‘Maybe the nuns battered her to death,’ suggested Margaret, ‘then buried her body in the convent grounds.’
I shivered. I had a horrible feeling that something spooky was under the beds, and suddenly, I didn’t want to be kneeling alone on the cold floor. I told the others to stop scaring me. ‘It’s not fair. You’re not on the floor in the dark,’ I said.
But soon the whispering started up again, so I got up and sat on the edge of my bed with my feet tucked under me so that nothing could grab at them from below. We took turns telling each other ghost stories, all of them true, of course, and some of them really quite brilliant. A few of the stories had been told before, but no one seemed to mind. Nights like these didn’t come around very often, and we weren’t in the mood to sleep.
We heard footsteps and the whispering stopped. I fell down onto my knees again. Sister Thomas swept back into the room and began to walk along the rows of beds, checking to see if anyone was awake. I was convinced she’d heard us, but she appeared to be satisfied. She came to a halt at the end of my bed.
‘Get in bed now, Reilly.’
‘Thank you, Sister.’ I climbed under the covers. It was such a wonderful feeling to be able to lie down at last. I realised that I was much more afraid of Sister Thomas than I could ever be of any ghost and wondered if the ghost Kathleen had seen had been beaten to death by a nun like her. Remembering some of the beatings I’d taken, I was filled with sadness and sympathy for the long-dead girl.
The next morning the incessant ringing of the morning bell ripped through my sleep, tore me out of my dreams and dumped me back into reality. Not for the first time I was overcome by an urge to grab the bell from the nun and chuck it out of the window. I hated that awful sound. This particular morning, with my head still aching from the night before, the bell jarred more than ever. Each peal seemed a thousand times louder than usual, reverberating through my brain until it felt like it might explode.
At last morning prayers began, and then we rushed to get ready for morning Mass. I did my best to keep up, but I was in a delicate state. While I was washing my face, I heard Sister Thomas call, ‘Reilly!’
My heart thumped wildly, as it always did when she called my name. I hurried to see what she wanted. ‘I don’t care whose turn it is, Reilly. I want you to empty the chamber pot right now.’
I looked across to the middle of the room. The chamber pot was full and it was going to be extremely difficult to move it without spilling its contents, which, I thought, was just how she wanted it.
‘Come on, Reilly, I haven’t got all morning.’
The menace in her voice made me tremble. I leant over the pot to get a good grip of the sides and began to lift it up. The stench made my stomach turn, and I was on the verge of gagging, but I knew that she was ready to pounce if I spilled a single drop and was determined not to give her that satisfaction. She made it obvious that she found it amusing to watch me struggle. She was hoping I’d stumble – better still, I might vomit and then she could give me a beating and get me to clear up the mess. Focusing all my powers of concentration, I took small, shuffling steps towards the bathroom and, to my relief, made it to the toilet and managed to pour the contents of the pot away without any spillage. Just as I was cleaning up with Jeyes Fluid, she called out, ‘Reilly, make sure you’re ready for Mass before the bell goes.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
She hovered behind me as I rushed to get ready, watching my every move. Soon all that was left to do was my hair. I’d deliberately left it until last because my head was so sore and tender. I gave it a few tentative strokes with a brush, but even the lightest pressure hurt. Seizing her opportunity, Sister Thomas grabbed the brush from my hand.
‘Like this, Reilly,’ she said, pulling it vigorously through my hair.
I fought hard to hold back the tears and screams as she forced the brush through the bloody, knotted clumps of hair. The hard bristles scraped my scalp, reopening the scabs left by the previous day’s wounds. She was really getting into it when, thankfully, the bell rang for Mass and she ordered me into line. My head hurt like crazy, and I still wanted to cry out with pain, but I was proud that I hadn’t screamed in front of her and wasn’t going to break down now.
Sister Thomas woke us earlier than usual the next day.
‘This morning,’ she said, ‘I want to read you the story of Doubting Thomas. This story reminds us of what happens when we doubt what the Bible tells us and fail to keep our faith in God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Of what happens when we stop believing that God sees us all the time and knows when we’re lying.’
