Sisters of the East End

by Helen Batten

  She complained that his pressure to employ more probationers had led them to become disobedient. The Reverend claimed that, on the contrary, the probationers were unruly because Mary Jones was ‘unjust and unmerciful’, and treated them as overgrown children. He said that Mary Jones didn’t allow him to investigate whether the nurse was in the right or wrong. He thought that she had caused the disciplinary problems by setting such a bad example herself. He said that the Mother Superior must always defer to the Master, ‘where the law of nature places him, over and not under a female officer’. Gipps insisted that any alteration in the rules was ‘a course of policy which must terminate in substituting a woman for a man in the government of a house: a result of which, I believe, would speedily leave no house to be governed’.

  Mary Jones was having none of this. She threatened to resign unless Gipps was replaced and Gipps threatened to resign unless Jones was replaced. Mary Jones responded by asking the governing council to abolish the post of Master and appoint her as the ultimate authority in the Community. She was so indispensible and capable that the Board of Governors agreed not only to remove the troublesome Reverend Gipps, but also gave her a seat on the governing board. This was perhaps the first time that a woman had managed to sit on such a committee with the same authority as men.

  However, a couple of years later Sister Mary stretched her lack of obedience too far when she asked that the Sisters be allowed to appoint a chaplain of their own choosing. In reality Mary Jones and many of her Sisters were longing to become a more strictly and overtly religious order, closer to their Catholic counterparts. But in the 1860s anti-Catholic feeling was still very strong. The Bishop agreed to her request as long as the chaplain did not hear Confession and the Sisters did not take the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. Sister Mary Jones insisted that these ministrations would be in no way compulsory and only for those Sisters who wanted them. She wrote: ‘I am an old woman now and I have seen this longing for the religious life spreading widely and deeply among the daughters of our beloved church.’

  Her best friend, Florence Nightingale, waded in, ‘Tell them what you want is not a Committee of inquisition but a simple chaplain. Pricipios Obsta [sic] – oppose any such ecclesiastic domination.’

  But the new Bishop of London would not allow it and wrote to Mary Jones: ‘You must be ready to sacrifice your own individual tastes and wishes when those placed over you in the Lord advise you should make the best of the circumstances in which you find yourselves.’

  It was not the response that Sister Mary Jones was looking for and she resigned, stating, ‘We must demand the right to regulate our own inner life’.

  She left, taking six of the eight Sisters with her, and, despite offers to take up a leading role in the London hospitals, she set up a Sisterhood of district nurses and a chronic care hospital which is still flourishing today, independently from the Community of St John.

  I felt this spirit of rebellion keenly during my first Christmas at St John’s House. As the festive season approached, I became acutely aware of what I was missing in the outside world, not least what my family would be up to at my old home. Edward coming back from work with a tree, the party at the local Labour building just round the corner with dodgy rum punch which always ended in a singalong round the piano and a crazy mix of carols and ‘We’ll Keep the Red Flag Flying’, Elsie and my nephews and nieces coming round. The men would all retreat to the Gloucester Arms while the women prepared lunch and would be back in time for the Queen’s Speech. My grandmother decorating the Christmas pudding with a sprig of holly and too much lit brandy and the lethal threepenny pieces she’d hidden inside, with the day culminating in our own family sing-song, ‘I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls’, with the harmonium squelching because some uncle had poured beer inside it.

  I had been at the Mother House for nine months without a break. However much I was beginning to appreciate it, it was incredibly hard, unrelenting work. The half day a week that we were given off only started at 2.30 p.m. I was starting to feel really tired. Not the sort of tiredness that could be sorted with one night’s good sleep, but a more profound, deeper tiredness that seemed to be sinking right down into my bones.

  Of course at Christmas we gave most of the support staff a few days off, which meant that we all had to work especially hard. We also had more religious services to fit in. So, after a full 12-hour shift on Christmas Eve we had to stay up for Midnight Mass and then we had to get up to sing Christmas carols on the stairs at the nursing home at 5.30 a.m. My ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’ was sung through gritted teeth. I have no idea if the patients appreciated it. Then we started a full day of the normal nursing duties punctuated by a large Christmas lunch. By the start of the Boxing Day shift my goodwill to all men was practically non-existent. ‘How on earth am I going to survive a lifetime of this?’ was the question I kept asking myself through that first festive season.

  You can imagine, therefore, how much I was looking forward to the day of silence and contemplation that was planned a few weeks later. Part of the religious life involves periodically taking time out for retreat. This is a time of specific length spent away from one’s normal life in order to connect at a deeper level with God. I was told I was allowed to spend my day in any way that I chose, as long as it was solitary and in silence, and I was back in the chapel for evening prayer.

  I had been gazing at that enchanted forest outside my bedroom window for a while and I was determined to grab my chance. After my silent lunch I headed off into the trees. It was beautiful. London girl that I was, the closest that I had got to a forest was a small copse on Hampstead Heath. I found myself surrounded by peace and darkness, as if I was the only person alive. I heard my footsteps snapping twigs underfoot, the odd bird singing, a rustle as I disturbed a woodland creature. With this freedom I decided to go off the path, to wander and see where the Holy Spirit took me.

