The photograph shows a young girl sitting in a schoolroom, peering out from under her fringe. She's smiling shyly at the person holding the camera phone. Around her neck she wears a bright orange scarf, something that would sometimes be roughly pulled from her neck by bullies, but today remains just so. It's a quiet, unremarkable moment in the life of a 15-year-old, another insignificant document of adolescence to perhaps be uploaded to Facebook, MySpace, Bebo; evidence of a burgeoning young life.
It's unlikely that either the schoolgirl who took the photo, nor its beautiful young subject could have guessed that this would be one of the last images taken of Phoebe Nora Mary Prince. Within weeks she was dead and news organisations all over America would trawl the internet for this last known picture of the young girl from Co Clare. They would camp outside her grieving mother's house in South Hadley, Massachusetts, preventing the distraught woman from returning to Ireland with her daughter's ashes. The photo would make its way on to Facebook not as one innocent snapshot in an album of girlish good times, but as the poignant central image in an internet campaign, which would quickly be joined by over 58,000 people. Fundraisers would be held. There would be angry public meetings. Resignations would be called for; the principal of the secondary school and the chief of police in South Hadley. Martha Croakley, the formidable attorney general of Massachusetts, would be petitioned by locals to get involved.
This girl with the gorgeous, lilting accent had arrived full of dreams for a new life, they raged, and now the citizens of the most Irish-American of all US States would send her ashes home in a jar.
How and why Phoebe Prince's life ended at just 15 years of age is a complex story but to even begin to answer it we must return to where she grew up, in a tiny area called Ardeamish, which nestles on the Co Clare coast, between Doolin and Lisdoonvarna. Her family arrived there from Bedford, in England, in 1996, when Phoebe was just two years old. Her father Jeremy had come there to work as a landscape gardener, selling blueberries, shrubs and other plants. Her mother, Anne O'Brien, had gone back to college later in life. She had qualified as a schoolteacher and had taken up a post at the local Mary Immaculate Secondary School. Phoebe had a younger sister, Lauren, a keen athlete, and three older siblings -- Simon, Tessa and Bridget. For most of the last decade and a half, the younger girls lived with their parents in a picturesque house at the back of the cemetery, facing the wild Atlantic ocean.
Even as a family of "blow-ins" the Princes were well liked and are described by locals as "very decent people". Jeremy would take his pint at the local pub and Phoebe was extremely close to him. On an online blog, set up by one of her future English teachers, she described the long chats they had: "no subject is off limits... sex, drugs and rock and roll to ancient religions, politics and criminal justice." They're the words of a sensitive, intelligent young girl and Phoebe was well liked by her peers. Then, in September of last year, the family decided to move with Phoebe and Lauren to America, as they said in the death notice, "so that Phoebe could experience America and be near her family, especially her Uncle John, Auntie Eileen and cousins Brendan and Molly."
South Hadley, where they arrived, is about as far from the image of Massachusetts as an affluent Irish-Catholic enclave as it is possible to get without leaving the Bay State. It is one of several fairly grim, lower-middle-class towns that line the Connecticut River valley, about 90 miles from Boston. The locals speak with broad, flat accents. The literacy standards in the schools are below the national average. Anne rented a picket fence-fronted duplex at Newton Street, a few blocks from South Hadley High School, which Phoebe would later attend.
The Irish-born human rights academic and Obama advisor, Samantha Power, once said that her experience going from an Irish secondary school into the clique-ish "jockocracy" of an American high school had prepared her like nothing else for work in the world's most dangerous war zones. For Phoebe, the sniper fire began almost immediately. If her accent and good looks won her some novelty value she was completely unprepared for the variegated networks of alliances and rivalries that ruled the corridors of South Hadley High. The school had had a longstanding and very serious problem with bullying. In the month Phoebe arrived in the town, school authorities decided that things had got so out of hand that they arranged for Barbara Colloroso, a nationally renowned expert on bullying, to pay a visit. Colloroso had previously been brought in to the Red Lake reservation in Minnesota after a 16-year-old shot dead seven people at the school where he had been bullied. For South Hadley, she should have been the cavalry.