She turned and looked directly at me. I was sure this must be about the Murphys. She opened the book and started to read, while the rest of us held back our yawns. We’d heard the story so many times that we could recite it off pat. After the first few lines I was no longer listening. Instead, I started to think about what to say if she started on me again. I didn’t want another beating, but saying I’d been lying about the Murphys might not save me from that. I tried to figure out what would get me into the least trouble, but Sister Thomas was so horrible that she was probably going to hit me again no matter what. I couldn’t win. My concentration wandered back to the story just as she was explaining again that doubters would go straight to Hell.
I was always being told I was going to Hell, often just for being a Reilly. I’d been condemned to Hell so many times that I couldn’t see any way of getting to Heaven, no matter how hard I prayed or how good I tried to be. I tried not to think about what an eternity in Hell would be like, but there really was no escape from it. The Bible was full of references to it, and the nuns continually threatened us with it, especially when they were telling us off. In chapel, we were told that if we did wrong we would ‘burn in the fires of Hell’ and that there was no escape from the pain of it. It was too horrible to imagine, especially for a child. Every now and then I even dreamt about it, waking up in a sweat and frantically praying to God not to send me there. Most of the time I tried hard to be a good Catholic girl and do what was right. But I was never sure if it was going to be enough. After all, I was still a Reilly.
The story ended, and Sister Thomas said morning prayers. Physically, I was feeling worse than I had the day before. On the way to Mass I felt weak and couldn’t stop thinking about going to Hell. At Mass the priest’s sermon was about the Devil and Hell and how only the chosen would get into Heaven. I couldn’t bear it and tried to switch my mind off, but suddenly, it felt like someone had switched off all the lights instead. When they came back on, Loretta was standing over me.
‘Are ye all right now, Frances?’
I tried to get up, but I was dizzy and disorientated.
‘Ye’ll be OK now, Frances. Ye just fainted.’
Sister Kevin told Loretta to take me to the dormitory. Loretta helped me up, and slowly we walked away.
‘Do ye hate being a Reilly, Loretta, and are ye scared of going to Hell?’ I asked her shakily.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a Reilly!’ she said. ‘I’m proud of it, sure. If I wasn’t a Reilly then I wouldn’t be yer sister, and I love being yer sister.’
I lay on my bed and sobbed. Loretta gave me a hug. ‘What is it, Frances, what’s wrong?’
When my sobs had subsided, I blurted everything out – what had happened at the Murphys’ house and Sister Thomas’s punishment. ‘And now I’m going to Hell!’ I said.
Loretta looked upset. She told me to hang in there until she could think of a way to get us out. ‘They’ll have to let us out one day, anyway. They can’t keep us here forever. And when we’re out we can let people outside know what goes on in this place. I promise you, Frances, we’ll think of something. I’d better go now. I’ll try to bring you some breakfast.’
I felt some relief at having shared my story and feelings with my sister but hoped she wouldn’t do anything that would get her into trouble with the nuns. Then I reasoned that she wasn’t stupid and knew b
etter than to confront them directly. I relaxed a little.
After she’d gone, Bernadette and Chrissie sneaked in to see me.
‘Are you OK, Frances?’ Chrissie asked.
‘I should be used to it by now, but I’m not,’ I said through clenched teeth. ‘I hate Sister Thomas so much. I wish I could get back at her.’
Chrissie had never seen an expression like that on my face before. ‘Ye won’t do anything stupid, will ye, Frances?’ she said.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep my head together. But people should know what goes on in this place!’
Bernadette sat on the end of my bed. ‘Ye’re right, Frances, but how do we tell them without getting into trouble?’
I thought for a while. Then it hit me. ‘Ye can make paper aeroplanes, can’t ye, Bernadette?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘We could write messages on them and send them flying over the wall for people on the road to Belfast to read. If we could just get the truth out, the papers might get hold of it and the convent would be shut down. Then we’d be sent to a better home.’
