So the golden days were over.  School for me had begun in earnest. I arrived at the convent complete with my tuck box, three pairs of everything, my doll (a baby doll now, not Peggy Diamond) and pram.  Nevertheless, the routine was a shock.  Accustomed to so much freedom at home, it was strange to find my days completely structured.

Apart from our religious lessons, my classmates and I had first to learn to read and write.  Reading came to me fairly easily but writing was much more laborious.  To begin with, we sat at our old fashioned desks, two by two, and copied out pages of the alphabet, gradually moving on to words and then sentences.  When we could read we went on to spelling.  Every day we had a list of words, the spelling of which we had to learn off by heart.  I never minded this, as like reading, I did not find it difficult.

On one occasion when I was about six years old, I was staying at Grannie's house in Dublin.  My uncle Charlie, who was by now in general medical practice in Acton, in London, was also there and he began asking me to spell various words for him.  He was most impressed with my ability to spell words like 'scissors' and I floated on a cloud of happiness at his extravagant praise.

Being proud of one's achievements but not understanding the meaning of words is, I suppose, an inevitable sequel of learning to read.  In my case it put my poor mother into a most embarrassing situation.  It was winter time and I was home in the Isle of Man on holiday, not long after I had learnt the rudiments of reading.  Mother and I were in a horse-car in Douglas, not the toast rack type but a closed-in one.  The windows were steamed up and somebody had written a four letter word on the one beside us.

"F-*-*-*!  Mummy, what does that mean Mummy?  F-*-*-*! Mummy, what...?" And so it went on.  There was no stopping me and my red-faced mother was obliged to say that this was where we got off.

At school, being able to read and write led to our weekly letter-writing sessions.  This was a very difficult business.  Our letters were supervised and corrected by the nuns, and knowing that your letter will be read first by your mentors has a most inhibiting effect on even the youngest.

And of course the matter did not end with the reading.  There would be criticism which might mean the letter had to be re-written.  In these circumstances, what could you say to your parents?  It was just not possible to write from the heart; you could hardly say you wanted to go home; that you were lonely for them; that you could not understand why you had to stay away.

My letters must have been the despair of my parents.  Every week without fail I told them: "The nature shelf is beautiful this week".  Oh yes, even that word.  As I used it every week I certainly knew how to spell it correctly.  I would then go on to describe the shelf, or rather what was on it, such as, for example, hyacinths growing in water in special glass jars, (so that we could all observe the roots).

It was possible to cover quite a lot of paper with such descriptions.  Other useful subjects were a visit from Grannie; a 'free day'(usually because of some saint's day), which meant no lessons and plenty of time for play; a list of the various lessons we were having that day.

This might read, for instance: 'To-day we had catechism, reading, painting, arithmetic, singing and history.'  If I were hard pressed for something to say I might even include a list of the next day's lessons!

All incoming letters were opened and read also.  As my mother had promised, she wrote faithfully every week.  Lovely newsy letters she sent me, even if they were censored.  I loved getting those letters.  Mother had a wonderful knack of writing as if she were carrying on a conversation and you almost felt she was there talking to you.  Because of the censorship however, all she ever had from me in return were those horrible little wooden statements about the nature shelf.

My father hardly ever wrote to me - perhaps once a term.  He too was an excellent letter-writer.  He would tease me gently but never made the mistake of talking down to a small person.  Life is often horribly unfair.  It was so over the matter of my parents' letters to me.  I loved those from my mother but because they came so rarely, I prized even more those from my father.

We had all the usual lessons that are given in any school.  Religion of course took pride of place; it was the first lesson every day.  Reading, writing, spelling and arithmetic were certainties.

Arithmetic was never a favourite subject with me.  I found it very hard to come to grips with it and this was the pattern right through my schooldays.  The only part of it that proved to be no trouble was learning my tables which we had to do, and for which I have been everlastingly grateful.  Nonetheless, maths never acquired any glamour for me and the less said about it, the better!

History consisted for us mainly of legendary stories of Ireland: of Cuchulain, of Maeve and Malachi; of Conor MacNessa and the Red Branch knights of Ulster; of Tara and the High Kings.  As we progressed through the Junior School, we moved on gradually: to St. Patrick, the Island of Saints and Scholars, the Norsemen, Brian Boru, Dermot McMurrough and the invasion by Strongbow, the Earl of Pembroke, brought about by McMurrough in 1169.

There was always the inference that England was the instigator and cause of Ireland's woes.  After all, the Earl of Pembroke had had to have the acquiescence of Henry II for his venture.  Somehow, I resented this concept.  I was of course much too young even to begin to comprehend the complexities of the problem as applied to modern times.

