his granny and a crony, Ulick O'Connor recounts. A passerby remarked, "Oh, my! Isn't it terrible ma'am to see such a beautiful child deformed?" "How dare you", said his granny. "He's not deformed, he's just drunk!"
Brendan Francis Behan left school at 13 years of age to follow in footsteps of his father as a house painter.
Brendan Francis Behan composed poetry, short stories, and novels in English. He also volunteered.
A mother in the inner city of Dublin bore Brendan Francis Behan into an educated class family. Christine English, his grandmother, owned a number of properties in the area and the house on Russell street near Mountjoy square. Peadar Kearney, his uncle and author of song and the national anthem, also lived in the area. Stephen Behan, his father, acted in the war of independence, painted houses, and read classic literature to the children at bedtime from such sources as Émile Zola, John Galsworthy, and Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant; Kathleen Behan, his mother, took them on literary tours of the city. From father, interest of Behan in literature came; his mother originated his political ideas. She politically acted in all her life and personally befriended Michael Collins. Brendan Behan lamented "The Laughing Boy" at the age of thirteen to Collins. His mother gave the affectionate nickname, the title, to Collins. Kathleen published "Mother of all the Behans," a collaboration with Brian Behan, another son, in 1984.
Peadar Kearney, uncle of Brendan Francis Behan, composed Amhrán na bhFiann , the national anthem. People best knew "The Patriot Game," the song of Dominic Behan, his also renowned brother; Brian Behan, another sibling, a prominent radical political activist, spoke in public, acted, and authored. Brendan and Brian shared not the same views, especially when the question of politics or nationalism arose. Brendan on his deathbed presumably in jest asked Cathal Goulding, then the chief of staff, to "have that bastard Brian shot—we've had all sorts in our family, but never a traitor!"
From a drinking session, Brendan Francis Behan at the age of eight years in 1931 returned home on one day with his granny and a crony, Ulick O'Connor recounts. A passerby remarked, "Oh, my! Isn't it terrible ma'am to see such a beautiful child deformed?" "How dare you", said his granny. "He's not deformed, he's just drunk!"
Brendan Francis Behan left school at 13 years of age to follow in footsteps of his father as a house painter.
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January 17, 2019
Autobiographical novel by Irish writer Brendan Behan. Behan was brought up in a strongly republican household, his mother was a close friend of Michael Collins. Behan joined Fianna Éireann, the youth section of the IRA at 13. When he was 16 in 1939 Behan went to Liverpool with some explosives with the intention of blowing up the docks. He was arrested and because of his age ended in the borstal system. He was in borstal in England until his release in 1941. The novel is split into three sections. The first part covers a two months stay in Walton prison in Liverpool on remand, this illustrates the brutality of day to day prison life. Part two tells about a brief stay at Feltham waiting for a place at Borstal. The final part covers his stay at Hollesley Bay Borstal.
Behan writes well and captures the accents and tones of his fellow inmates very well. There are working class young men from London, Liverpool, Scotland and the North East and Behan captures their voices accurately. He starts the book with his arrest;
“Friday, in the evening, the landlady shouted up the stairs: “Oh God, oh Jesus, oh Sacred Heart, Boy, there’s two gentlemen here to see you.”
I knew by the screeches of her that the gentlemen were not calling to inquire after my health, or to see if I’d had a good trip.
I grabbed my suitcase, containing Pot. Chlor., Sulph Ac, gelignite, detonators, electrical and ignition, and the rest of my Sinn Fein conjurer’s outfit, and carried it to the window.
Then the gentlemen arrived. A young one, with a blond Herrenvolk head and a BBC accent shouted “I say, grab him the behstud!”
When I was safely grabbed the blonde one gave me several punches in the face”
In the police station Behan gives his well-rehearsed statement:
“My name is Brendan Behan. I came over here to fight for the Irish workers’ and Small Farmers Republic, for a full and free life, for my countrymen, North and South and for the removal of the baneful influence of British Imperialism from Irish affairs. God Save Ireland”
Behan’s construction of prison life is complex and not always what you expect. He makes it clear that Irish working class Catholics and English working class Protestants have more in common than their middle and upper class masters on either side. This is reflected in the Marxist analysis espoused by the Official IRA who argued that class was more potent than religion and should be a unifying factor.
Behan captures the monotony of prison life, the importance of tobacco, of friendships, the variable food. At that time the prisoners did work on a variety of jobs (including sewing mailbags). Behan finds his way around and through the system. There is casual violence, but Behan seems to avoid most of it by being just as tough as he needs to be, but mostly by his charm and friendliness. He describes relationships with the authorities, not good in Walton, much better in Hollesley. There were sexual relationships in prison. Behan does not ignore them, although he is careful as homosexuality was still illegal when he wrote the book. His language is coded but clear, as is his own bisexuality.
What the book does need is a good editor; it’s too long and is sometimes dominated by the sheer strength of Behan’s character and is now clouded by the mythology surrounding him. As Augustine Martin said in 1963;
“Brendan Behan does not invite critical comment on his work. The whole character of the man discourages it. The public image that he has created is so tremendously alive and exuberant that one is inclined to regard the writing as a mere casual offshoot of his rollicking personality. As if, in fact, the work was there as an excuse to display the man. Again one feels a little silly in treating his work with more attention and respect the he allows it himself.”
Behan is an amiable companion who seems to realize that although he hates the British state, he actually gets on very well with the British working class. Given what he intended it is very difficult not to like Behan as he goes on what is a voyage of discovery about his “enemies”.
Behan writes well and captures the accents and tones of his fellow inmates very well. There are working class young men from London, Liverpool, Scotland and the North East and Behan captures their voices accurately. He starts the book with his arrest;
“Friday, in the evening, the landlady shouted up the stairs: “Oh God, oh Jesus, oh Sacred Heart, Boy, there’s two gentlemen here to see you.”
I knew by the screeches of her that the gentlemen were not calling to inquire after my health, or to see if I’d had a good trip.
I grabbed my suitcase, containing Pot. Chlor., Sulph Ac, gelignite, detonators, electrical and ignition, and the rest of my Sinn Fein conjurer’s outfit, and carried it to the window.
Then the gentlemen arrived. A young one, with a blond Herrenvolk head and a BBC accent shouted “I say, grab him the behstud!”
When I was safely grabbed the blonde one gave me several punches in the face”
In the police station Behan gives his well-rehearsed statement:
“My name is Brendan Behan. I came over here to fight for the Irish workers’ and Small Farmers Republic, for a full and free life, for my countrymen, North and South and for the removal of the baneful influence of British Imperialism from Irish affairs. God Save Ireland”
Behan’s construction of prison life is complex and not always what you expect. He makes it clear that Irish working class Catholics and English working class Protestants have more in common than their middle and upper class masters on either side. This is reflected in the Marxist analysis espoused by the Official IRA who argued that class was more potent than religion and should be a unifying factor.
Behan captures the monotony of prison life, the importance of tobacco, of friendships, the variable food. At that time the prisoners did work on a variety of jobs (including sewing mailbags). Behan finds his way around and through the system. There is casual violence, but Behan seems to avoid most of it by being just as tough as he needs to be, but mostly by his charm and friendliness. He describes relationships with the authorities, not good in Walton, much better in Hollesley. There were sexual relationships in prison. Behan does not ignore them, although he is careful as homosexuality was still illegal when he wrote the book. His language is coded but clear, as is his own bisexuality.
What the book does need is a good editor; it’s too long and is sometimes dominated by the sheer strength of Behan’s character and is now clouded by the mythology surrounding him. As Augustine Martin said in 1963;
“Brendan Behan does not invite critical comment on his work. The whole character of the man discourages it. The public image that he has created is so tremendously alive and exuberant that one is inclined to regard the writing as a mere casual offshoot of his rollicking personality. As if, in fact, the work was there as an excuse to display the man. Again one feels a little silly in treating his work with more attention and respect the he allows it himself.”
Behan is an amiable companion who seems to realize that although he hates the British state, he actually gets on very well with the British working class. Given what he intended it is very difficult not to like Behan as he goes on what is a voyage of discovery about his “enemies”.
February 17, 2022
About a month ago the US had Banned Books Week – at least, I think it was just the US, it is always hard to tell. Anyway, it started me thinking about books that had been banned in Australia. This one was banned in Australia in 1958, shortly after it had been banned in Ireland. Australia didn’t gave reasons for banning this book – and the Irish don’t give reasons for banning books – but, to quote Wikipedia – “it is believed that it was rejected for its critique of Irish republicanism and the Catholic Church, and its depiction of adolescent sexuality.”
I decided I would read this on their recommendation.