Bernadette and Chrissie fell silent. I watched their faces for a reaction.
‘Ye might be right, Frances,’ Bernadette said thoughtfully. ‘I’ll try to get some paper later on.’
The dormitory felt unnaturally quiet and peaceful after they left. With nothing much to do, I found myself staring at a sacred-heart picture of Jesus hanging on the wall. It was the only colourful thing in the room. Soon I had the strangest feeling that the eyes in the picture were staring straight at me. I thought back to the previous day and the ghost girl. Perhaps there was a ghost or spirit inside the picture. I felt a bit spooky and goose bumps appeared on my arms as I let my imagination run wild. Something kept drawing me back to the picture, and I was now convinced that Jesus’s eyes were watching me through it. It was a really uncomfortable feeling. I shut my eyes, hoping that when I opened them, the picture would look normal again, that the eyes wouldn’t look so real. But it didn’t work. When I opened them again, Jesus was still staring down at me. But where was He when you really needed Him?
CHAPTER 13
The Inspectors
I met up with Bernadette and Chrissie at recreation. Bernadette had some paper and a pencil under her cardigan to make the paper planes with. She’d taken them from Sister Francis’s class.
‘What shall we write?’ I asked, wondering how we could get people to take us seriously. We found ourselves a place to sit far away from the rest of the girls and the two nuns on duty.
‘We could write, “Please help us. The nuns are cruel,”’ Chrissie suggested.
‘That’s good. Can you write it, Chrissie?’ Bernadette said, knowing that I would struggle to spell the words.
Chrissie didn’t have to be asked twice. She picked up the pencil and began writing on the paper in large clear letters. I laughed at the way she poked her tongue out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated. After she’d written the same message on both sides of eight pages, Bernadette started folding the paper into planes.
We went behind a tree near the wall. Chrissie was on lookout, and when the coast was clear, she gave the nod to Bernadette and me, and we threw the paper planes as high as we could into the air. One of Bernadette’s went over the wall, but the rest fell to the ground. Laughing at our lack of skill, we gathered them up quickly and waited for a few moments to make sure we weren’t being watched. I said I would be lookout next time to give Chrissie a go.
When I thought it was safe, I gave them a nod and they tried again. None of the planes made it this time, but they were having a great laugh trying. Bernadette suggested that as I was the smallest and the lightest of us, I should stand on someone’s shoulders and throw the rest over. It seemed like a good idea. I loved any chance to climb, and I had a good sense of balance.
‘You can stand on my shoulders, Frances.’
‘OK, Chrissie, but don’t let me fall. You’ll have to stand very still!’
Some girls walked by, and we pretended to be picking up leaves from the ground and stripping the green from them. We got some strange looks, but the girls went on past.
Bernadette took her place at the other side of the tree to keep watch. When Chrissie and I heard the words ‘All clear!’ we moved closer to the wall, and Chrissie clasped her hands together to form a makeshift step. I swung my leg up, placed one foot on her hands and was up on her shoulders in a few seconds.
‘Still clear!’ said Bernadette, from the other side of the tree.
I steadied myself and threw the paper planes with all my strength. I managed to get five over the wall, but one fell back to the ground and another got stuck in the barbed wire. I reached up and pulled it out.
‘Seniors coming!’ warned Bernadette.
I jumped down, and we pretended to be looking for something on the ground again. The seniors paid us no attention whatsoever.
‘I think we’ve done enough,’ Chrissie said.
We spent the rest of recreation wondering if anyone would bother to pick up the planes and read them.
‘I hope whoever finds them doesn’t hand them into the nuns,’ I said.
But there was no going back now. All we could do was hope that the plan would work and that the convent would be investigated and shut down.
After recreation we went to our classrooms. I’d been moved from Sister Kevin’s class to Sister Francis’s, and I hated it because Sister Francis had a big blackthorn stick that she would use on girls she didn’t like. We weren’t taught a lot. The subject was nearly always religion, and if one of us couldn’t answer a question about the Bible, Sister Francis would make an example of her in front of the class by hitting her with the stick.
