‘I’m awake up to you pair, I didn’t win at all you both rigged it so that I’d get the cake.’
They both protested they hadn’t rigged it, but even at the age of seven I could tell when two grown men were trying to stifle their laughter. The ice cream cake was delicious, but I was more intrigued with the dry ice it was packed in and I was very annoyed that I wasn’t allowed to play with it.
I was taken to the local Catholic School and introduced to Sister Mary Mathias later to be called Mother Mathias who was the head teacher. I was enrolled into the school and became the first and only non-Catholic child in the entire school. The reason for my enrolment was sheer genius level thinking on Edith’s part. She firmly believed that because my left hand was smaller than the right one it stood to reason it was considerably weaker and needed strengthening. She concluded the best thing for my hand was for me to learn to play the piano. Someone had told her that the nuns were good piano teachers. So, there I was at the ripe old age of seven years thrust into a strict religious regime to which I knew nothing about chanting prayers every half hour.
The bell would ring three times on the hour and we’d have to stand and recite the Lord’s Prayer and three Hail Mary’s. On the half hour, the bell would ring once and we’d stand to recite the Lord's Prayer. Twice a week I would be summoned to report to the music room to go through the tortuous procedure of trying to master the art of pianoforte. I hadn’t been there very long when my music teacher, Sister Mary Leonard, convinced Edith that I should attend elocution classes as well. My five years of piano and elocution lessons certainly paid off in the long term. Not .
Whenever I get my hands on a piano, I invariably play a tortured rendition of Oh, can you wash your father’s shirt and See the Pyramids along the Nile. I wouldn’t know a crotchet from a quaver if you paid me a million dollars and the art of speech is such when the occasion calls for it, I can speak with a plum in my mouth. Fortunately, I have never had the occasion nor have I ever been able to bring ‘How Now Brown Cow’ into any conversation I've ever had.
As for my religious upbringing, I became every nun’s target to try and convince me I should become a catholic. My observation: being a catholic meant one thing, going to mass at six o’clock every Sunday morning. My own personal religion was to sleep as late as I could every morning especially Sundays. I would tell all the nuns that I couldn’t become a catholic because my mother wouldn’t let me. Perhaps this was the reason when Edith won first prize of a towel and face washer in one of the many raffles the nuns made me sell tickets for, they decided to try and stop a protestant collecting the prize.
In my first year at the school I recall having to go into church to confess my sins. We all had to sit outside a row of three boxes in the back of the church and each child took their turn to enter one of the side boxes as soon as one of the other kids walked out. I was absolutely petrified of what might happen to me in the little darkened room. When I entered, I sat down as if I was on the toilet, I said a quick Hail Mary and then high-tailed it out of there as fast as my little legs could travel. I knew I’d done something wrong by the look of disbelief on all the other kid’s faces, but I never did find out who or what was in the middle box. It could have been the devil himself for all I knew.
Edith received an unexpected visit from Father Murphy, the Parish Priest, in the early summer of my first year at the catholic school. She had been cooking the Christmas puddings in the old copper boiler. As you can imagine, standing over a boiler on a hot summer’s day, she wouldn’t be wearing an overcoat. Edith was appropriately dressed in one of her own creations which I guess was very daring in those days. She wore a floral homemade bra with matching shorts. Her hair was tied back with a scarf to keep it out of her eyes and off her face. Father Murphy’s face almost hit the floor on seeing Edith almost naked. He introduced himself and Edith greeted him cordially by introducing herself. He didn’t mince words and came straight to the point
Father Murphy ‘Do you always dress like that, Mrs Long?’
Edith ‘Yes, Father, I do when it’s a stinking hot day like today, especially when I’m busy preparing the Christmas puddings over a very hot boiler’
Father Murphy ‘Don’t you think it’s rather risqué?'
Edith ‘No I don’t, not in the privacy of my own home when I’m not expecting visitors. I think it’s very appropriate attire and extremely comfortable for this humid climate, but I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss my clothing, Father, so how can I help you?’Father Murphy ‘Mrs Long, it’s come to my attention that you live here with two men and that you did not marry Mr Long in the catholic church even though he’s a catholic.’Edith ‘Yes, that’s right, Father.’
Father Murphy ‘Do you realise that you’re not married in the eyes of God, Mrs Long, and living with two men is rather unusual to say the least wouldn’t you say?’
Edith looked at him without batting an eye
Edith ‘Father, it was my husband’s decision not to be married in the catholic church as he doesn’t believe in religion and I don’t think it’s unusual to have my husband’s brother living with us. Especially considering that he’s recuperating from having surgery for Tuberculosis.’
Father Murphy rather stunned by her frankness spluttered, ‘Oh.’
Edith ‘Now if you'll excuse me, Father, I’m a very busy woman and I do have other chores to attend to as much as I’d like to stand here and chat with you.’
She bade him a good morning and closed the door in his face.
All hell exploded when Edith retold the story to Dad, he ranted and raved,
‘How dare those bastards come to my home and question my wife about me.’
He concluded by telling Edith,
‘If he ever comes back again telling you you’re not married you bloody well tell him to find another woman for me to marry in his precious bloody church and he can do my time in jail for bigamy.’
With all the disruptions of learning and reciting prayers, going to piano and elocution lessons twice a week, I had no interest in school by the end of my first year. I couldn’t have given two hoots where the highest mountain was or how long the longest river was or where Rotterdam was on the map. I wasn’t going to climb, swim or live in any of these places so what was the use of learning about them. As for arithmetic and algebra I was hopeless beyond adding the simplest of sums, but if nothing else I absolutely loved reading and writing especially doing compositions and we had to write a composition every weekend for homework.
Every Sunday night I’d sit at the dining room table and write an event to my heart’s content. If I got nine out of ten for it on Monday, I was upset because ten out of ten was my usual grade and I was so proud of this achievement. Our next-door neighbour, Dotty, would come in to help me with my maths and geography, Mum used to give her five shillings, (fifty cents) to come and tutor me. Dotty did try to earn her money, but I wasn’t interested in learning at all. Ironically although I hated maths, geography and history etc I now find that rarely a day goes by I’m not calculating something, I’d give my eyeteeth to visit every country in the world and I’m fascinated by historical events.
Even if I was remotely interested in learning, James certainly stopped any desire I had. He had begun learning to play the drums and every moment of his waking hours he tapped out a constant rhythmic beat on anything and everything. Every mealtime became a musical endurance for the entire family. Knives forks and spoons became the sticks and the crockery, glassware and condiment bottles were the drums and cymbals.
On Sunday nights when Dotty came to help me with my homework James would use our heads as the drums. If we were lucky, he’d only use his hands or fingers