But while the management of the school and the parents said they wanted change they appeared paralysed by inaction and disorganisation. Colloroso gave a public talk that was attended by only 10 parents and made recommendations to the school's management that she later said were never implemented. One of the biggest problems, she added, was that the school had no clear policy on cyberbullying -- a fateful omission given what would later happen to Phoebe. The internet was a virtual cauldron, in which the bullies of South Hadley could stir their grievances and skewer their victims. Protected by the anonymity of the web they would also post sexually explicit information about themselves and gossip about fellow students.
Phoebe was not a part of this. She kept in touch with her friends back home in Clare but the fierce online jousting of the kids at South Hadley High would have been new to her as would the sheer level of physical aggression that was commonplace in the school -- younger kids being slammed up against lockers was a frequent occurrence. One former student, Lex Zypher, described the car park of the building as a "war zone."
In this violent, hormonal maelstrom, Phoebe was completely overwhelmed. And in some ways her looks and charm were to be her downfall. During the autumn semester at South Hadley High she won the attentions of a popular older boy, a "senior" who was named "Class Flirt" in a poll of his peers for the yearbook. They went out for about two weeks and the brief union would have represented a social coup for Phoebe. She wasn't thought to be too upset when it finished and perhaps innocently hoped it would have the happy by-product of elevating her in the popularity stakes of the school. She was like any other 15-year-old; she wanted to be liked.
What Phoebe didn't realise was that the boy who had set his sights on her was deeply embedded in the clique of pretty, popular girls who would later become notorious as The Untouchable Mean Girls of South Hadley. And they considered the Irish freshman's daring raid on their prized alpha male a serious breach of school protocol. In the nastiest ways possible they set out to curb this new pup of her "hubris" and mobilised a coterie of bullies against her.
From being the interesting new girl, Phoebe found herself worse than persona non grata. She was stalked in the hallways. Books were knocked out of her hand and pencils were thrown at her in class. Everywhere she went she was taunted. Her mobile phone number was passed around and threatening text messages were sent to her. On various internet sites unprintable epithets were hurled at her. Behind her back down the corridor came the endless, ringing chant: "Irish whore".
As the weeks passed the bullying became worse and worse. On January 14 of this year it all came to a head. According to a mother of a boy who was friends with her, Phoebe had been hysterically upset during the day at the school and had seen the school medical officer. Later, as she was walking home from school, a group of girls screamed insults at her from the window of a passing car and threw a can of Red Bull at her. Phoebe kept on walking.
It was later that afternoon that Lauren, Phoebe's 12-year-old sister, made the terrible discovery. Phoebe had hanged herself in one of the wardrobes in the family home. The young girl was left to dial 911. By 4.40pm the house was surrounded by police and paramedics but they were unable to revive Phoebe.
At a service two days later, wearing the dress she was to wear to the Cotillion, Phoebe's body was laid out at St Patrick's Catholic Church in South Hadley. As Somewhere Over The Rainbow was played many of those gathered wept openly. There was a contingent of people from Clare, including many of Phoebe's family back home. In the following days a death notice appeared in the paper -- the family had waited until afterwards because they wanted to keep the service as private as possible.
In the death notice, they said, "Phoebe was gifted with exceptional beauty -- but that is not important. She was gifted with a sharp and creative brain -- but that is not important. She had impressive artistic talent -- but that is not important. What her family and friends from both sides of the Atlantic grieve in is the loss of the incandescent enthusiasm of a life blossoming."
They revealed that they had set up a scholarship fund in Phoebe's name (details at the end of this piece). The notice ended with a quote in Irish: "Go gcoinni Dia I mbois a laimhe thu" -- May God keep you in the palm of his hand. Phoebe would later be cremated and her ashes brought back to Ireland where a service was held for her at a packed church in Fanore, Co Clare.