It was the year 1946 and lo and behold I’d landed a job in Guinness’s.  I’d written the Guinness messenger boy examination, passed with flying colours, and received a letter informing me to report to the Chemists Laboratory in two week‘s time.  And I was only fourteen. Well, fourteen and a half. Still in short pants.  My first year at “Synger” Secondary School hardly completed, and I was off to work, a great job everyone said, with good prospects.  I was about to become a member of “the aristocracy of the Irish working class,” an employee of Arthur Guinness and Son.

My parents were thrilled.  For them making ends meet was always a challenge.  They worked themselves to the bone providing for their seven children.  My father had a job in the maintenance department of Coras Iompair Eireann (the C.I.E.), and he was always fearful he was “going to be let go.”  To him a job in Guinness’s was akin to a gift from heaven.

One fine morning I showed up at the Chemists Laboratory, a young boy in short pants who knew little about laboratories and less about real work, pressing the bell of an imposing large green door, waiting for god knows who to appear.  Suddenly the door was flung open to reveal a grumpy looking man wearing a blue smock, gazing intently at me. “What is it, what do want?” he barked. “I’m Gerard Ronan,” I timidly answered. “I was told to come here this morning to report for work.” “Oh, so you’re Ronan.  Well then, come in, follow me. My name is Mr. McCluskey.”

Mr. McCluskey was the laboratory general factotum, supervising the young laboratory attendants, daily checking that the myriad of laboratory water and gas pipes remained functional and safe, while fulfilling the role of a highly skilled laboratory glass blower.

Within a day I was togged out in a white lab coat of which I was very proud, for I thought it made me look quite grown-up and important.  I soon learnt that lab work was not all glamour.  My first assignment was in the bottle washing room.  All the glassware from the various laboratory experiments and analytical testing procedures came into this room in trolleys.  A team of lab attendants supervised by a middle-aged chief bottle washer named Tommy Byrne had the responsibility of washing the glassware scrupulously clean.

Most of the chemists were Trinity College graduates.  We addressed the chemists as “Sir” while they in turn called us by our surnames.  It was the most extraordinarily formal, Victorian world, where everyone had their designated place in the pecking order and behaved accordingly.

Several senior lab attendants were responsible for the routine analytical tests.  I soon learnt that those in charge were attending Kevin’s Street technical school studying chemistry and physics.  Apparently if you “wanted to get on” (be kept employed in the lab) attending night school for science subjects was a must.  Since Guinness’s paid your fees, you really had no excuse.

Sure enough, in due course I enrolled in chemistry and physics at Kevin Street Technical School, subjects I knew absolutely nothing about.  Near the end of my first year I got an unexpected wake-up call.  One of the senior boys at the lab by the name of Liam Byrne asked how my classes were going. “Oh, alright, I suppose.  Not too bad considering I don’t like the subjects very much.  Especially physics, I hate it.” “You’d better start liking it,” Liam advised.  “Because Guinness’s is paying your fees, they get a copy of your marks.  If you don’t do well it goes on your record.”

That bit of news put the fear of God into me.  If I wasn’t careful I might lose my job, or so I thought.  From that moment on I took my night classes very seriously.  Much to my relief, at term’s end I managed to pass - getting marks in the low seventies in both subjects.

Near the end of my third year I was summoned to the office of Mr. Andrew, the lab Chief chemist, and informed I had been selected to attend a month-long course at the Outward Bound School in Aberystwyth, Wales.  “I take it you’re interested in going?”  Mr. Andrews looked up from some papers he was intently studying as he spoke these words. “Oh yes sir,” I stammered, not having a clue what it was all about. “Very good.  You’ll be hearing more about it shortly.”  He looked back down at his papers.  The meeting was over.

The Outward Bound School was a huge letdown.  When I arrived I learned the school’s primary objective was to help build character and self-reliance, and in the process help transform callow youths into mature young men.

I got up around six every morning and along with the rest of the boys trotted down to the beach for a quick plunge in the freezing cold sea.  We were then assigned various cleaning chores before we heard the bell for breakfast.  After breakfast the tasks became more difficult.  I recall having to clamber up and down a maze of ropes and to master the art of making intricate sailors’ knots.

There were two major events designed to test our character, team work and self-reliance.  We went out in the bay for a whole day in a large sailing ship.  While out at sea we worked as a team raising the various sails and taking them down in accordance with the shifting winds.  I prayed all day for the ship to dock soon.

The other big adventure occurred when we were taken in groups up to the surrounding mountains, given food and maps, and left to find our way back to camp.  Although I had been instructed in map reading I didn’t have a clue how to get back.  Fortunately there were some keen scouts in our group who had mastered the rudiments of map reading and were able to navigate back to camp before nightfall.