This is a strikingly good book. In fact, it is a coming of age novel with a twist. Behan is 16, turning 17 when he is sent to Liverpool with some gelignite by the IRA to blow up a ship. He is caught before he gets a chance and, fortunately being underage, he isn’t executed or sentenced to 20 years.
This is a book of disillusionment, many of the most irritating characters in this book are his fellow Irish, and many of the people most fond of him and most supportive of him, are the English working class kids he meets in Borstal – more his own people than the Irish he meets in prison.
I struggle to see why this was banned in Australia. I completely understand the Irish ban. He gives the Catholic Church a kicking that would be unlikely to have been forgiven quickly – but his excuse is that he was excommunicated by the Church while he was in prison for not renouncing the IRA, something Behan sees as his church abandoning him while supporting the enemies of his nation.
But that hardly seems reason enough to ban the book in Australia, even in the 1950s. The book is set in a prison with boys around 17 years old – that it includes various fantasies about what they would like to do with women and girls, if given half a chance, is hardly surprising. But none of the fantasies are particularly shocking. Honestly, if you are thinking of reading this as a kind of soft-porn novel, you’d be better off looking elsewhere.
Behan has an eye and an ear – and he uses both with remarkable skill. I enjoyed this book very much – but really, it is far too charming a book to have deserved being banned.
I decided I would read this on their recommendation.
This is a strikingly good book. In fact, it is a coming of age novel with a twist. Behan is 16, turning 17 when he is sent to Liverpool with some gelignite by the IRA to blow up a ship. He is caught before he gets a chance and, fortunately being underage, he isn’t executed or sentenced to 20 years.
This is a book of disillusionment, many of the most irritating characters in this book are his fellow Irish, and many of the people most fond of him and most supportive of him, are the English working class kids he meets in Borstal – more his own people than the Irish he meets in prison.
I struggle to see why this was banned in Australia. I completely understand the Irish ban. He gives the Catholic Church a kicking that would be unlikely to have been forgiven quickly – but his excuse is that he was excommunicated by the Church while he was in prison for not renouncing the IRA, something Behan sees as his church abandoning him while supporting the enemies of his nation.
But that hardly seems reason enough to ban the book in Australia, even in the 1950s. The book is set in a prison with boys around 17 years old – that it includes various fantasies about what they would like to do with women and girls, if given half a chance, is hardly surprising. But none of the fantasies are particularly shocking. Honestly, if you are thinking of reading this as a kind of soft-porn novel, you’d be better off looking elsewhere.
Behan has an eye and an ear – and he uses both with remarkable skill. I enjoyed this book very much – but really, it is far too charming a book to have deserved being banned.
August 2, 2017
A wonderful book, and far better than I was expecting.
I was inspired to pick up Borstal Boy having come across a reference to it in (the marvellous) Handsome Brute: The Story of a Ladykiller. Neville Heath, a once infamous 1940s British murderer, was incarcerated, before he was convicted of murder, with Brendan Behan at Hollesley Bay borstal in Suffolk.
Brendan Behan was arrested in Liverpool, aged 16, with explosives and the intention of blowing up the Liverpool dock. The first section of the book covers his period on remand in Walton prison near Liverpool. Needless to say, the prison officers and many of the prisoners were very hostile to an IRA man arrested with the intention of planting a bomb. Indeed most of the Irish people Brendan met whilst on remand, in an effort to show they were loyal to England, were often even more hostile. This was a dangerous time for Brendan Behan however his stoicism, guile and humour, and the few friends he made, helped him to deal with this challenging period.
Once sentenced, and after a brief period at Feltham, Brendan Behan had the good fortune to arrive at Hollesley Bay borstal where he made many good friends, and where the enlightened approach of Prison Governor Cyril Joyce aka "the Squire" allowed the boys to work and flourish in a constructive environment. This section is the heart of the book. Brendan Behan's hard line republicanism softens as he discovers how much common ground he shares with his working class friends.
Brendan Behan's descriptions of the various characters he encounters throughout his imprisonment, and the humour and humanity he describes, is compelling. The description of his attitudes, and the attitudes of those around him, is very interesting and revealing. It's an illuminating insight into prison conditions during the late 1930/early 1940s and full of humour, humanity and occasional horror.
Overall it's a very enjoyable and uplifting book, which is testimony to Brendan Behan's personality and his skill as a writer.
5/5
I was inspired to pick up Borstal Boy having come across a reference to it in (the marvellous) Handsome Brute: The Story of a Ladykiller. Neville Heath, a once infamous 1940s British murderer, was incarcerated, before he was convicted of murder, with Brendan Behan at Hollesley Bay borstal in Suffolk.
Brendan Behan was arrested in Liverpool, aged 16, with explosives and the intention of blowing up the Liverpool dock. The first section of the book covers his period on remand in Walton prison near Liverpool. Needless to say, the prison officers and many of the prisoners were very hostile to an IRA man arrested with the intention of planting a bomb. Indeed most of the Irish people Brendan met whilst on remand, in an effort to show they were loyal to England, were often even more hostile. This was a dangerous time for Brendan Behan however his stoicism, guile and humour, and the few friends he made, helped him to deal with this challenging period.
Once sentenced, and after a brief period at Feltham, Brendan Behan had the good fortune to arrive at Hollesley Bay borstal where he made many good friends, and where the enlightened approach of Prison Governor Cyril Joyce aka "the Squire" allowed the boys to work and flourish in a constructive environment. This section is the heart of the book. Brendan Behan's hard line republicanism softens as he discovers how much common ground he shares with his working class friends.
Brendan Behan's descriptions of the various characters he encounters throughout his imprisonment, and the humour and humanity he describes, is compelling. The description of his attitudes, and the attitudes of those around him, is very interesting and revealing. It's an illuminating insight into prison conditions during the late 1930/early 1940s and full of humour, humanity and occasional horror.
Overall it's a very enjoyable and uplifting book, which is testimony to Brendan Behan's personality and his skill as a writer.
5/5
January 11, 2016
Borstal Boy sat for many a year on my to be read bookcase due to its inclusion on the 1001 books one must read before death, a list which has caused me all sorts of grief and happiness. Due to the urgent need to reclaim space I grabbed it for a 8 hour flight, much as one would shuffle up to a particularly healthy kale salad. I presumed it would be good for me but there was little joy.
Having finished it and pondered over it, I am glad i read it but it is an unsettling book. Borstal Boy is an autobiographical account of Brendan Behans arrest in Liverpool in 1939 for owning bombmaking material as part of an apparantly unauthorized solo mission to set off bombs for the IRA and subsequent imprisonment.
The oddity of this book, particularly after the drumroll of sadness that was 2015 is its all written in a bit of a boys own adventure, fair cop guv and didnt we have a few laughs along the way style. Brendan Behan saw himself as an Irish patriot fighting for freedom, but it is striking how little personal ill will he bore to either his English captors and fellow inmates and vice versa. Avoiding a harsher sentence due to his age he then spent three years in the British juvenile prison system which seemed to be based on lots of meaningless exercise, cigarettes, some but not all that much violence and hinted at sexuality. Its a book about 16-18 year olds and what they like to do and how they think. What is most notably absent is any remorse by any of the inmates despite crimes like murder, rape, etc etc. Ideology takes a distant second, almost written off as an embarrasment, to the ecosytem the juvenile offenders build between themselves and with the gaurds. Much of it is written with a kind of warm affection, with the only passion being reserved for the catholic church which bars him as an IRA member from attending mass.
It all rings very true to the machismo of 16-18 year old males and was an interesting if confounding book.
Having finished it and pondered over it, I am glad i read it but it is an unsettling book. Borstal Boy is an autobiographical account of Brendan Behans arrest in Liverpool in 1939 for owning bombmaking material as part of an apparantly unauthorized solo mission to set off bombs for the IRA and subsequent imprisonment.
The oddity of this book, particularly after the drumroll of sadness that was 2015 is its all written in a bit of a boys own adventure, fair cop guv and didnt we have a few laughs along the way style. Brendan Behan saw himself as an Irish patriot fighting for freedom, but it is striking how little personal ill will he bore to either his English captors and fellow inmates and vice versa. Avoiding a harsher sentence due to his age he then spent three years in the British juvenile prison system which seemed to be based on lots of meaningless exercise, cigarettes, some but not all that much violence and hinted at sexuality. Its a book about 16-18 year olds and what they like to do and how they think. What is most notably absent is any remorse by any of the inmates despite crimes like murder, rape, etc etc. Ideology takes a distant second, almost written off as an embarrasment, to the ecosytem the juvenile offenders build between themselves and with the gaurds. Much of it is written with a kind of warm affection, with the only passion being reserved for the catholic church which bars him as an IRA member from attending mass.
It all rings very true to the machismo of 16-18 year old males and was an interesting if confounding book.
