Childhood memories should be nuggets of joy and flashbacks of events evoked by the smells, words or actions of others and of happier times. They should make us laugh and smile when we remember. They should be a guide for us, if or when, we are lucky enough to have own children. They should wrap around us like a cosy duvet on dark miserable days. Some of us can point to a teacher who was inspirational, stern, strict, batty or just simply kind. I remember Mrs. Bell who handed out Silvermints when trying to get us prepared for our first communion or Mrs. McKeown who would take us outside to do our lessons on sunny days. Not all days were great days but they were certainly nowhere near the experiences of these brave people who have shared their stories and experiences of horrid abuses. Their childhood memories are mired in darkness as a result of the abuse inflicted on them by the very people who should have had their best interests at heart. They were abused by people who had no regard for their duty of care to these children. They were abused by people who feared no repercussions for their actions. They were abused by people who were possibly admired and respected for how they handled unruly or problematic children or for how they ran their schools. They abused children. Children who were seen but not heard. Children who would not, or could not, dare utter a word of what was happening to them. Children who were not believed. Children abused by monsters. That we, the State, offer an apology is not only right, it is long, long overdue. To those who have suffered, I am sorry. I am so sorry that you had to not only experience these abuses but that you had to wait so long to be heard.

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