When Victor Bewley's granddaughter published his memoirs it came as a shock to his family that he had battled for years with depression. The former managing director of Bewley's Oriental Cafés, however, will be best remembered for his work with marginalised groups, writes Catherine Foley

Victor Bewley's family knew of his voluntary work with travellers, prisoners and the poor, and many also knew about his behind the scenes activity in cross-border talks with republicans and loyalists. But the most revealing chapter in the recently published book Victor Bewley's Memoirs is his recollection of his "undiluted hell" during the years he underwent psychoanalysis.

"My problems were not simply the result of shyness. I'm sure my shyness problem didn't help, but it was much more than that," he told his granddaughter Fiona Murdoch in a series of interviews conducted for the memoirs in 1992. Parts of his life, he told her, were "undiluted hell and, at times, I thought I'd never come through it . . . the analysis made me super touchy, and this caused friction and tension both inside the family and outside of it".

"Nobody likes to admit that they might be a bit cracked: it's much easier to say that you're very shy and that you want to know how to overcome that than to say that you think you're slipping in the top storey. But that is exactly how I felt at a time in the 1940s when I was undergoing psychoanalysis . . . However, I think I eventually gained a lot of understanding about myself. It also helped me to understand other people, and I'm grateful I had the experience. In the end it helped me to become calmer in facing life."

Murdoch recalls her grandfather's presence at family gatherings when she was a child, where "he was always very quiet and reserved, but not out of lack of interest. He always stayed in the background and listened. He would ask a question . . . But I didn't feel I knew him very well when I was young".

"He was quite tall and always held himself straight. He had a very calm and strong presence," she says. Their first interview was carried out at his farm near Brittas in Co Dublin, shortly before his 80th birthday. "All in all, I ended up with more than 10 hours of my grandfather's reminiscences on tape," says Murdoch.

The powerful revelations of his battle with depression seem all the more shocking as they only emerge after chapters chronicling Bewley's memories of business during the war years; his talks with IRA leaders and Orange Lodge members; the years when four traveller families lived on his farm at Danum; and his experience as the government's adviser on the programme for the settlement of travelling people from 1974 until he retired in 1988.

He received an honorary degree from Trinity College in 1976. He retired from Bewley's in 1977. Through all of this there is no mention that Victor Bewley was a victim of depression.

"Home was Danum - a 30-acre farm on Zion Road, Rathgar where the High School now stands," he recalls. "As a child, I wasn't aware of how sheltered and privileged my upbringing was. We had servants in the house, although I don't recall my parents referring to them as servants."

Both his parents were Quakers and "they encouraged us to talk about spiritual matters, and we always had Bible readings twice a day as a family".

His spirituality and strong sense of equality seem to have informed all aspects of his life. There are many lessons here for young business graduates as Bewley recounts his experiences of industrial relations and work ethics. "Management can be locked in conflict with staff in all kinds of ways as the result of a lack of consultation," he says, by way of explaining the founding of the Bewley Community, a profit-sharing scheme.

It was his egalitarian approach that prompted him to write to the three morning newspapers in response to an anonymous pamphlet he was sent in the early 1970s entitled The Burden of Northern Ireland. "My letter to the papers resulted in a host of replies . . . I thought it was a pity to leave all that goodwill there, and I thought somebody should hold onto that kind of spirit. So I decided to call a meeting and invite all those who replied to me." That is how a series of meetings ultimately involved Bewley in cross-Border talks. During this period he came into contact with leading republican figures, including Seán Mac Stíofáin and Daithí Ó Conaill, even taking secret messages from the IRA to Westminster in the 1970s.

He also got to know Martin McGuinness after visiting him at his home in Derry.

After the initial meeting in Eustace Street Meeting House in 1972, Bewley organised more meetings for people from both sides of the border in Ballymascanlon Hotel near Dundalk.

"We met for a few years like that, just listening and learning." He says of the meetings: "It was quite informal, and I changed the personnel of the group over time so that more and more people became involved . . . I think every contact that was made north and south of the Border for the purpose of creating understanding and seeing another person's point of view, thereby leading to reconciliation, was important. No matter how little or big it was.

"I think it is paramount to accept that there is a spirit of love that can work in us, and to try and live in harmony with that spirit."

The memoirs alse reveal Bewley as "a whizz in the kitchen: he made a wicked vegetable curry, and for years he made his own bread and butter". Unfortunately, Victor Bewley died in 1999, before his memoirs were published.

• Victor Bewley's Memoirs by Fiona Murdoch, is published by Veritas.