For me it was all on a simpler scale and went something like this: all the other girls and the nuns were Irish; they lived here so they must be.  I was the only one who was different because my home was in the Isle of Man.  Therefor, I had to be on 'the other side'. I don't think I made this obvious.  It was more a subconscious thought than a conscious one.

A reading lesson was always a pleasure.  I loved it and would happily have exchanged any other lesson for that one.  We were also initiated into the joys of a library session and cut our teeth on 'Little Lord Fauntleroy' and 'Eric, or Little by Little'.

Then there was singing.  This was very much encouraged right from the beginning.  The nun in overall charge of music for the whole school, Sister Mary Scholastica, was extremely musical.  So too, was Sister Mary Justin, a postulant (a new entrant into the convent) who taught us singing.  The nuns of course would chant their Office every day.

We juniors learnt hymns and I have a vivid mind's eye picture of us grouped round a statue of the Infant of Prague, singing "Little King so fair and sweet, see us gathered round Thy feet..."  Looking back, I would class singing not as a lesson but as a pleasure.

We learnt songs too, mostly Irish ones, such as:

            "Let Erin remember the days of old

            E'er her faithless sons betrayed her,

            When Malachi wore the collar of gold

            Which he won from her proud invader,

            When Conor with banner of gold unfurled

            Led the Red Branch Knights into danger..."                  

Quite early on we were introduced to the intricacies of singing in two parts.  This was good practice for when we became seniors, for the senior school choir sang in four parts.

Both senior and junior choirs took part in choir competitions.  I remember one in particular which must have taken place when I was quite young.  What we sang I don't remember but we were all, from the youngest junior to the head girl, assembled in tiers one above the other, on the steps below the stage, in St Patrick's Hall.

What made the occasion memorable for me was the fact that I was going home that day.  It was the end of term and because it took me longer than the rest to get there, I was being allowed to go home a day early.  As I was due to leave shortly after the singing, I was wearing my gaiters of which I was inordinately proud.

These were made of black leather.  Like my earlier yellow kid boots they had black buttons up the outside, but they reached from the foot to above the knee and that meant a lot of buttons to be fastened with a button hook. They were beautifully snug and warm, but it did take time to put them on.  Unlike the leg warmers of to-day.

Another of our activities was dancing.  We had a dancing lesson once a week from a dance mistress from outside the school. To me it was a closed book.  I was quite unco-ordinated and could not even begin to follow the steps.  Some of it was Irish dancing.  The teacher obviously despaired of me for I simply jigged about at the back of the class and nobody took any notice.

Lack of co-ordination was a problem for me in games too.  We played rounders but alas, my bat always had a hole in it and I never could hit the ball.  I was also a complete butterfingers and had no hope at all of ever catching a ball.  It was quite extraordinary how it never landed where I thought it would.  In any case, even when a ball was thrown directly to me it simply dropped straight through my fingers. 

PE was something we did not have.  No vaulting over a horse or other such goings on, which obviously would have been considered immodest. We did however, have a once-weekly period of what was called drill.  For this we actually had an 'outside master'.  We wore gymslips, rather long, and indulged in exercises with wooden clubs called dumbbells.  All very ladylike.

We also had painting, elocution and deportment.  In any painting lesson, even when it is structured, there is a certain feeling of freedom which appeals to children.  For little ones there is great pleasure in dabbling in paint and splashing colour on paper.

Elocution was something I liked.  We learned poems by heart and recited them.  My mother spoke beautifully and had never allowed me to indulge in slipshod speech so elocution was no hardship for me.

The nuns placed great emphasis on deportment.  In the junior school we had a horrible instrument of torture, designed to improve our deportment.  This was a piece of wood, circular in the centre, with two thin pieces coming out from it, one on either side.

Any slouching or lolling about in class invariably led to the offender being obliged to stand for a period (possibly for the rest of that class time) virtually 'in the stocks.'  The circular part of the wood was placed across one's back, one's arms behind the thin pieces, thus holding the frame in place.  It was extremely uncomfortable and very, very tiring.  It did, however, force us to stand upright and certainly made us think twice about sloppy deportment.  We all hated it.

One unhappy memory from Junior School days is of the time a lay sister died.  She was placed in her open coffin in the church, at the top of the centre aisle in front of the altar.  The whole school filed past.  I looked at her waxen face and hands and was terrified.

On another occasion we had been listening to music and one of the girls informed us all that it was intended to be the voice of someone buried alive, calling: "Let me out!  Let me out!"  That was even more terrifying.  My imagination ran riot and to this day the horror has never left me.