October 19, 2010
Warm, human, literate and intelligent. A terrific reading experience.
( just to note : I was amused to read a review in which the reader lamented the lack of sodomy and violence. Were they reading the same book I did? Or is it that subtlety is lost on them? Was also a bit shocked to hear it described as 'boring' Perhaps folk's appetites have been so dulled by misery porn that they can't cope with more than a straight forward catalogue of horrors. Shame that, because it means the nuances and layers in this work have passed them by.)
( just to note : I was amused to read a review in which the reader lamented the lack of sodomy and violence. Were they reading the same book I did? Or is it that subtlety is lost on them? Was also a bit shocked to hear it described as 'boring' Perhaps folk's appetites have been so dulled by misery porn that they can't cope with more than a straight forward catalogue of horrors. Shame that, because it means the nuances and layers in this work have passed them by.)
November 19, 2017
Your enjoyment of this book depends upon how much you like Brendan Behan's narrative voice. I am absolutely charmed by his writing style, and would have been happy had this book been twice the length, as I feel I could listen to him forever. His writing style is so honest, vivid and witty. The narrative begins with a young Brendan, age 16, who is in Liverpool for the first time in his life. He is an agent of the IRA and is supposed to plant a bomb in Liverpool, but before he can do so, he is caught by the British police.
Young Brendan, the would-be terrorist, comes across as naive, but full of life and goodwill. It's hard to believe he would willingly kill anyone -- and his reasons for joining the IRA are not reflected on very much in the text. The older Behan's thoughts are also not directly apparent anywhere: we do not know what he, as an adult, thinks of the IRA or of the actions of his younger self. The readers is left to draw their own conclusions. Though Brendan is clearly culpable for his actions, he is also very young and his been indoctrinated by the IRA all his life -- most of his family are members. It's interesting to read Bredan's story in light of current young suicide bombers or terrorists and to get a sense of how someone so young can become willing to do terrible things.
The novel mostly covers Brendan's experiences first in a men's prison, and then in the Borstal, which is a prison / reform school for young men. The men's prison is a frightening experience for Brendan -- he is afraid the other prisoners will attack him because of his political affiliations, and does not think the guards will protect him. The regime in the men's prison is harsh, with a lot of time spent in solitary, and poor food. In contrast, the time Brendan spends in Borstal is written about with fondness. The Borstal requires the young men to work between ten and twelve hours a day, either in the fields or on building sites. Brendan does not once complain about this, but seems to find the hard labour and companionship with other young men convivial. He is very measured in his assessment of the other prisoners, and of the guards. From his description, I can imagine many young men would find Borstal a terrible experience, but Brendan faces it with courage. His perpetual good cheer and gentleness towards men around him are very endearing.
The book is full of life: conversations between the young men, about sex, religion, crime and families are all recounted in vivid dialogue. It's easy to see that Behan is a playwrite. The songs the prisoners sing, the descriptions of nature, work and hardship all add to the atmosphere, but overall it's Behan's narrative voice that makes this book shine. This was my second reading, but it's definitely a book I'll come back to.
Young Brendan, the would-be terrorist, comes across as naive, but full of life and goodwill. It's hard to believe he would willingly kill anyone -- and his reasons for joining the IRA are not reflected on very much in the text. The older Behan's thoughts are also not directly apparent anywhere: we do not know what he, as an adult, thinks of the IRA or of the actions of his younger self. The readers is left to draw their own conclusions. Though Brendan is clearly culpable for his actions, he is also very young and his been indoctrinated by the IRA all his life -- most of his family are members. It's interesting to read Bredan's story in light of current young suicide bombers or terrorists and to get a sense of how someone so young can become willing to do terrible things.
The novel mostly covers Brendan's experiences first in a men's prison, and then in the Borstal, which is a prison / reform school for young men. The men's prison is a frightening experience for Brendan -- he is afraid the other prisoners will attack him because of his political affiliations, and does not think the guards will protect him. The regime in the men's prison is harsh, with a lot of time spent in solitary, and poor food. In contrast, the time Brendan spends in Borstal is written about with fondness. The Borstal requires the young men to work between ten and twelve hours a day, either in the fields or on building sites. Brendan does not once complain about this, but seems to find the hard labour and companionship with other young men convivial. He is very measured in his assessment of the other prisoners, and of the guards. From his description, I can imagine many young men would find Borstal a terrible experience, but Brendan faces it with courage. His perpetual good cheer and gentleness towards men around him are very endearing.
The book is full of life: conversations between the young men, about sex, religion, crime and families are all recounted in vivid dialogue. It's easy to see that Behan is a playwrite. The songs the prisoners sing, the descriptions of nature, work and hardship all add to the atmosphere, but overall it's Behan's narrative voice that makes this book shine. This was my second reading, but it's definitely a book I'll come back to.
March 18, 2013
★★★★✩ What better book to read on St. Patrick’s Day than Borstal Boy, by Brendan Behan? Niall Tóibín, Irish comedian and actor, narrates this one that is semi-autobiographical story of the author. After committing murder via an IRA bomb, a 16 year old boy is locked-up in three English detention institutions during WWII. However, Mr. Tóibín's accent (depending on the dialect he is doing) is so thick, I had to play back parts, though I did get used to it. Still, wonderful dialogue, jokes, slang words, and few great songs sung in Irish in this once banned book.
June 14, 2010
England, 1939-1942. Brendan "Paddy" Behan is convicted of murder: he detonated an explosive that killed at least 4 people. Since he is 16 y/o at the time of the crime, he now stays in an institution called a Borstal which is a type of youth prison in the United Kingdom, run by the Prison Service and intended to reform seriously delinquent young people ages below 17.
Think Prisonbreak but with almost no escapees and definitely no rape, sodomy, gang wars and drugs. In Borstal Boy, there are just friendships between young heterosexual men, shower scenes minus anything unusual, morning exercises, singing and reading classic literatures (The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, Crime and Punishment, etc). It is almost boring except the fact that these young people are mostly members of Irish Republican Army or I.R.A. (1922-1969) which fought the British army to gain independence for Ireland. Paddy's opening statement for himself says it all:
"My lord and gentlemen, it is my privilege and honour today, to stand, as so many of my countrymen have done, in an English court, to testify to the unyielding determination of the Irish people to regain every inch of our national territory and to give expression to the noble inspirations for which so much Irish blood has been shed, and for which no many of my comrades are now lying in your jails."
Prior to this book, all I knew about IRA were those I saw in the movies and up until now, I did not know that it was a major and long struggle.
This is a semi-autobiography of Brendan Behan who used is own name in the novel and said to have meticulously related what transpired during his 3-year stay in Borstal. According to Wikipedia, what is really good about this novel are the dialogues as Behan was able to capture the exact languages and their eccentricities during those times. For example, in several scenes, British prisoners would easily identify that Paddy is from Ireland and some could even identify in which part of that country.
But my favorite parts are the songs. Although I could barely identify them, they reminded me of my songs that my father used to sing when I was a young child. Songs that I did not hear on the radio as those were songs by the inmates in Caloocan City Jail where he served as a policeman and jail guard. One inspiring morning song goes like this:
Another song is the poignant painful and has this part:
I wish I could remember the rest just to pass them on to my daughter. The songs his grandfather used to sing especially when he was drunk.
In the book, Brendan sang a Borstal Song that goes like this:
It is very Irish, isn't it? Remind me of Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes.
Think Prisonbreak but with almost no escapees and definitely no rape, sodomy, gang wars and drugs. In Borstal Boy, there are just friendships between young heterosexual men, shower scenes minus anything unusual, morning exercises, singing and reading classic literatures (The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, Crime and Punishment, etc). It is almost boring except the fact that these young people are mostly members of Irish Republican Army or I.R.A. (1922-1969) which fought the British army to gain independence for Ireland. Paddy's opening statement for himself says it all:
"My lord and gentlemen, it is my privilege and honour today, to stand, as so many of my countrymen have done, in an English court, to testify to the unyielding determination of the Irish people to regain every inch of our national territory and to give expression to the noble inspirations for which so much Irish blood has been shed, and for which no many of my comrades are now lying in your jails."
Prior to this book, all I knew about IRA were those I saw in the movies and up until now, I did not know that it was a major and long struggle.
This is a semi-autobiography of Brendan Behan who used is own name in the novel and said to have meticulously related what transpired during his 3-year stay in Borstal. According to Wikipedia, what is really good about this novel are the dialogues as Behan was able to capture the exact languages and their eccentricities during those times. For example, in several scenes, British prisoners would easily identify that Paddy is from Ireland and some could even identify in which part of that country.