I intensely disliked the Outward Bound School and couldn’t wait to get back home.  Being constantly ordered about came as a shock to me.  Most students professed to love it, and with good reason.  It was a world famous sea school for teen-age boys who came from all over the world to develop leadership skills.

After three years in the Chemists Laboratory I had attained the rank of a senior lab attendant.  I now daily reported to a young chemist by the name of Oliver Lloyd, a handsome, silver- haired six footer oozing charm.  Mr. Lloyd was a Trinity science graduate with a pronounced upper class Dublin accent.  I remember how I envied his debonair, nonchalant air, his attitude of not really giving a damn.

After working with Mr. Lloyd on a daily basis for a couple of years he still matter-of- factly daily addressed me as “Ronan.”  The gulf between us was obviously enormous.  There was no crossing this divide.  It was based on religion, on class, on education, and on wealth.

When a laboratory attendant reached his eighteenth year he was transferred to the Traffic Department to become a “number taker” enumerating the casks which were constantly moving in and out of the Brewery.  Very occasionally an opening occurred in the laboratory assistant ranks to which some very fortunate senior laboratory attendant was appointed.

About a month before my eighteenth birthday the word got out.  Gerry Ronan was being “kept on,” he was going to be made a laboratory assistant!  Upon hearing the news I was in a daze.  How lucky could one be?

Being appointed a laboratory assistant brought with it a host of perks.  I now belonged to the “unclassified staff”, just one step below the number two clerks.   Best of all, we had a free three course daily luncheon, along with a pint of Guinness should we so desire, in the same luncheon room as the number two clerks!

The clincher was that I now had a great job with total security and a very good salary with excellent benefits.  I was set for life. The crown jewel, the clincher, the notion of being set for life was a concept that, in my early twenties, I found difficult to accept.  It gnawed at my insides that I would be a laboratory assistant my entire working life, for at least the next forty years should I live that long.

I fondly remember the names of that happy gang of lab assistants who were the most loyal employees you could imagine.  Paddy Meagher, Billy Cole, Harry Kavanagh, Bertie King, Phil Cosgrove, Maurice and Liam Byrne, Jimmy Clarke, Tim Sheehan, Tommy Halpin, Tom Cowman.  And hovering above them were the privileged chemists, members of the illustrious number one staff;  Dr. Tullo, Dr. Mills, Mr. Andrews, Mr. Harrison, Mr. Lloyd, Dr. Gilliland.

Shining bright within this hierarchy were Joe Hennessey and Brendan Foreman, two former laboratory attendants who through talent and hard work were granted B.Sc. degrees from London University while taking correspondence courses.  Amazingly Joe and Brendan were promoted to the number one staff but were never fully accepted within the hallowed inner Guinness blue blood circle.

For the lab attendants and lab assistants Joe and Brendan’s breakthrough was breathtaking.  I got to thinking what would I have to do to match their achievement?  First, I’d have to earn my matriculation certificate, the essential entrance card to university.  I instantly made up my mind to do it, whatever it would take.

I enrolled in Caffrey’s College, a private institution located down by St. Stephen’s Green. I studied English, Irish and Latin at Caffrey’s, and Chemistry, Physics and Mathematics at Kevin Street Technical School.  I attended night classes five nights a week over a four year period before finally managing to pass the matriculation examination at University College, Dublin.

In my life outside the brewery I had become a quite decent soccer player, playing professionally for Shelbourne Football Club in the League of Ireland.  My proficiency in soccer enabled me to quickly master the rudiments of field hockey, which led to me being invited to play for the Guinness field hockey team.  Much the same sequence occurred with the brewery’s cricket and tennis teams.  As a consequence I became the proverbial all rounder, active in many sports. Coincidently quite a number of the number one staff played on the Brewery sport teams.  Sport tends to break down social barriers, so soon I was on a first name basis with a raft of Guinness senior staff.  I could finally smell the roses!

In retrospect, Guinness was undoubtedly an outstanding employer.  In addition to providing secure, well-paying jobs, it broke new ground by providing its employees access to first-rate sporting facilities, free medical services and subsidized housing.  My ten years in Guinness Brewery had a tremendously positive effect, driving home the crucial importance of education and the value of a work ethic.  In later years I realized how I had been quietly mentored and nurtured while functioning in an extraordinarily paternalistic work environment.  Guinness quite definitely was very good for me.

All the nurturing and mentoring however released a genie from the bottle.  I finally comprehended that in the fifties too many hatches were battened down both inside and outside those venerable Guinness gates.  It was time to take flight, to explore new horizons, to undertake new challenges.  Canada beckoned.

Footnote:  Gerry left Guinness’s for Canada in 1957