  In my reverie I remembered the film of Disney’s Snow White that I had seen as a child and I half expected to see a small cottage complete with seven singing dwarfs on their way home. I wasn’t afraid, but I felt that God was with me, taking me on a magical journey out of the intensity which at times felt overwhelming to something free and more basic, the beauty of creation. It was easy to forget God’s natural world when I spent so many hours in man-made buildings. As I pondered these things I suddenly remembered the time: I had to be back at five o’clock for evening prayers. I felt an instant sense of panic. Where was the path? I started to head in what I thought was the right direction, but I only seemed to be getting deeper and deeper into the forest and the light was fading fast.

  I imagined the Sisters gathering, an empty space on my pew. The forest didn’t seem so benign now, and I had an image of Hansel and Gretel and their breadcrumbs being eaten. ‘Dear Lord, show me the way,’ I prayed. Shadowy thoughts started to enter my head. Perhaps I hadn’t been guided by the Holy Spirit but something darker? An internal debate started with one voice saying, ‘What’s the worst that could happen? It was a genuine mistake, so you miss Evening Prayer.’ But another voice was telling me off for my stupidity, my willfulness, my arrogance in thinking I could find my own way. There is only one path. ‘Dear God,’ I prayed. ‘Please let me find the path. I promise I will never stray from the path again.’ Into my head strayed a paragraph about those who chose the religious life from the rule of St Benedict: ‘It is love that impels them to pursue everlasting life; therefore, they are eager to take the narrow road of which Jesus says “Narrow is the road that leads to life”. They no longer live by their own judgement, giving in to their whims and appetites; rather they walk according to another’s decisions and directions, choosing to live in monasteries.’

  I realised however much I was irritated by the rules of the convent, deep down I still really wanted to conform, I wanted to be part of the Community and I wanted to make it work. I don’t know how long I walked in what seemed like circles, but suddenly I saw the path in front of m
e. Filled with relief, I quickly headed out. In front of me was the Mother House and a group of Sisters walking towards me.

  ‘Where have you been? We have all been worried about you, you silly girl.’ Sister Julia seemed to relish the opportunity to scold me.

  I was taken into Mother Sarah Grace’s study, where I was given a lecture about missing prayers, the selfishness of worrying the Community, how I must never do this again. I apologised and she could see I was genuinely shocked and upset.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry. I was lost; I wandered from the path. I will never do it again,’ I said.

  Her face softened. ‘Yes, I can see. You look frightened. I’m sure you have learnt a lesson. Sometimes we have to wander from the path in order to see how important it is for us to stay there.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Christ himself spent 40 days in the wilderness. You’ve just had an afternoon and yet how powerful just an afternoon can be. It might be useful to spend some time thinking about that. God sometimes allows us to wander, so we can make our own decision whether to come back. And it seems you have come back. Which leads me to something I have been wanting to talk to you about. Catherine Mary, we have decided that if you wish, you should proceed to the next stage: to your clothing, to becoming a novice. We think you are ready. Is that what you would like?’

  I was overcome with joy. I hadn’t realised how much I really wanted to take the next step until this moment.

  ‘Oh yes, Mother, thank you.’

  A few years later I watched The Sound of Music. In the opening scene the postulant nun, Maria, is so caught up in the joy of singing on top of a mountain that she misses evening prayers. I chuckled and felt the truth of it. Was I Julie Andrews? And as soon as I had the thought, I realised I was not: I had taken a different path. I was glad that Mother Sarah Grace hadn’t banished me to be a nanny in the outside world, but instead had had faith, as I had done at that moment, that I was on the right path.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  RELEASED INTO THE WILD

  Sometimes people ask me what comes first – do I see myself primarily as a nun, or as a nurse and a midwife? But the question itself is misguided. To me they are inseparable. My life as a nun and my life as a nurse both come from my belief in God. I am called to do both; my vocation is to put God at the centre of my life and express this in the world by being a nurse and a midwife. This really started to become clear in my second year at the Community.

  Very early one frosty winter’s morning in 1960, I found myself putting on my royal blue novice habit for the first time. ‘Hyacinth, darling,’ I said to myself as I smoothed down its voluminous folds. I had been given it, freshly blessed, at Compline the night before. Reverently, I carried it back to my room and lay it on the chair next to my bed. All night I kept waking up and looking at it nervously. Would the clothes ever feel like a perfect fit or would I feel like I was dressing up? In the end I gave up on sleep and spent the rest of the night on my knees in the dark in silent prayer.

  Becoming a Sister is a long process. It takes longer than getting a university degree. In fact it’s the equivalent of starting at university and staying there until you have completed a PhD. And like being at university, at various points you are assessed and examined, and only allowed to proceed to the next stage with the permission of the Mother’s Council. It’s not an automatic process. Only a few are chosen to go through what’s known as ‘the Narrow Gate’. (Taken from a passage of Matthew’s Gospel, ‘Enter through the narrow gate, for wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it’.)

