Tom White of County Mayo, Ireland
I was born in 1949, into a tiny community of Presbyterians in Ballyshannon, Co Donegal. I was lucky in one way, as my parents were relatively well off. Growing up in the austere 1950’s I became aware that some of our neighbours still had earth floors in their cottages; corduroy and snots was the school uniform for most of us. My father was an elder of the Church, and took his duties seriously. Attendance at Church was obligatory. My brother and I were beaten if caught playing football on Sunday. For Catholic children, this ban on enjoyment ended at noon on the Sabbath, for us, the greyness seemed to stretch into eternity. We moved North in 1959.
The first day at my new primary school was celebrated by having my arm twisted up my back. My obvious Donegal accent was too Catholic for the school bully. Three years later, my protestant school uniform meant I was dragged up an entry for interrogation by three Catholic youths. Victimised by both sides, I wanted out of organised religion. I seemed to be everyone's "other sort!"
My father died in 1967, and that was my chance to strike out for freedom. I had a memorable farewell. The local Minister dropped in on the remains of our family unit for a quick prayer session. A man with my father’s rigid faith, the Minister gave us a broadside for a half an hour, and then enquired if we were all safe in the arms of the Lord? With the injudicious candour of youth, I raised a hesitant hand. Doubts! The Minister sat down and wrestled for my soul. All-in after an hour, he retreated through our front door. “That boy has problems!” he warned my mother en passant.
Bloodied but unbowed, I escaped to Trinity College, Dublin, a bastion of common sense in an increasingly violent Ireland. My tutor there once asked me what I would do if things got even worse in the North. “Fight” I said. “For which side?” “I don’t know, but there’s not much sense in standing in the middle of a Civil War.” It didn’t come to that, thank goodness; I would have made a rotten soldier. But I gradually came to have a clearer insight into the pernicious role religion was playing in the conflict. So few people seemed capable of breaking away from the beliefs of their parents, of thinking for themselves, of making rational decisions for themselves.
My own physical journey led me to Australia, where I lived for about eight years. I worked as a Public Servant and Trade Union Official. Work for my TU was challenging and stretched me to the limit; it demonstrated to me that justice, ethics and human bravery were the products of human minds, not imposed by some “god”; poor people could achieve justice by cooperative action. Human generosity and joy are the most wonderful things. I will carry those ideals with me to the grave. I came back to Northern Ireland in the late 80’s, and became pen-friends with an intriguing woman who lived in Birmingham in the English Midlands. Friendship became love, and when we married, I moved to be with her. Thatcher had defeated the British Trade Union movement, and unemployment was rife; any hopes I had for a long-term career were pretty much crushed. I had a series of short term jobs until my wife and I were in a position to retire to Co Mayo.
Our neighbours here were warm and friendly, but our non-Catholicism inevitably left us outside the loop of so many occasions with religious trappings in rural Ireland. I felt the need to be part of a community I could share a philosophy with, and found the Irish Humanists. I was very much an annual- subs –and – magazine member until my wife died three years ago. She expressed the wish for a green, humanist funeral, and I tried my best to make that happen. I was grateful to my Humanist friends for help in my time of need. Today, I’m trying to repay my debt; I started attending Humanist meetings about six months ago. Almost all of the wonderful people I’ve talked to within the organisation has a tale to tell- about initial doubt and fear- then there is a breaking point, and a final resolve to be free of all the childish baggage. Finally, the recognition that “I need to be with like –minded people; nothing changes unless people like me are prepared to work towards an easier future for our children.”
Retired now, I’m back in my favourite role as Union organiser, working for the biggest and best cause of all- the integrity, freedom and unity of the human race.
Tom White HAI 2006-to date
I was born in 1949, into a tiny community of Presbyterians in Ballyshannon, Co Donegal. I was lucky in one way, as my parents were relatively well off. Growing up in the austere 1950’s I became aware that some of our neighbours still had earth floors in their cottages; corduroy and snots was the school uniform for most of us. My father was an elder of the Church, and took his duties seriously. Attendance at Church was obligatory. My brother and I were beaten if caught playing football on Sunday. For Catholic children, this ban on enjoyment ended at noon on the Sabbath, for us, the greyness seemed to stretch into eternity. We moved North in 1959.
The first day at my new primary school was celebrated by having my arm twisted up my back. My obvious Donegal accent was too Catholic for the school bully. Three years later, my protestant school uniform meant I was dragged up an entry for interrogation by three Catholic youths. Victimised by both sides, I wanted out of organised religion. I seemed to be everyone's "other sort!"
My father died in 1967, and that was my chance to strike out for freedom. I had a memorable farewell. The local Minister dropped in on the remains of our family unit for a quick prayer session. A man with my father’s rigid faith, the Minister gave us a broadside for a half an hour, and then enquired if we were all safe in the arms of the Lord? With the injudicious candour of youth, I raised a hesitant hand. Doubts! The Minister sat down and wrestled for my soul. All-in after an hour, he retreated through our front door. “That boy has problems!” he warned my mother en passant.
Bloodied but unbowed, I escaped to Trinity College, Dublin, a bastion of common sense in an increasingly violent Ireland. My tutor there once asked me what I would do if things got even worse in the North. “Fight” I said. “For which side?” “I don’t know, but there’s not much sense in standing in the middle of a Civil War.” It didn’t come to that, thank goodness; I would have made a rotten soldier. But I gradually came to have a clearer insight into the pernicious role religion was playing in the conflict. So few people seemed capable of breaking away from the beliefs of their parents, of thinking for themselves, of making rational decisions for themselves.
My own physical journey led me to Australia, where I lived for about eight years. I worked as a Public Servant and Trade Union Official. Work for my TU was challenging and stretched me to the limit; it demonstrated to me that justice, ethics and human bravery were the products of human minds, not imposed by some “god”; poor people could achieve justice by cooperative action. Human generosity and joy are the most wonderful things. I will carry those ideals with me to the grave. I came back to Northern Ireland in the late 80’s, and became pen-friends with an intriguing woman who lived in Birmingham in the English Midlands. Friendship became love, and when we married, I moved to be with her. Thatcher had defeated the British Trade Union movement, and unemployment was rife; any hopes I had for a long-term career were pretty much crushed. I had a series of short term jobs until my wife and I were in a position to retire to Co Mayo.
Our neighbours here were warm and friendly, but our non-Catholicism inevitably left us outside the loop of so many occasions with religious trappings in rural Ireland. I felt the need to be part of a community I could share a philosophy with, and found the Irish Humanists. I was very much an annual- subs –and – magazine member until my wife died three years ago. She expressed the wish for a green, humanist funeral, and I tried my best to make that happen. I was grateful to my Humanist friends for help in my time of need. Today, I’m trying to repay my debt; I started attending Humanist meetings about six months ago. Almost all of the wonderful people I’ve talked to within the organisation has a tale to tell- about initial doubt and fear- then there is a breaking point, and a final resolve to be free of all the childish baggage. Finally, the recognition that “I need to be with like –minded people; nothing changes unless people like me are prepared to work towards an easier future for our children.”
Retired now, I’m back in my favourite role as Union organiser, working for the biggest and best cause of all- the integrity, freedom and unity of the human race.
Tom White HAI 2006-to date