In the late 1930s, at the tender age of sixteen, Brendan Behan is a junior member of the Irish Republican Army and is arrested in London with a suitcase of explosives in his possession. Borstal Boy follows his journey through the British juvenile detention system and overcoming his prejudices. While Borstal Boy is full of an infectious boyish warmth, the differences between correctional facilities then and now gives it a sense of innocence, even naiveté,  that is difficult to ignore.

[...] but it was not reallly the length of the sentence that worried me–for I had always believed that if a fellow went into the I.R.A. at all he should be prepared to throw the handle after the hatchet, die dog or shite the licence–but that I’d sooner be with Charlie and Ginger and Browny in Borstal than with my own comrades and countrymen any place else. It seemed a bit disloyal to me that I should prefer to be with boys from English cities than with my own countrymen and comrades from Ireland’s hills and glens.

Considering the intentions of his crime – to bomb English shipyards – Behan’s political views are rarely spoken about. They come up in his various trials, where he prepares speeches that sound as though all the information and rhetoric has been passed down to him by his superiors, but when brought up by his fellow prisoners and his friends, his allegiance to his home country isn’t spoken about in political terms. Behan seems more concerned about the conflict between his political leanings and his Catholic faith – especially as he is excommunicated and not to attend special prison services.

The use of slang and the different dialects of the prisoners and the prison officers establishes the class and race differences effectively, without putting too much of a didactic point on it. Behan has so many charming phrases at the ready, and the rhyming slang is infectious. Brendan’s ease of relating to others, even those who presumably he should be against, gradually allows him to overcome his prejudices, but this occurs in such a subtle manner. It doesn’t come across as  Brendan learning to look past differences, but of the strength and importance of his friendships with individuals from all classes. The dialects give the characters such strong voices – you can hear them perfectly in your mind. Brendan’s constant referencing and singing of songs, to himself, to and with his peers,  or as part of church services, also give the text a strong, almost audible voice.

He was dead lonely; more lonely than I and with more reason. The other fellows might give me a rub about Ireland or about the bombing campaign, and that was seldom enough, and I was never short of an answer, historically informed and obscene, for them. But I was nearer to them than they would ever let Ken be. I had the same rearing as most of them; Dublin, Liverpool, Manchester, Glasgow, London. All our mothers had all done the pawn–pledging on Monday, releasing on Saturday. We all knew the chip shop and the picture house and the fourpenny rush of a Saturday afternon, and the summer swimming in the canal and being chased along the railway by cops.
But Ken they would never accept. In a way, as the middle-class and upper-class in England spend so much money and energy in maintaining the difference between themselves and the working-class, Ken was only getting what his people paid for but, still and all, I couldn’t help being sorry for him, for he was more of a foreigner than I, and it’s a lonely thing to be a stranger in a strange land.

Borstal Boy shows us the monotony of an imprisonment, the routines and the expectations. However, Behan’s colourful turns of phrase and the heavy use of slang and dialects, as well as the surprisingly warm friendships he makes with his inmates – Charlie in particular – doesn’t turn this monotony onto the reader. As he walks around his cell, reads literature provided by the prison library, works, and finds new ways to keep warm, Behan always remains lively. The routine is lost somewhat once Brendan is sent to the Borstal Institution, as he has his friends with him and the rules seem to be considerably less strict than in detention.

Still, it’s hard not to notice the comparative innocence of it all. Surely it is unlikely that today a young boy captured with the intent to use a suitcase full of explosives would be sent to a Borstal, free to roam the grounds and mingle with others? Likewise, his friends have committed serious crimes – everything from petty theft, to rape and murder. Rather than detention or prison, the institutions Brendan finds himself in are almost camp like, not what we would expect today at all. There is even a sense of excitement about being moved to the Borstal by the sea. Is it likely that Charlie and Brendan would be kept together since their arrest? While Borstal Boy is surprisingly warm, and Brendan Behan a hugely likable character, it’s difficult to consider it as an accurate look at juvenile correctional facilities – as a period piece though, it’s definitely a gem.