I attended Kilteely National School, Co Limerick, in the early 1960s. It was a small, typically rural national school - the average class size was about 30. We had never heard, then, of resource teachers, remedial teachers or classroom assistants.

I learned as much about life outside the classroom as inside, as it was literally a school of hard knocks - not from the teachers but the pupils. It was survival of the fittest and disputes were settled by hand-to-hand combat in the school grounds or on a waste ground nearby after school hours.

I have to admit that I engaged in many of these trials of strength, being a child of volatile temperament. I would like to think that I have matured a little since. Well, maybe. The only sport encouraged, or even countenanced, was hurling, which had a strong local tradition, in East Limerick. A declaration of interest in or even knowledge of sports like rugby or soccer drew frowns of disapproval from the teachers.

Back in the classroom I learned quickly that exam technique, as it is now described, could be as important as a genuine knowledge of your subjects. I did well in the Primary Certificate exam by using this technique, focusing on the narrow range of subjects likely to come up in exam papers. However, I always had a natural appetite for arithmetic and was quick with figures in class, where I earned a not entirely deserved reputation for being bright.

Irish was different, however. I had a real bugbear about Irish, perhaps because it was compulsory and we were constantly warned that failure in Irish meant failure in everything else. This was where exam technique really came in useful. The only real lesson I learned from this is that formal exams can be a very misleading indicator of academic worth.

Later, as part of oral test in my final Bar exams, I had to re-acquaint myself with Irish. I passed with flying colours. So, too, did various contemporaries of mine from far flung places such as Senegal, Ghana and the Ivory Coast. This says more about the token nature of this particular legal test than it does about my prowess in the first national language.

We were a large, closely knit rural family, well integrated into the community. It is still painful to recollect the sense of loss and dislocation I felt when I was suddenly plucked from the bosom of my family at the tender age of 13 and packed off to boarding school at Ballyfin, Co Laois. It was a hard, cold, alien environment. There was no tradition of Limerick people going to Ballyfin and consequently I had to learn the strange new ways of people from exotic, far flung places like Laois, Offaly, Kildare and, of course, terrifying Tipperary people who thought they knew all about hurling. I did absolutely no study for the first two years.

Shortly after the start of the Intermediate Certificate year I realised with a jolt that I would have to sit exams in a few month's time. Exam technique came into play again and I secured the Inter Certificate with the minimum effort and the maximum of bluff - politics beckoned already! However, I did work harder for the Leaving Certificate.

I never reconciled myself with boarding school and I can honestly say that the 20 worst days of my life were the first 20 days of boarding school term in each of the five years I spent there. I have to admit, though, that there was a great sense of camaraderie at Ballyfin and I had some firm friendships there, most of which I have retained to this day. The teachers there - for the most part religious - were dedicated and, with one or two exceptions, I can not fault them in any way.

Discipline at Ballyfin was rigorous. We were expected to remain within the school grounds at all times and the consumption of alcohol was an offence for which expulsion was the penalty, with no appeal. One teacher held an extremely hard line on this and, coincidentally, held me in very high regard.

I still experience mortification whenever I recall my last encounter with him. On the day I sat my final Leaving Certificate exam I repaired to Portlaoise to catch the train home. As my friend and I emerged from a local pub wiping Guinness froth from our mouths, we ran straight into the temperance teacher. He took one look at us, another look at the Guinness sign above the doorway and gave us a final look of undisguised contempt before passing on his way.

This incident marked the final chapter in one of the most unhappy periods of my life. Then it was on to UCD and a whole new world of academic freedom, college societies, parties and a genuine interest in the subjects I studied, along with the freedom to read as widely and as deeply as I wished. I still find exam technique useful though.

Willie O'Dea, TD, is Minister of State at the Department of Education and Science