But my favorite parts are the songs. Although I could barely identify them, they reminded me of my songs that my father used to sing when I was a young child. Songs that I did not hear on the radio as those were songs by the inmates in Caloocan City Jail where he served as a policeman and jail guard. One inspiring morning song goes like this:
Umaga na Neneng, tulog ka pa
Namamanaag na ang sikat ng araw sa umaga
Kung ikaw man ay hapo, sa mga dusang natamo
Gising at magbangon ka sa umaga
Another song is the poignant painful and has this part:
Pag ako'y namatay, aakat sa langit
Doon magsusumbong ng di mo pag-ibig
Pag pinayagan muli, muling magbabalik
Ay naku, o Diyos ko, ng di mo pag-ibig
I wish I could remember the rest just to pass them on to my daughter. The songs his grandfather used to sing especially when he was drunk.
In the book, Brendan sang a Borstal Song that goes like this:
"Oh, they say I ain't no good 'cause I'm a Borstal boy,
But a Borstal boy is what I'll always be,
I know it is a title, a title I bear with pride,
To Borstal, to Borstal and the beautiful countryside.
I turn my back upon the 'ole society,
And spent me life a-thievin' 'igh and low,
I've got the funniest feelin' for 'alf-inchin' and for stealin',
I should 'ave been in Borstal years ago,
Gor blimey!
I should 'ave been in Borstal years ago."
It is very Irish, isn't it? Remind me of Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes.
April 29, 2009
Period piece that's a less disturbing read than its reputation would predict. Young loose cannon Behan of the IRA gets caught redhanded in England, and learns the system -- and the country that founded it- via its correctional institutions. Banned in Ireland as obscene, this took a while getting published and still managed to upset applecarts in the fifties.
Though tame for contemporary readers, this is the Cooks Tour of the world 'inside', circa early forties, in the north of England. Oddly enough, the comic overall scheme isn't all that different from the humor in a hollywood movie of the era. But the slang, the dense regional patter and class interaction develop the central themes; it's really a tough little coming-of-age story within a frame.
For the Tories, this would have been a withering indictment of the nanny-state administering it's tender mercies. For the Irish, another well-aimed blow against the empire, clever enough to be funny. For a reader, some sixty years later, it's the language. The dialogue can be very intricate although surprisingly offhand. A snip of rhyming slang could place the speaker, inform the listener, geographically (to the streetcorner, sometimes) situate the conversation's participants-- all while remaining opaque to those who might overhear it, and deceptive to the authorities. Keeping the governor in the dark is at all times critical.
Burgess would mine this same vein years later, and more violently, with A Clockwork Orange, outlining the class-structure, sketching the institutional framework, and even going one further by inventing a hyper-slang (his nadsat, based on bits of cockney and soviet jargon).
In the condition of near-total captivity & forfeited control, as with incarceration in correctional institutions, the flowchart of information becomes critical. And the conveyor belt of language becomes epic in scale, a kind of theater of cruelty, written as you go. Where, by necessity, the short, dense, and most cryptic remark gains immortality for the speaker, with all the force of a punch.
Though tame for contemporary readers, this is the Cooks Tour of the world 'inside', circa early forties, in the north of England. Oddly enough, the comic overall scheme isn't all that different from the humor in a hollywood movie of the era. But the slang, the dense regional patter and class interaction develop the central themes; it's really a tough little coming-of-age story within a frame.
For the Tories, this would have been a withering indictment of the nanny-state administering it's tender mercies. For the Irish, another well-aimed blow against the empire, clever enough to be funny. For a reader, some sixty years later, it's the language. The dialogue can be very intricate although surprisingly offhand. A snip of rhyming slang could place the speaker, inform the listener, geographically (to the streetcorner, sometimes) situate the conversation's participants-- all while remaining opaque to those who might overhear it, and deceptive to the authorities. Keeping the governor in the dark is at all times critical.
Burgess would mine this same vein years later, and more violently, with A Clockwork Orange, outlining the class-structure, sketching the institutional framework, and even going one further by inventing a hyper-slang (his nadsat, based on bits of cockney and soviet jargon).
In the condition of near-total captivity & forfeited control, as with incarceration in correctional institutions, the flowchart of information becomes critical. And the conveyor belt of language becomes epic in scale, a kind of theater of cruelty, written as you go. Where, by necessity, the short, dense, and most cryptic remark gains immortality for the speaker, with all the force of a punch.
May 31, 2022
3.5 stars. An interesting, semi autobiographical, prison literature novel about Brendan’s time in prison from age 16 to 18. He was arrested in Liverpool in 1939 in possession of I.R.A. explosives. He grew up in a working class, Roman Catholic, Republican family in Dublin.
A proud, fearful, lonely, aggressive young man who used his fists in the macho culture of the Borstal institution. He reads lots and sings on many occasions. A good public speaker, always ready to speak about what’s on his mind. He writes about lots of characters. The dialogue is very realistic.
This book was first published in 1958. The author died in 1964, aged 41. (A heavy drinker and a diabetic).
A proud, fearful, lonely, aggressive young man who used his fists in the macho culture of the Borstal institution. He reads lots and sings on many occasions. A good public speaker, always ready to speak about what’s on his mind. He writes about lots of characters. The dialogue is very realistic.
This book was first published in 1958. The author died in 1964, aged 41. (A heavy drinker and a diabetic).
March 13, 2018
Прямая и безыскусная (при этом — дисциплинированная и разнообразная) тюремная проза — и роман взросления, и автобиография, конечно, и кладезь знаний о том, как было все устроено у поздних (ну или ранних, смотря как смотреть) боевиков ИРА в головах. В общем, бесценная классика. Даже если вы больше из нее не почерпнете, кроме того, как жить в ливерпулской тюрьме в 1939 году.
Хотя на самом деле, конечно, это книга о поисках естественного прайда и нуль-родины. Нет, в данном случае это не ИРА и не Ирландия, как ни странно. Биэн отыскал подобных себе в той шантрапе, что населяла борстал (и управляла им), а они зачастую не были даже ирландцами. Такой вот удивительный поворот исторического нарратива и выверт национального сознания.
Хотя на самом деле, конечно, это книга о поисках естественного прайда и нуль-родины. Нет, в данном случае это не ИРА и не Ирландия, как ни странно. Биэн отыскал подобных себе в той шантрапе, что населяла борстал (и управляла им), а они зачастую не были даже ирландцами. Такой вот удивительный поворот исторического нарратива и выверт национального сознания.
February 5, 2016
Brendan tells his story of a childhood in Ireland to his involvement with the I.R.A. and his arrest and incarceration in the U.K.
A great tale of a heavy life, with heavy drinking and flying fists the size of melons.
A great tale of a heavy life, with heavy drinking and flying fists the size of melons.
October 29, 2025
Up the ra and all that but this was a bit boring.
June 12, 2022
"Borstal Boy" is a strange autobiographical novel about the 3 years that Brendan Behan passed in detention in England between November 1939 and November 1941. A mere 16, Behan was already a member of the IRA. He travelled to Liverpool for the purpose of planting a bomb at the docks but was arrested within his first week in the city. As a minor he was sentenced to three years in a Borstal School (i.e. juvenile detention facility.) Chock full of amusing anecdotes about the young Brendan and his new mates, "Borstal Boy" essentially tells the reader nothing about either the I.R.A. or life in detention. It is rather a fond memory of what would prove to the best years of Brendan Behan's lamentably short life. "I'd been well looked after"(p. 363) he observed upon being released.
Several reasons might explain Behan's silence on the I.R.A. One revealed secrets about the I.R.A. at the peril of one's life. Behan's life-long loyalty to the organisation was probably a bigger issue. There is no reason to believe that he ever left the organization. He continued to participate actively in the its violent and illegal operations for ten years after the end of his term in a Borstal school. Throughout the book he rages against the Roman Catholic Church which excommunicated him for belonging the I.R.A. but he never addresses the reasons underlying its opposition to the I.R.A,
Generally Behan avoids political issues. He has nothing to say about de Valera or internal Irish politics. His novel is about youth and friendship. His references to WWII, which was taking place during his stay in the Borstal school, are scant. Nonetheless he describes himself as being in profound grief when he learned that his closest Borstal friend had died serving in the British Navy.
"Borstal Boy" was much talked about during the first fifteen years after its publication in 1958. Its subject matter was both new and sensational. Today over sixty years later, it disappoints as it almost never talks about the things most of interest to its readers.
Several reasons might explain Behan's silence on the I.R.A. One revealed secrets about the I.R.A. at the peril of one's life. Behan's life-long loyalty to the organisation was probably a bigger issue. There is no reason to believe that he ever left the organization. He continued to participate actively in the its violent and illegal operations for ten years after the end of his term in a Borstal school. Throughout the book he rages against the Roman Catholic Church which excommunicated him for belonging the I.R.A. but he never addresses the reasons underlying its opposition to the I.R.A,
Generally Behan avoids political issues. He has nothing to say about de Valera or internal Irish politics. His novel is about youth and friendship. His references to WWII, which was taking place during his stay in the Borstal school, are scant. Nonetheless he describes himself as being in profound grief when he learned that his closest Borstal friend had died serving in the British Navy.
