My daughter wants to become a nun. A bloody nun. I said to her why don’t you go get yourself pregnant like other girls your age and give me some grandkids. Mess around a bit, I said. Live it up a bit. I thought once she got into the business of playing around with the guys in the pub she’d change her mind. But she said she wants to become a nun.
I don’t know what’s got into the modern generation. Kids these days are so disappointing.
Once a month, Sister Mary Hedwig organised her Year 4 class to do something to raise money for the Missions. It would be only a little thing. Each theme would last a week. For example there was Bring a Stuffed Toy Week and there was Wear Something with Spots On Week. If you took part you would pay as little as one cent although you were always welcome to give more. Sister had a little nest egg hidden away for those who couldn’t or didn’t pay. The money would go into the piggy bank sitting on Sister’s desk. One year the class made almost fifty dollars which they sent to Brigitte’s uncle who taught poor children in Rwanda.
For the Bring a Stuffed Toy Week Nigel brought along bits of a teddy bear torn to pieces by his dog. It’s really stuffed, said Nigel. Language Nigel, language, said Sister and charged him two cents instead of one. My father put me up to it, said Nigel.
One day Esme turned up to school wearing the most elaborate necklace. It must have been worth a pretty penny. It had real pearls (at least they looked like real pearls) with silver interconnecting bits. It’s my grandmother’s, said Esme. She said I could borrow it for the week provided I was careful.
But why are you wearing it to school? asked Sister Hedwig.
You said not to forget our theme for the missions: Necks Week.
I said next week, said Sister Mary Hedwig.
Esme went a delicate pink. Nigel thought it was hilarious.
Some wag (a former pupil of Sister Mary Emilian) had placed a traffic cone on the cross at the top of the church roof. Sister Mary Emilian hated it. She would see it every morning on the way to mass. If someone could put it up there, someone could get it down. She would get quite annoyed about it. Everyone else seemed to think that the traffic cone high on the church cross was mildly amusing.
One day, Sister Emilian borrowed a ladder and a long chimney sweep’s broom. She would get the traffic cone down herself. The ladder was a bit wobbly.
Mother Superior spied the wobbling ladder. “Sister, come down at once,” she called. “At once!”
And she did come down. A lot faster than was intended.
If you visit Sister Mary Emilian’s grave, hers is the one with the traffic cone placed by some wag (a former pupil of Sister Mary Emilian) on the gravestone cross.