A mother’s love knows no bounds. I fought like a lioness to keep him

A pregnant Terry Healy was banished to Bessborough to give birth but resisted all attempts to have her son adopted

The morning I told my father I was pregnant was a morning I will never forget.

At the time, we were living in a beautiful old-world rectory in a village in Co Dublin. He came down stairs that morning as usual for breakfast whistling a merry tune and was on his way to work.

He sat down and ate his porridge and I said I wanted to speak with him. He was in a hurry and said: “Tell me what it’s about and I’ll think about it during the day.”

Well, I just blurted it out: “Dad I’m pregnant.” He looked at me and said: “Why did you not use something?”

I was stunned that he’d said this, but the Healys are very direct and do not beat about the bush.

We talked the next day and he said: “You will get married.” I said I didn’t want to.

This threw the cat among the pigeons. This he found hard; I could see the worry on his face of me having a child on my own.

He knew the father of my child was on a sabbatical from the religious life who had been teaching special needs children in St John of God Brothers.

He immediately wrote to him. He got a reply to say he wanted to continue in the religious life, finish his degree, and that it was up to me if I kept the baby. My father was not too impressed and some interesting words were exchanged by letter.

At that time, I needed my mother. Mam died when I was 13 years old and left a huge wrench in my life. I remember the pearls of wisdom she taught us when dusting on Saturday mornings:

Never tell a man everything.

Always have a few bob for a rainy day.

Never marry outside your own religion or culture.

If you are bothered about anything talk to Jesus.

She was amazing.

To keep the fact that I was pregnant secret, it was decided that I would go to the Sacred Heart Home in Bessborough in Cork City.

It was difficult leaving my family as we had only just moved to rural Co Dublin. I left my father and beautiful brothers, but we all knew it was for the best.

I would go to Cork to have my baby and have him adopted and then go back to work in St John of Gods. It would be easy — or so I thought.

Terry Healy with her husband, Peter Riordan

Have the baby and give him of her up for adoption and get back to a normal life? How easy it could be. My baby would have great adoptive parents and could be set up for life. I had been advised strongly that two parents were better than one.

Bessborough was mentioned almost in silence in Cork, as if it was a dirty word. It was a refuge for unmarried mothers who had sullied their souls and disgraced Catholics in Ireland.

Bessborough was an old house hidden away from the realities of life. It was run by the nuns of the Sacred Heart with a firm fist.

I was given the name Olive. It was the next on the list as a nun meticulously marked me off as if she was going through a grocery shopping list.

I was then shown to my room by the nun. Walking with my case through long, half-lit corridors with statues of the Sacred Heart, St Joseph, and Our Lady. Girls tittering outside their dormitories as if to say here is another lamb for the slaughter.

At any given time, there was at least 100 girls there, all longing to be at home, all afraid and lonely. We could not escape our destiny. The girls, some rich, some poor, hard cases, soft cases, rough cases, nut cases, all bunched together in glorious technicolour.

The majority of children born in Bessborough were given up for adoption. It was a constant struggle. Decisions were being made or forced upon us.

We never discussed sex or having babies much then. We had never known too much, other than that the baby was wrapped in swaddling clothes and appeared “spick and span” in its loving mother’s arms, all smiles.

As many of the girls were going through a difficult time, I decided to start a prayer time for the girls. The sharing was amazing, the blood, sweat, and tears.

I was afraid of some of the very tough girls, as you dared not even look cross-ways at them or you could get a thump or indeed a gang of girls could set upon you.

Each girl had a baby to care for in Bessborough and chores to do. I was assigned to the laundry to wash dirty, shitty, bloodied sheets by hand before they were put into a massive washing machine. Horrific.

I also cared for Robert. Robert had hydrocephalus and was also blind. He had been left behind by a mother who herself had special needs and who either couldn’t or wouldn’t take him home.

Robert was a beautiful, angelic, blue-eyed child. He was my charge, as they called it in Bessborough. I was to take care of him from when he was a couple of months old until my own baby was born.

For four months every day, morning, noon, and night, I cared for him and I came to love him. When my son was born I had to leave Robert and another girl would take over the job.

It hurt and wounded me that I could not look after him so I prayed consistently for someone to come and help Robert.

Thankfully, my son was born in St Finbarr’s Hospital in Cork because the uncompassionate nun was off duty. I was relieved. I had no visitors.

Terry Healy with her son, Justin

When I saw my baby, I immediately bonded with him forever. A mother’s love has no bounds. I fought like a lioness in my desire to keep him.

It was tough, very tough. When the priest in Dublin phoned me in Bessborough to congratulate me on the birth of my son and to organise the adoption, I told him to fuck off and leave us alone.

He had arranged for an adoption with an American couple. I was never going to let that happen, as I loved my son so much. No one was taking my baby, nuns, priests, or social workers.

Matron comes storming into the ward with a face like an angry Nazi, looking for names for children who had just been born and, believe it or not, I had no name. The matron insisted that it was imperative that I gave her a name immediately.

I did have a name in mind. I had remembered Twiggy, the 1960s model. Her manager was Justin de Villeneuve and I loved that name. So I named him Justin.

Justin Healy

For three months after, my baby stayed in a halfway nursery in Dublin until I made arrangements to care for him. It was the best decision I made in my life.

More than 40 years have passed and I have had an amazing and interesting life.

I have many stories to tell, but I was shaped by Bessborough. I’m happily married to my soul mate, whom I met many years later and he is from Cork.

I have nine step-adults and foster a man with special needs. Two of my step-adults who live with us are also special needs.

But it’s a happy, cheerful, loving household. I am also blessed with my three beautiful grandchildren, a lovely daughter-in-law.

And of course, the son I always wanted, my amazing, wonderful, beautiful son Justin.