"Borstal Boy" was much talked about during the first fifteen years after its publication in 1958. Its subject matter was both new and sensational. Today over sixty years later, it disappoints as it almost never talks about the things most of interest to its readers.
February 2, 2021
I read the first 100 pages of this a year ago and got discouraged by the fact that Behan hadn’t even got to Borstal yet. I had been primed by years of Irish misery-lit that this eventuality would lead to starvation, beatings, and at least one death-by-suicide. It wasn’t tempting – in the (at the time novel) throes of a global pandemic – to continue at that point.
In fact, the tone and events of this book are closer to Paddington 2 than One Day in the Live of Ivan Denisovich. The narrator of this book – who is, I imagine, closer to Behan’s Platonic ideal of himself than the actual Behan, who killed himself with drink by age 41 – is a cheerful Stoic who appears to have the natural instincts of Marcus Aurelius. He lives in the moment, enjoys his grub, forgives his enemies, takes everyone as they come (even when he shouldn’t, in the case of rapists and violent murderers), and does unto others as he would have them do unto him. In that sense, despite his IRA-related excommunication, he’s more of a true Christian than many actual Christians.
Behan is imprisoned for political crimes, but the fact that the UK government refused to view the IRA’s activities as such means he’s in juvenile detention with murderers, rapists, thieves, and arsonists. This is only glancingly referred to. There is very little violence on-page, and none of the sexual assault that I assumed went hand-in-glove with these kind of institutions. In fact, Borstal appears more in the light of an Enid Blyton boarding school than a penal detention centre. They even pig out on the leftover fruit in the orchards and go for sneaky sea-swims.
It’s very clear that Charlie is in love with Behan. Behan reciprocates platonically: Charlie is the first of many ‘chinas’ Behan gathers to himself in Borstal, where he is as super popular as the sweet-hearted bear. There’s hints that Charlie and the aptly-named Shaggy are having it off after everyone’s ‘kipped in’. It looks like the 2000 film adaptation saw what I saw and ran with it: power to them. (Danny Dyer, who played Charlie, is mainly known for his role in EastEnders. So. Yeah.)
Proof:
“That kid thinks so much of you, Paddy, that if Parry had done you today, Charlie would more nor likely have gone after ‘im with a razor blade and shivved him.”
“Charlie was rolling a rake-up and looking at it, sulkily. He didn’t like to be left out of anything I was in.”
Various reviews I scanned described Behan as idealistic. I think that’s the opposite of the truth. Behan has the comic’s deep cynicism everything, not excluding politics. Many of his jokes use the IRA as the gag.
Examples:
“ ‘It’s supposed to be about Partition. About the Six Counties. Well, I’ve interviewed a lot of your fellows, and god blind old Reilly if one of them could even name the bloody things. Not all six, they couldn’t. Go on, now, you. The whole six, mind.”
“The IRA mostly used Norman names that could be Irish or English, like D’Arcy, Reynolds, or Dillon. But some of them picked names for themselves. I knew a Connemara man who christened himself Thomas de Quincey. He could barely speak English.”
“[…] in fact, it had been argued by the Minister for Justice in debates in the Dáil that their generosity to the other prisoners with tobacco was an excuse for not letting the political have any.”
He’s also supremely even-handed, with the detached calmness of someone who’s spent a lifetime weighing up the justice of every proposition - not the brash and violent notions of a half-baked ideologue.
“A desperate thing for the Germans or the Russians or the Fuzzie-Wuzzies to do as much to one of theirs, and a crime against humanity, but a far different thing it looked to them to do the same to someone else – and you couldn’t blame them. Everyone has their own way of looking at things and you couldn’t blame them for taking a favourable view of their own kicking once they were kicking you in their country and not they being kicked by someone else in someone else’s.”
“ ‘My screw is all right. He was years in India and hates black men, that’s all.’
‘Maybe the black men weren’t out of their minds about him, either.’
Sadly he walks this back by saying the screw should ‘rave on’ about it if it makes him feel better.
“This happened to me at school and it’s certainly no good just saying ‘grin and bear it, that you will have to put up with it, like everyone else, that maybe you’re getting on someone else’s nerves’. Maybe, nothing can be done about it, but it’s always worth having a talk with someone about it. More than likely, you will find out that your differences with staff or other men will straighten themselves out after a time, but it’s always worth having a chat with someone if you feel your troubles are getting beyond you.”
B. Behan earnestly urging you to GO THE FUCK TO THERAPY all the way back in 1958. (Pity he didn’t take his own advice.)
He’s not perfect, by any means; at one point he actually says to an actual rapist that ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’. All the same, he’s got this deep knowledge and love for Ireland that runs like a buried river under the blood-soaked fields of the ideologies that tore this land apart. It soothes his instinctive anger and turns it into yearning. Which is a very Irish way to do things.
“If I was willing to serve Mass, it was in memory of my ancestors standing around a rock, in a lonely glen, for fear of the landlords and their yeomen, or sneaking through a back-lane in Dublin, and giving the password, to hear Mass in a slum public-house, when a priest’s head was worth five pounds and an Irish Catholic had no existence in law.”
He writes like an Irish person talks, which I appreciate. Look at some of these descriptions – only an Irish person could have written them:
“It was a cold raw evening, and the light leaving the sky, wondering how it ever got into it.”
“[…] with a creeping Jesus accent of remembered starvation on him –”
And he’s also very, very funny.
“ ‘[…] Some people don’t like the Irish – I do.’
‘They’re very popular with themselves,’ said I.”
“I looked at the matter [of putting a dead rat in a cider recipe] scientifically and said: “Well, I won’t say I ever saw that. It must have been a recipe handed down in the family.’
‘That’s what it was, Paddy, ‘anded down. ‘Course it was skinned.’”
“ ‘I can see a joke as well as the next sod.’
You could, be Jesus, if it was two feet from your nose and written as high as the neon sign over Larne Harbour, ‘Welcome to sunny Ulster, the wages of sin is death.’”
GNU, Brendan Behan.
In fact, the tone and events of this book are closer to Paddington 2 than One Day in the Live of Ivan Denisovich. The narrator of this book – who is, I imagine, closer to Behan’s Platonic ideal of himself than the actual Behan, who killed himself with drink by age 41 – is a cheerful Stoic who appears to have the natural instincts of Marcus Aurelius. He lives in the moment, enjoys his grub, forgives his enemies, takes everyone as they come (even when he shouldn’t, in the case of rapists and violent murderers), and does unto others as he would have them do unto him. In that sense, despite his IRA-related excommunication, he’s more of a true Christian than many actual Christians.
Behan is imprisoned for political crimes, but the fact that the UK government refused to view the IRA’s activities as such means he’s in juvenile detention with murderers, rapists, thieves, and arsonists. This is only glancingly referred to. There is very little violence on-page, and none of the sexual assault that I assumed went hand-in-glove with these kind of institutions. In fact, Borstal appears more in the light of an Enid Blyton boarding school than a penal detention centre. They even pig out on the leftover fruit in the orchards and go for sneaky sea-swims.
It’s very clear that Charlie is in love with Behan. Behan reciprocates platonically: Charlie is the first of many ‘chinas’ Behan gathers to himself in Borstal, where he is as super popular as the sweet-hearted bear. There’s hints that Charlie and the aptly-named Shaggy are having it off after everyone’s ‘kipped in’. It looks like the 2000 film adaptation saw what I saw and ran with it: power to them. (Danny Dyer, who played Charlie, is mainly known for his role in EastEnders. So. Yeah.)
Proof:
“That kid thinks so much of you, Paddy, that if Parry had done you today, Charlie would more nor likely have gone after ‘im with a razor blade and shivved him.”
“Charlie was rolling a rake-up and looking at it, sulkily. He didn’t like to be left out of anything I was in.”
Various reviews I scanned described Behan as idealistic. I think that’s the opposite of the truth. Behan has the comic’s deep cynicism everything, not excluding politics. Many of his jokes use the IRA as the gag.
Examples:
“ ‘It’s supposed to be about Partition. About the Six Counties. Well, I’ve interviewed a lot of your fellows, and god blind old Reilly if one of them could even name the bloody things. Not all six, they couldn’t. Go on, now, you. The whole six, mind.”
“The IRA mostly used Norman names that could be Irish or English, like D’Arcy, Reynolds, or Dillon. But some of them picked names for themselves. I knew a Connemara man who christened himself Thomas de Quincey. He could barely speak English.”