I’d been in her class a few weeks and had been beaten nearly every day. Unusually, Sister Thomas hadn’t called me out of lessons for a while, but I felt sure she’d be summoning me soon because she’d much prefer me to be scrubbing floors than learning anything. Still, for the time being I was stuck in a class where, because I’d missed so many lessons, I couldn’t answer all the questions, and I was getting whacked for my ignorance. Quite often I did actually know the answers, but when I was asked and everyone looked at me, I’d find myself flushing red and my mind would go completely blank. And the more that I couldn’t answer, the more questions I was asked. It was yet another no-win situation.
I didn’t want to be in this class. I just didn’t seem to fit in. Like all the nuns, Sister Francis had her pets, and they were never punished. After just one day in the classroom I knew who they were. It seemed that they couldn’t do anything wrong, or if they did, Sister Francis was completely blind to it. Incredibly, I started hoping that I’d be sent off to do some dirty job instead of going to class. It was what I was used to, and at least I wouldn’t be embarrassed.
Sister Francis warned everyone to be on their best behaviour because the ministry inspectors were coming around. We had to make sure that the classroom was tidy, then we had to wash, do our hair and change into our Sunday clothes. Back in the classroom, she went through what we should say if the inspectors asked us any questions. Her instructions were to be followed exactly or we’d be severely punished after they’d gone.
If asked, we were to smile and say that we enjoyed being in the convent and that ‘The nuns do their very best for all of us.’ Sister Kevin came in and whispered something to Sister Francis.
‘I want you to all to recite the Ten Commandments, and keep in time!’ Sister Francis barked at us. ‘The inspectors are on their way and I want them to be impressed. Now, look like you’re enjoying your lesson. I’ll be watching all of you!’
The inspectors – two men and three women – came in just as we’d got to the fifth commandment, ‘Thou shall not kill.’
Sister Francis shook their hands. They waited in silence until we’d finished.
‘Good afternoon, girls,’ they said.
‘Good afternoon,’ we chorused, smiling politely, just as S
ister Francis had told us to.
They looked around at us as if they were studying animals in a zoo, while Sister Francis kept a close eye on us to make sure that we were behaving well. Then they walked around the classroom asking questions at random. One of the men stopped at my desk.
‘What’s your name?’
‘I’m Frances Reilly, sir,’ I answered meekly. My face felt hot. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sister Francis staring at me, hanging on to my every word in case I said the wrong thing.
‘Do you like it here in the convent?’
‘Yes, sir, I do,’ I lied, forcing a smile. I wished that Sister Francis would leave so I could tell him that I really didn’t like it one bit.
‘So you have a lot to thank the good sisters for. For taking you all in and caring for you?’
This made my blood boil. ‘Yes, sir,’ I said, nearly choking on the words.
‘Very good.’ He patted me on the head and moved on to another girl.
The others gave similar answers to similar questions, and we all did an excellent job of creating a false impression of convent life, especially Sister Francis’s pets, who couldn’t praise the nuns enough. The inspectors seemed happy with what they’d seen and heard, but just as they were about to leave the classroom, one of the women spotted the long blackthorn stick in the corner of the room, Sister Francis’s pride and joy. How she loved to walk about the room threatening and beating the girls with it!
‘What do you use this for?’ the woman said, picking it up.
Sister Francis went red in the face and faked a smile. ‘Oh, that’s my pointing stick,’ she said, holding out her hand to take it. The woman handed it over with a quizzical look, and Sister Francis made a show of pointing to some writing at the top of the blackboard. To me, it was obvious that she was lying, but the inspector seemed satisfied. I couldn’t help thinking that the nuns were a bunch of hypocrites. There appeared to be one rule for them and another for us. It should have been Sister Francis reciting the Ten Commandments. What about the eighth commandment, ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness…?’
Suffer The Little Children Page 13