  Despite it’s rather cosy, Women’s Institute-sounding name, the Mother’s Council was very serious. It was made up of the Mother Superior and four other senior Sisters and they met periodically to discuss the most important Community matters. At some point, I must have come up in ‘Community matters’ and been deemed ready to be invited to become ‘clothed’, which is the term they used to describe becoming a novice. Although Mother Sarah Grace never said it, I had the feeling that she liked and understood me, and despite her severe, devout manner she was capable of genuine love for us. I already felt a deep respect for her but there were others in the Community whom I felt might have made a different judgement about me, because there was judging in the convent, particularly from the older generation who had lived through even more exacting and severe regimes. That night I prayed that I would not let Mother Sarah Grace down.

  As the light began to peep through my curtains, I got up and started to get dressed. My anxious prayers seemed to have been justified when I pulled the habit over my head. It was enormous; I looked less holy than wholly comic. It was only later that I discovered that despite going to the bother of measuring you, they only made the habits in one size. However once I’d tied a belt round me and hitched it up a little, I looked a bit more convincing. Then I faced the dilemma of how to tie my new veil – it was just a square of white cloth. ‘Dear God, help me,’ I prayed, giggling slightly hysterically as I tied various crazy configurations around my head. Eventually I thought I had got it right but when Sister Rachel came in to check on me, she laughed. I had tied my veil so tightly under my chin that I couldn’t open my mouth. ‘Is that so you can’t say “thank you” when the Chaplain puts your new cross round your neck?’ she said, undoing it and starting again.

  I was clothed as a novice before the usual early-morning Communion service so, as always, the whole Community was there, with only the presence of the Chaplain General signifying that this was a special day. But as I stood and turned to look at the congregation, I noticed an extra face at the back of the chapel. It was my mother. I was astonished: I’d written to her, telling about my journey of faith and that I was going to be clothed, but I never expected her to come and witness it, especially as I was sure she hadn’t had a ‘road to Damascus’ conversion over the whole idea of me becoming a nun. I had prickles down the back of my throat as I struggled with an overwhelming wave of emotion: the realisation of how much I needed her blessing to be able to move on to my new family and my new home. Although it has to be said, she wasn’t looking overjoyed; she looked very serious. But I took this as a sign that, whatever her feelings about my entering the religious life, she would support me and that meant all the world to me.

  Not long afterwards I was summoned by Mother Sarah Grace and told that an interview had been arranged for me at the local hospital with a view to starting my proper training to become a nurse.

  ‘I tried to persuade them that you could remain living here and commute every day, but they were having none of it.’

  There was a pause. I wasn’t sure what the Reverend Mother was implying.

  ‘I’m sorry. You are just going to have to live out.’

  ‘Live out?’

  ‘In the nurses’ accommodation.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I didn’t quite know what to say. Mother Sarah Grace obviously thought this was going to be difficult for me. I found the idea quite exciting. Out, in the real world. No more curtseying, no more lists, no more restrictions from reading books of an ‘emotional’ nature, no more censored letters; in fact, no more long nighties and knickers with legs. But – much more seriously – it would be the first real test of my vocation. It’s one thing being a nun in a convent, that’s hardly radical; quite another to be surrounded by temptation and others who have chosen to live a different way. If I still preferred to live a life of poverty, chastity and obedience with God at the very centre, I would have passed a really big test. I was about to be released from captivity; could I survive with my vocation intact? ‘Bring it on,’ I thought to myself.

  But I had no sooner closed the door to the Reverend Mother’s study when I was confronted by Sister Julia, who seemed to have been hovering around outside on purpose.

  ‘Just remember if you make a fool of yourself, do it with dignity,’ she s
aid and turned on her heel.

  What did she mean? That evening I prayed earnestly in the chapel.

  Thankfully, after my interview I was accepted for training and some days later a letter arrived from my new nurse tutor at the hospital, complete with a reading list. In order to become a fully trained nurse I had to be awarded a general nurse’s certificate. This meant three years’ training through a combination of lectures, tutorials, and practical experience on the wards. As well as having to write essays and case studies, I would have to sit exams at the end of each year, which I would have to pass. My Achilles’ heel: studying. I had never excelled at school. It dawned on me that not only my reputation, but the reputation of the Community was at stake and I did not feel confident.

  However, leaving the Mother House had a surprise bonus. Mother Sarah Grace sent me a note informing me that because of my need to travel quite frequently between the Mother House and the hospital, on my next afternoon off I was to accompany her into Hastings to purchase a vehicle. So a few days later Mother Sarah Grace and I piled into the yellow Morris Minor with Sister Clemence at the wheel, the Reverend Mother of course in the passenger seat, and me in the back, and we set off into town. As we jolted down the drive in second gear Mother Sarah Grace turned to me with raised eyebrows and a twinkle in her eye and said, ‘So as you can see, Catherine Mary, we really do need to find a way for you to make your own way back to us from the hospital.’