“[…] in fact, it had been argued by the Minister for Justice in debates in the Dáil that their generosity to the other prisoners with tobacco was an excuse for not letting the political have any.”
He’s also supremely even-handed, with the detached calmness of someone who’s spent a lifetime weighing up the justice of every proposition - not the brash and violent notions of a half-baked ideologue.
“A desperate thing for the Germans or the Russians or the Fuzzie-Wuzzies to do as much to one of theirs, and a crime against humanity, but a far different thing it looked to them to do the same to someone else – and you couldn’t blame them. Everyone has their own way of looking at things and you couldn’t blame them for taking a favourable view of their own kicking once they were kicking you in their country and not they being kicked by someone else in someone else’s.”
“ ‘My screw is all right. He was years in India and hates black men, that’s all.’
‘Maybe the black men weren’t out of their minds about him, either.’
Sadly he walks this back by saying the screw should ‘rave on’ about it if it makes him feel better.
“This happened to me at school and it’s certainly no good just saying ‘grin and bear it, that you will have to put up with it, like everyone else, that maybe you’re getting on someone else’s nerves’. Maybe, nothing can be done about it, but it’s always worth having a talk with someone about it. More than likely, you will find out that your differences with staff or other men will straighten themselves out after a time, but it’s always worth having a chat with someone if you feel your troubles are getting beyond you.”
B. Behan earnestly urging you to GO THE FUCK TO THERAPY all the way back in 1958. (Pity he didn’t take his own advice.)
He’s not perfect, by any means; at one point he actually says to an actual rapist that ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’. All the same, he’s got this deep knowledge and love for Ireland that runs like a buried river under the blood-soaked fields of the ideologies that tore this land apart. It soothes his instinctive anger and turns it into yearning. Which is a very Irish way to do things.
“If I was willing to serve Mass, it was in memory of my ancestors standing around a rock, in a lonely glen, for fear of the landlords and their yeomen, or sneaking through a back-lane in Dublin, and giving the password, to hear Mass in a slum public-house, when a priest’s head was worth five pounds and an Irish Catholic had no existence in law.”
He writes like an Irish person talks, which I appreciate. Look at some of these descriptions – only an Irish person could have written them:
“It was a cold raw evening, and the light leaving the sky, wondering how it ever got into it.”
“[…] with a creeping Jesus accent of remembered starvation on him –”
And he’s also very, very funny.
“ ‘[…] Some people don’t like the Irish – I do.’
‘They’re very popular with themselves,’ said I.”
“I looked at the matter [of putting a dead rat in a cider recipe] scientifically and said: “Well, I won’t say I ever saw that. It must have been a recipe handed down in the family.’
‘That’s what it was, Paddy, ‘anded down. ‘Course it was skinned.’”
“ ‘I can see a joke as well as the next sod.’
You could, be Jesus, if it was two feet from your nose and written as high as the neon sign over Larne Harbour, ‘Welcome to sunny Ulster, the wages of sin is death.’”
GNU, Brendan Behan.
October 19, 2010
In 1939 sixteen year old IRA man Brendan Behan was arrested holding explosives which he was going to use to blow up the Liverpool docks, to strike a blow for Ireland against its age long imperial oppressor. Held on remand at Walton Prison, he was ex-communicated and suffered the occasional beating from the "screws". Sentenced to serve time in England's Borstal system for young prisoners, he was thrown in amongst the dregs of the British Empire, and found them to be splendid fellows.
"John Howard, the Quaker, invented solitary [confinement] they say. He must have had terrible little to do. These religious bastards, they have empty minds on account of not going in for sex, or sport, or drink, or swimming, or reading bad books. And Satan will find work for idle hands. To hell with him anyway. I always get grateful and pious in good weather and this was the kind of day you'd know that Christ died for you. A bloody good job that I wasn't born in the South of France or Miami Beach, or I'd be so grateful and holy for the sunshine that St. Paul of the Cross would be only trotting after me, skull, crossbones and all."
"But like that again, from my point of view I was as comic as I was pathetic and as comic as I was sinister; for such is the condition of man in this old world (and we better put up with it, such as it is, for I never saw much hurry in parish priests in getting to the next one, nor on parsons or rabbis, for the matter of that; and as they are all supposed to be the experts on the next world, we can take it that they have learned something very unpleasant about it which makes them prefer to stick it out in this one for as long as they can).
If there is a next world, and I'm offered the choice of where to spend my eternity within it, my choice will be simple; I'll just ask the honcho "which part is Brendan Behan in, and which part is Pat Robertson?", and follow Brendan Behan.
"John Howard, the Quaker, invented solitary [confinement] they say. He must have had terrible little to do. These religious bastards, they have empty minds on account of not going in for sex, or sport, or drink, or swimming, or reading bad books. And Satan will find work for idle hands. To hell with him anyway. I always get grateful and pious in good weather and this was the kind of day you'd know that Christ died for you. A bloody good job that I wasn't born in the South of France or Miami Beach, or I'd be so grateful and holy for the sunshine that St. Paul of the Cross would be only trotting after me, skull, crossbones and all."
"But like that again, from my point of view I was as comic as I was pathetic and as comic as I was sinister; for such is the condition of man in this old world (and we better put up with it, such as it is, for I never saw much hurry in parish priests in getting to the next one, nor on parsons or rabbis, for the matter of that; and as they are all supposed to be the experts on the next world, we can take it that they have learned something very unpleasant about it which makes them prefer to stick it out in this one for as long as they can).
If there is a next world, and I'm offered the choice of where to spend my eternity within it, my choice will be simple; I'll just ask the honcho "which part is Brendan Behan in, and which part is Pat Robertson?", and follow Brendan Behan.
March 15, 2016
Wouldn't have found this but for the Dublin Writers Museum, which had a modest yet compelling display about this Irish Patriot and his writing, both in print and by his own hand in the form of letters to his brother. As if by destiny, I found this one of Behan's books in a shop that same night when I was there visiting last September.
This is a rare glimpse into the 24/7 of a young man who is basically in the Irish version of Juvie for being an active member of the I.R.A. - stranded in Britain and far from his dear Ireland, he chronicles his plight in an uncommonly reflective, witty, vivid, interesting, and gripping manner, and not even the written vernacular will slow the reader down.
For the reader who's been to Ireland even once, Behan will manage to make the sweet winds of the Emerald Isle tousle your hair and long to be there, though he inspires this longing from the confines of the British prison system even before The Troubles of the 90s, when Ireland and Britain were still pretty much at war.
This is a rare glimpse into the 24/7 of a young man who is basically in the Irish version of Juvie for being an active member of the I.R.A. - stranded in Britain and far from his dear Ireland, he chronicles his plight in an uncommonly reflective, witty, vivid, interesting, and gripping manner, and not even the written vernacular will slow the reader down.
For the reader who's been to Ireland even once, Behan will manage to make the sweet winds of the Emerald Isle tousle your hair and long to be there, though he inspires this longing from the confines of the British prison system even before The Troubles of the 90s, when Ireland and Britain were still pretty much at war.
November 24, 2020
A fast, interesting read, and I like how he uses language. Do I believe he had quite such a soft time of it as he depicts? Not for a moment, having known several guys who went to "reform schools." Particularly not because of the IRA thing. If all and sundry spewed such hate when he was in the first place, I doubt they would have missed so many opportunities to make him suffer. But this was published in the 60s.
I will admit to skipping most of the poetry. Like many celtic gentlemen of my acquaintance, to hear Behan tell it most of the important songs and poems of IRA history were written by members of his family. Well, maybe. I was surprised that he left out links to Irish royalty...my friends certainly claimed those!
I will admit to skipping most of the poetry. Like many celtic gentlemen of my acquaintance, to hear Behan tell it most of the important songs and poems of IRA history were written by members of his family. Well, maybe. I was surprised that he left out links to Irish royalty...my friends certainly claimed those!
Read
June 29, 2022There's a very particular sort of charming Irish voice, ferociously witty and able to summon up hundreds of years of injustices in a single impeccable paragraph. Behan might be the most perfect type example I've found yet. We see him go through boredom, humiliation, annoyance, all set against a background of being subject to the cruelties of the colonial state and of the Catholic church and its betrayal of the cause of freedom. Granted, despite the background of politics, it would be hard to call this a truly political story -- it really is more of a coming of age than anything else, a story of another of the farrow that the old sow tried to eat.
