My Dad had moved from Ireland with his family as a child.

My Dad’s village if you can call it that was small, very rural.

The men crossed the water to the enemy England for the high wages and a better life, or so they thought.

The area we lived was full of neighbours and friends from the old country. Everyone knew everyone’s business there was no where to hide.

Once I was at my Aunt and Uncles and the priest knocked the door as he was giving my Uncle holy communion at home.

I remember being terrified as I’d missed church on Sunday and hiding behind the sofa.

Everything was positioned around the church.

My school was behind the church and connected to the Covent.

A beautiful building, windows always gleaming, garden immaculately manicured.

Many of the nuns worked in the school although I doubt they had formal training.

Sister Ann was notorious in the school. What she lacked in stature she made up in presence.

Everyone feared her as when she shouted her face turned crimson and she shook.

In those days it was not uncommon to get the ruler across the hand a punishment I took many a time quietly.

I compared to most got off lightly as I was good at art and my family were very involved with the Priest Father Mayer.

Once I remember it was heading towards the summer holidays.

Our uniforms now a light gingham tunic for the girls, shorts for the boys.

It was an intensely hot day, the sort of heat where you know there’s a storm coming.

My friend a boy Angus was talking and got caught by Sister Ann.

She scolded him dreadfully and sent him outside.

It began to rain. Heavy droplets ferociously teaming down.

We all kept glimpsing outside at poor Angus stood like a drowned rat.

He was left there the entire lesson.

To say I was nervous of my next class was an understatement as it was taught by Sister Shelia.

A myth had reached me that once she locked a boy in a cupboard and nearly lost her job.

There also was the fact she had long hair.

Long grey hair hung down her back covered by her habit.

For anyone who knows nuns have to cut their hair so there was always the question how did she manage to keep it?

Rumours spread by gossipy children yet I was determined not to put a foot wrong.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Sister Shelia was a wonderful teacher.

An amazing artist she taught me the basics of drawing and sketching.

I loved her class and was thirsty for knowledge.

She made everything interesting even maths which id always been poor at.

Everything was fun and the best part of the day was story time.

Normally a mischievous child prone to being chatty I’d sit cross legged patiently waiting for her to begin.

They’d be pregnant pauses full of In trepidation.

Drama, funny voices she brought the books alive.

It’s now 40 years since I was in her class yet I credit her with my love of literature.

She undoubtedly is long gone now yet I hope she knew just how good she was.

Thank you for reading x