No amount of French would get this Irish lass down!
After a long night filled with jumbled dreams of home, my mother trying to scold me in strange French terms, meals made up of mysterious ingredients, being exposed naked before a roomful of taunting boys and nuns threatening to sent me home, I awoke to the gonging of an unfamiliar bell. Sister Agnes, who slept in a tiny room at the end of the dorm, emerged from it ,fully dressed. She called out, “Blessed be God for ever.” All the girls responded, “Let us arise to do His Holy Will.” I thought that was a wonderful way to start the day. To this day, that prayer often comes to mind when I first awake.
Still, it was strange to get out of that narrow bed and wait patiently in line for a turn in the tiny bathroom. (It actually was located at the end of the dorm, behind a curtain as the only means of providing a modicum of privacy) Dressing in full view of so many strangers played havoc with my sense of modesty. In the mandated silence of our morning preparations, the other girls eyed my clothing. I tried not to let it bother me. Mom had done her best to provide an adequate wardrobe. I refused to let strangers’ stares made me feel inferior.
At a specified time, properly groomed, parade-style, we descended the steep, dimly lighted stairs to begin morning prayers in the chapel. I am not sure if it was because of the early hour or because of the strict discipline that my companions were so abnormally quiet. At home, there had always been a kind of din with someone in the family, humming or singing some tune of the day or the radio was blaring, or there was the familiar joshing between siblings. This morning I would have given anything to have heard my brother Fritz singing, “Oh, Pretty Red Wing,” immediately followed by pleas from the rest of us to “Shut Up.”
After many turns down various halls and stairways, we arrived at the beautiful little chapel. Here at least, I knew what was expected of me. I genuflected and knelt in my assigned place. I tried to pray but there was just so much to take in. In the back of the chapel, I had seen a group of kneeling nuns who appeared to be deeply immersed in prayer. The altar was richly decorated with burning candles set in shining candlestick holders. The altar was enveloped in sweet smelling flowers and snowy white altar linens. Quietly we awaited the arrival of the priest who would celebrate Mass with us.
As time went on, I learned that Father Bernard was always very punctual. We knew exactly when he would arrive because he invariably blew his nose like an elephant trumpeting in the jungle. His handkerchiefs were always a strange shade of yellow. I wondered why he didn’t use white handkerchiefs. I finally figured out that he snuffed tobacco and his handkerchiefs were permanently stained from the tobacco juices. He offered Mass in Latin voiced with a heavy French intonation. I was perfectly at home with the Latin but that French accent was completely foreign to me.
Most of the boarders, like me, were from all parts of ND whereas the “day scholars” as they were called came from the village and the surrounding areas. I was to learn that most of these students came from a French heritage and already knew French from hearing it at home.
After Mass, we had a nourishing and appetizing breakfast. The bread was marvelous, tasting just as good if not a little better than my mom’s home baked bread. Then it was into the classroom to meet the rest of the freshman class.
Cringing with shyness, I was introduced to my classmates. When that was over, I was so glad to slip into my place at the desk that had been assigned to me. The first class was to be the study of French. Sister Eugene Marie was my teacher. She called on each to read parts of a French selection. I was amazed that most of the students could rattle it off without hesitation. She even had the nerve to call on me to read a sentence or two. I had no idea of how to pronounce the words that were blurring before my eyes. I managed to get out a few syllables before the class burst out laughing. How rude! Sister Eugene reprimanded them and quiet in the class resumed. I thought that I would hate French class from that day on. My list of worries was not diminishing one bit. At the rate things were going, I would surely have a nervous breakdown during my first week away from home. I began to realize that life here was certainly going to be different.
Besides my French teacher, Sister Eugene, there were about ten teachers on the staff. Sister Eugene would teach me English and General Business. I thought she had come straight from heaven. Later, however, I found out that she did have a short fuse. This made me realize that nuns were indeed human like the rest of us. Most of time, I admired everything about her. During my first year in her religion classes, I sat totally absorbed, drinking in her every word. My mother and those visiting nuns who taught me each summer, had educated me in many things, but this nun opened up areas of religion that I never knew existed.
Looking back now, I realize her classes consisted mostly of a whitewashed version of church history, a detailed explanation of church rituals and the meaning of every gesture and word of the Mass. She emphasized obedience to rules and regulations. There were many warnings about how easy it is to lose one’s salvation. She was very legalistic in her outlook on life. I don’t recall ever studying Scripture or being reminded of the need to deepen my relationship with Jesus as the center of my life. I do recall Sister Eugene telling the class that we should be ready to offer Jesus a blank sheet of paper with our name on the bottom line. We were to accept whatever plan Jesus had put down on that spiritual tablet. That impressed me! I was ready to sign. Yet,I kept wondering just how I would get to know what the Lord had written there for me. Later on, Sister Eugene took it upon herself to enlighten me about what she thought that plan included. She must have been looking over Jesus’ shoulder while He was writing up my personal agenda. But more about that later.
The principal, Sister Marie, was an older nun. She taught me U.S. History and General Science. She was also the one who assigned the jobs I had to do each day to earn my board and room.
Next: Working for my keep.