April 5, 2015
It's a story about a guy who thinks the IRA are good but then he goes to jail and has a really good time in jail and then thinks the IRA are not quite as good as he originally thought
May 5, 2021
I found much joy in the borstal boy
March 31, 2022
One of my all time favourite albums is ‘Red Roses For Me’ by The Pogues. It is their first album, with lyrics drawing heavily on the life of Irish men in London in the 80’s and for years I had no idea what Shane MacGowan was singing about. I guess that was just me being ignorant, and too foreign a language, and backgrounds that not even remotely resembled my own. Having spent a lot of time blaring along phonetically, I decided one day it was time to give the album its due and listen with written lyrics on the side and boy was that a wake up call. MacGowan is one of the most profound writers ever to have walked the face of the earth, if you ask me, and he deserves lots more than the regular snarling he gets for the 'Oh there is the drunk Irish who once wrote Fairytale in New York' moments.
In ‘Streams of Whiskey’ Shane sings about a dream he has in which he meets Behan who offers ‘simple words on the crux of life philosophies’
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPpGp... (content and quality of this official video clip also deserve a lot of praise!)
The Behan in the song is Irish author Brendan Behan who MacGowan says is one of his main inspirations. Honouring this I thought it be good to take on Borstal Boy, Behan’s account of the three years he spent in a borstal, an English juvenile prison, for planning to set off a bomb, being a member of the youth section of the IRA. Apparently the book has been banned in Ireland for a while, the reason for which is completely unclear to me. The concept of banning books to me has always been weird, but in this particular case I even struggle to see any reason. As with the illegal high school cigarettes, or the fatherly sip of beer pre-drinking age, I guess banning this work, only added to its popularity.
I always like flipping through 1 star reviews of books I enjoyed reading myself, but for Borstal Boy there are just not a lot of these. And especially not with sharp, witty comments. Just don’t read the book if you’re not interested in the monotone goings of someone describing life in prison. Other than that, get on it! Behan’s pen is razor-sharp, the setting is bleak but there is humour and humanity all around.
The story follows the monotony of life in prison, with such realistic and detailed descriptions of all the colourful characters he encounters; all written in beautiful prose with the occasional (Irish) poem or song. Behan’s acceptance of the situation at hand, his positivity to the circumstances, his hope, and sympathy to his fellow inmates and also the prison staff are striking. The continuous belittling of him being Irish seems not to bother him much, he stands strong for his principles when required, but otherwise seems to get along well with many, not interested to throw a fit. And all along so eloquent. There’s the repetitive comfort of being served a warm meal, or getting to share just the dog-end of a cigarette with a friend. If the idea of life in a 1940’s prison is not enough to put things in the right perspective, then let Behan’s positivity serve as a reminder whenever the delivery guy runs late again.
It was not her name, but civility costs nothing. Thank you Mr. Behan!
In ‘Streams of Whiskey’ Shane sings about a dream he has in which he meets Behan who offers ‘simple words on the crux of life philosophies’
Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
I'll walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPpGp... (content and quality of this official video clip also deserve a lot of praise!)
The Behan in the song is Irish author Brendan Behan who MacGowan says is one of his main inspirations. Honouring this I thought it be good to take on Borstal Boy, Behan’s account of the three years he spent in a borstal, an English juvenile prison, for planning to set off a bomb, being a member of the youth section of the IRA. Apparently the book has been banned in Ireland for a while, the reason for which is completely unclear to me. The concept of banning books to me has always been weird, but in this particular case I even struggle to see any reason. As with the illegal high school cigarettes, or the fatherly sip of beer pre-drinking age, I guess banning this work, only added to its popularity.
I always like flipping through 1 star reviews of books I enjoyed reading myself, but for Borstal Boy there are just not a lot of these. And especially not with sharp, witty comments. Just don’t read the book if you’re not interested in the monotone goings of someone describing life in prison. Other than that, get on it! Behan’s pen is razor-sharp, the setting is bleak but there is humour and humanity all around.
The landlady was a mean woman from the Midlands. I don’t mean that coming from the Midlands caused her meanness. You’ll get good people from there, or from any other part of the world, but if Cockneys or a Siamese are mean or decent, they’ll be mean or decent in a Cockney or a Siamese way. This landlady was mean and as barren as a bog. Her broken windows would be a judgement on her for the cheap sausages and margarine she poisoned her table with, for she was only generous with things that cost little in cash, locking hall doors at night time and kneeling down to say the Rosary with the lodger and her sister, who always added three Hail Marys for holy purity and the protection of her person and modesty, so that you would think half the men in Liverpool were running after her, panting for a lick of her big buck teeth.
The story follows the monotony of life in prison, with such realistic and detailed descriptions of all the colourful characters he encounters; all written in beautiful prose with the occasional (Irish) poem or song. Behan’s acceptance of the situation at hand, his positivity to the circumstances, his hope, and sympathy to his fellow inmates and also the prison staff are striking. The continuous belittling of him being Irish seems not to bother him much, he stands strong for his principles when required, but otherwise seems to get along well with many, not interested to throw a fit. And all along so eloquent. There’s the repetitive comfort of being served a warm meal, or getting to share just the dog-end of a cigarette with a friend. If the idea of life in a 1940’s prison is not enough to put things in the right perspective, then let Behan’s positivity serve as a reminder whenever the delivery guy runs late again.
I sat beside Charlie. Opposite us, in the Black Maria, was a red-haired boy of my own age, and a small man with a broken nose, a cauliflower ear, and a begrudging look. He was going up for kicking his wife. He was not unfriendly, and told me his name was Donohoe. I said that by a coincidence that was my mother’s name. It was not her name, but civility costs nothing.
It was not her name, but civility costs nothing. Thank you Mr. Behan!
August 14, 2019
Behan navigates these violent institutions by being everyone's friend and when his lies contradict then he just blarneys the hell out of everyone, although he does get into a few scraps and there are IRA lines he will not cross. Most conflicts seem to end with "Ah, you're alright, Paddy." I would like to someday read this again much slower and jot down all the books he mentions and also some of the funnier expressions and proverbs he comes out with. I realize I also need to learn how to pronounce these Gaelic words even if I don't know their meaning, especially when they pop up in an otherwise English bit of doggerel. Most of the boys in Borstal come from rough backgrounds and speak strange regional working class dialects from the 1940s. For example, although it was clear from the context that 'china' meant best friend, it took me some fifty pages or so to realize it's because 'china plate' rhymes with mate. It also was a bit of an "aha" for me when I realized that 'flowery' meant prison cell. If there is an audio book of Behan or some other actual Irish person reading this, that would be fantastic.
July 26, 2024
Behan’s writing style is plain-spoken and understated, yet at the same time woven with poetry and song - and not just in the literal sense that he quotes from Gaeilge and English verse, but in the subtle and honest way in which he writes. At times it felt a bit like it went on. I really enjoyed it all the same. Another quick thought, there’s a great level of emotion displayed in this without necessarily saying it at times - Behan proves one can write emotionally without writing gushing passages.
January 22, 2025
What an interesting person, and he's a mere teenager! Definitely going to read more of his work.
November 16, 2022
A great read! The dialogue was fantastic. Would definitely seek out its sequel.
September 6, 2017
Tradotto in Italiano da Luciano Bianciardi, come d'altronde si legge ne La vita agra: si dice spesso che da questa vicenda lo scrittore italiano abbia preso ispirazione per il suo libro.
The Borstal Boy è una specie di memoir romanzato della propria esperienza nel carcere minorile, appunto chiamato borstal; Behan vi fu rinchiuso a sedici anni, nell 1937, dopo essere stato arrestato per possesso di esplosivi. Aveva in mente, non autorizzato dal movimento, di far esplodere i docks di Liverpool.
Il libro inizia con il suo arresto, ma racconta poi la vita all'interno del riformatorio. Dato alle stampe nel 1958, le tematiche più interessanti sono un'implicita critica ai nazionalismi (non c'è differenza tra i ragazzi inglesi e quelli irlandesi) e soprattutto il lieve discorso omoerotico.
Brendan Behan è una figura importante nel mondo culturale irlandese. Una figura pop. Dublinese orgogliosamente cittadino (nessun piagnisteo campagnolo, insomma), imbianchino, attivista sempre in prigione e sempre in fuga, organizzatore culturale, umorista, rivoluzionario e provocatore, blasfemo, scrittore, cantante (le sue ballate sono oggi parte del nocciolo duro della tradizione), viveur innamorato di Parigi, buongustaio e soprattutto alcolizzato. Insomma, quasi uno stereotipo vivente, un uomo dalla vita davvero picaresca. Nel leggere le sue memorie e i suoi racconti (molto belli) si intende chiaramente, ed è una cosa anche toccante, in un certo senso, che Behan fosse assolutamente consapevole di essere un personaggio letterario, uno stage irishman fatto e finito. Sempre in prima linea su radio e giornali, costantemente sotto i riflettori. Questo lo portava a recitare sempre la sua parte, e quindi anche a bere continuamente, fino all'ovvia fine. Brendan Behan, che era davvero una figura quantomeno vitale, è morto a 41 anni. Una cultura che si nutre di stereotipi ha un po' di responsabilità, credo, in questa morte. Si racconta che così abbia detto alla suora che lo assisteva: "Dio ti benedica, sorella. Che tu possa essere la madre di un vescovo".
