The Convent

When I was 11, we had to take to take an exam for a scholarship to Seafield Convent. Needless to say all the `rich' kids got through (they were high contributors to the church finances).

Only two of the poor kids got through; the Catholic School Authorities could scarcely do otherwise because these two girls were brilliant and they came from good Catholic families, which bred profusely and always attended church.

I did not get a scholarship as I was not brilliant, nor did my family attend church after that debacle with the parish priest. My mother had been educated at the Convent of Notre Dame in Liverpool, but then it was known that she had a great uncle who was a Canon of the church and there was a lot of bowing and scraping when this particular pupil's relative visited the convent (Yuk!).

I went to a secondary school called St. Elizabeth's, where we were taught by nuns. Although I could spew forth the catechism with the best of them, I did tend to ask awkward questions and one of the nuns accused me of being a heretic. No doubt in earlier times I would have been burned at the stake.

About the only thing I remember about St. Elizabeth's was the occasion when we did a tableau, where I sat elevated on a chair on a table draped with a Union Jack, a crown on my head and a trident in my hand, required (as I had the strongest singing voice) to belt out Rule Britannia.

I think I must have had a bit of a short fuse when I was young. I remember when I was about nine, going to stay with my cousins John & Frank, to stay for a couple of days in Wales with a friend of Aunty Lil's.

This lady had a son of about 12, who was thoroughly spoiled because he had a heart condition. I didn't know that, so when he said something about Nanny I slapped his face good and hard. He certainly looked startled and I was, of course, in disgrace.

Very satisfying though!