The Borstal Boy è una specie di memoir romanzato della propria esperienza nel carcere minorile, appunto chiamato borstal; Behan vi fu rinchiuso a sedici anni, nell 1937, dopo essere stato arrestato per possesso di esplosivi. Aveva in mente, non autorizzato dal movimento, di far esplodere i docks di Liverpool.
Il libro inizia con il suo arresto, ma racconta poi la vita all'interno del riformatorio. Dato alle stampe nel 1958, le tematiche più interessanti sono un'implicita critica ai nazionalismi (non c'è differenza tra i ragazzi inglesi e quelli irlandesi) e soprattutto il lieve discorso omoerotico.
Brendan Behan è una figura importante nel mondo culturale irlandese. Una figura pop. Dublinese orgogliosamente cittadino (nessun piagnisteo campagnolo, insomma), imbianchino, attivista sempre in prigione e sempre in fuga, organizzatore culturale, umorista, rivoluzionario e provocatore, blasfemo, scrittore, cantante (le sue ballate sono oggi parte del nocciolo duro della tradizione), viveur innamorato di Parigi, buongustaio e soprattutto alcolizzato. Insomma, quasi uno stereotipo vivente, un uomo dalla vita davvero picaresca. Nel leggere le sue memorie e i suoi racconti (molto belli) si intende chiaramente, ed è una cosa anche toccante, in un certo senso, che Behan fosse assolutamente consapevole di essere un personaggio letterario, uno stage irishman fatto e finito. Sempre in prima linea su radio e giornali, costantemente sotto i riflettori. Questo lo portava a recitare sempre la sua parte, e quindi anche a bere continuamente, fino all'ovvia fine. Brendan Behan, che era davvero una figura quantomeno vitale, è morto a 41 anni. Una cultura che si nutre di stereotipi ha un po' di responsabilità, credo, in questa morte. Si racconta che così abbia detto alla suora che lo assisteva: "Dio ti benedica, sorella. Che tu possa essere la madre di un vescovo".
February 2, 2021
Behan was 16 years old when he was arrested for an IRA bomb plot and sent to the borstal. Here, he captures this formative experience so authentically that it’s as if we’re reading the diary of his 16-year-old self.
Which is to say, it’s 350 odd pages of solidly unreflective, testosterone-fueled banter that isn’t quite as funny as it wants to be.
It’s a shame because Behan’s story puts him on the frontlines of the English/Irish divide, with potentially so much to tell for it. Borstal Boy hints at the power of friendship to overcome religious and cultural divides, the gradual death of youthful idealism, and the ongoing question of what it means to be Irish.
But in the main, Behan sticks to fight recounts and dick jokes channeled in cockney rhyming slang. Pub storytelling at its finest.
(Disclaimer: I’m not entirely Irish, whatever that means, so take the following with a grain of salt)
I think the massive success of Borstal Boy – and the subsequent fame of Behan – also says something about the way we perceive Irishness. Evidently global audiences loved the tale of a good ol’ Paddy who learns to take things less seriously and save his nationalism for quaint songs, or crass jokes after a few pints.
Because that’s kind of what we expect of the Irish right? Forget that edgy ‘IRA’ business, and let’s not get into The Troubles… Can’t we just start drinking Guinness and playing fiddles already?
For better or worse, Borstal Boy established this safe, performative Irishness as Behan’s calling card. A swashbuckling boozer fit for mainstream consumption who would play the role until it killed him.
Which is to say, it’s 350 odd pages of solidly unreflective, testosterone-fueled banter that isn’t quite as funny as it wants to be.
It’s a shame because Behan’s story puts him on the frontlines of the English/Irish divide, with potentially so much to tell for it. Borstal Boy hints at the power of friendship to overcome religious and cultural divides, the gradual death of youthful idealism, and the ongoing question of what it means to be Irish.
But in the main, Behan sticks to fight recounts and dick jokes channeled in cockney rhyming slang. Pub storytelling at its finest.
(Disclaimer: I’m not entirely Irish, whatever that means, so take the following with a grain of salt)
I think the massive success of Borstal Boy – and the subsequent fame of Behan – also says something about the way we perceive Irishness. Evidently global audiences loved the tale of a good ol’ Paddy who learns to take things less seriously and save his nationalism for quaint songs, or crass jokes after a few pints.
Because that’s kind of what we expect of the Irish right? Forget that edgy ‘IRA’ business, and let’s not get into The Troubles… Can’t we just start drinking Guinness and playing fiddles already?
For better or worse, Borstal Boy established this safe, performative Irishness as Behan’s calling card. A swashbuckling boozer fit for mainstream consumption who would play the role until it killed him.
January 6, 2015
A picaresque masterpiece. The book Patrick Leigh Fermor might have written if he'd been a teenage IRA bomber packed off to an English reform school in the '40s.
Raised in a prominent Dublin family and well-educated, at age 16 the future Irish playwright Brendan Behan attempted to blow up Liverpool docks as part of an unauthorized mission for the IRA, at the start of World War II in 1939. Behan was arrested and spent time in a rough English jail, then in a borstal for juvenile delinquents. He describes his three years in reform school with much of Fermor's literary erudition, sometimes quoting Latin and Gaelic poetry, then the "fugh-all's" and "whore's melts" of prison and school life, in language and scenes that got the book banned in the conservative Ireland of the 1950's.
Behan's semi-fictional autobiography shows the sadistic and often very dark underside of Jolly Old England at a time when we like to think of it as a bastion against Herrenvolk darkness, something England's civilian bombing campaigns during the war (which far outdid the brutality and cruelty of the IRA) leave seriously in doubt.
Behan's genius is satirical, though, and "Borstal Boy" is a comic riot, hardly a call for rioting in the street. Hard not to compare his characters in some ways to Dickens' or even Laurence Sterne's. Not every chapter in this book is a page-turner, but a strange and interesting human story here.
Raised in a prominent Dublin family and well-educated, at age 16 the future Irish playwright Brendan Behan attempted to blow up Liverpool docks as part of an unauthorized mission for the IRA, at the start of World War II in 1939. Behan was arrested and spent time in a rough English jail, then in a borstal for juvenile delinquents. He describes his three years in reform school with much of Fermor's literary erudition, sometimes quoting Latin and Gaelic poetry, then the "fugh-all's" and "whore's melts" of prison and school life, in language and scenes that got the book banned in the conservative Ireland of the 1950's.
Behan's semi-fictional autobiography shows the sadistic and often very dark underside of Jolly Old England at a time when we like to think of it as a bastion against Herrenvolk darkness, something England's civilian bombing campaigns during the war (which far outdid the brutality and cruelty of the IRA) leave seriously in doubt.
Behan's genius is satirical, though, and "Borstal Boy" is a comic riot, hardly a call for rioting in the street. Hard not to compare his characters in some ways to Dickens' or even Laurence Sterne's. Not every chapter in this book is a page-turner, but a strange and interesting human story here.
April 20, 2013
I was given a copy of this wonderful book by an Australian I met when travelling in Europe in 1990. The copy was an early sixties Pan edition - its spine was broken, the pages were dog-eared and stained and it had fallen into three pieces. My Australian fellow-traveller had had it passed to him by a similar stranger. On giving it to me he made the proviso that I too must pass it on once I'd read it. I passed it on to a friend in England and I know that he passed it on to someone else. I don't imagine that the copy lasted much longer, but you never know.
It is that sort of book - you have to pass it on. It is a searingly honest account of a young man's ( indeed a boy's ) incarceration in British penal establishments. Behan makes no complaints, he came to England to cause harm and got caught by the authorities so he stoically suffers the consequences.
His stoicism shines through the text - "What can't be cured must be endured" is his refrain. The guards at Walton prison remind him of it too - whenever he tries to thank them for a small act of common decency they give the reply "Don't thank me son, thank The Lord."
Well, thank The Lord for Brendan Behan!
It is that sort of book - you have to pass it on. It is a searingly honest account of a young man's ( indeed a boy's ) incarceration in British penal establishments. Behan makes no complaints, he came to England to cause harm and got caught by the authorities so he stoically suffers the consequences.
His stoicism shines through the text - "What can't be cured must be endured" is his refrain. The guards at Walton prison remind him of it too - whenever he tries to thank them for a small act of common decency they give the reply "Don't thank me son, thank The Lord."
Well, thank The Lord for Brendan Behan!
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