When I was about six years old there was what was termed a Fancy Dress Ball.  All the little ones in the junior school were to be mushrooms (or was it toadstools?).  Our costumes were all ready and excitement was mounting to fever pitch.  Alas, I never found out what happened at the Ball.  I came down with a bad attack of tonsilitis and had to stay in bed in the dormitory.  Poor Cinderella!  They sent one of the lay sisters to sit with me and keep me company, but I was inconsolable and wept buckets of bitter tears.

Once there was an outbreak of measles and practically the whole of the junior school was involved.  I can remember being one of a whole dormitory-full of children with measles.  There were so many of us that it was impossible to send us to the sick bay, and so that dormitory was reserved for 'measles cases'.

It was a very dull time.  The blinds were kept drawn all day as well as at night.  We were not allowed any books and we lay in bed in semi darkness because of the possibility of repercussions affecting our sight.  In fact I did have complications, leaving me with a perforated eardrum, and therefore impaired hearing.

The only other dormitory incident I can remember was when my friend, Evelyn, managed to get hold of a pair of scissors and, underneath the bed clothes, got to work on her fringe.  The results were catastrophic.  I have never seen a fringe like the one she gave herself, not even amongst some of to-days modern styles!

I cannot say that I really enjoyed school meals.  Breakfast was all right, though it consisted of just bread and butter.  The bread however, was home-made, Irish brown bread and soda bread.  Though at home I had never had any bread like these, I was instantly taken with both types and thought them delicious.  I was perfectly happy to eat plenty of either at both breakfast and supper.

Our elevenses were called lunch and our main meal was in the middle of the day.  Sometimes I hated it.  One of my dislikes was cod and parsley sauce (every Friday - or so it seemed) and another was mince tart and custard. To this day I cannot bring myself to eat either custard or parsley sauce!

One of the girls called Agnes Neary really did dislike the food.  She used to come to the refectory, provided inevitably, with an envelope into which, surreptitiously, she shovelled the food she decided she could not eat.  Since she was quite certain about her dislikes, presumably this was sensible, because the nuns were determined we should end up with empty plates.  I am not sure what she did with it afterwards.  The point was that her method worked.  Whether or not it was good for her is another matter altogether.

At Hallowe'en we always had traditional Irish currant bread called Barm Brack. This is normally eaten at any time of the year, but at Hallowe'en it always has a ring inside it.  One year I was the proud recipient of a ring and promptly put it on my finger; but the finger proved to be too large for it and began to swell and swell...  After all attempts to remove it had failed, I was taken in tears to the kitchen, where I received a great deal of mothering and loving from the lay sisters and one of them filed it off.

The nuns were strict about sweets.  We were allowed to have them twice a week and then they were doled out, after our midday meal, by the sister in charge.  All sweets had to be handed in and locked up.

Mother filled my tuck box with plenty of goodies but the nuns took charge of it.  Cake was always included but that of course had to be eaten within a reasonable time. So, anyone who had cake would share it out at our evening meal.  The usual thing was to share with one's friends or with others sitting nearby.  Grannie always brought me sweets and these were supposed to be handed in.  The rules however were not always obeyed!

The convent grounds were extensive and included a farm, the buildings of which could be seen from the senior girls'playing fields.  Apart from these buildings, a laundry, the convent itself and the girls' school, there was St Dominic's College.  This was a separate school for boys up to the age of twelve. Then of course there was the church with the nuns' choir at right angles to the main body. There was also yet another building, the Institute for the Deaf.

This was actually a school for female deafmutes, and some of these, when their schooldays were over, would go into service in the convent.  They always seemed perfectly happy and communicated with any of us who were interested, by teaching us elementary sign language.  This consisted of a sign alphabet and most of us were soon able to use it.  It meant spelling out every letter of ewvery word in signs, which made it very slow.  However the deaf women were friendly and patient, and pleased to be able to talk to us.  For my part I was happy to be able to communicate.

We were very well off for recreation grounds.  Within the boundary walls there was a really large area designated the junior playground.  This consisted of long walks divided by an elongated grassy area.  There was also a little oratory at the end of one of the walks.  These were bounded by large trees, many of them chestnuts, which afforded us plenty of fun in due course when the chestnuts ripened.

There were also trees bordering the grass.  I think they may have been limes.  It is strange how in retrospect one remembers only fine weather.  I have a mental cameo picture of us in the playground as a number of small girls sitting on the grass, in the sunshine, making daisy chains.

It was not all like that of course.  We did play games though they were not really organised games as such, but whatever we fancied.  I do remember that in my early days in the junior school I used to have my doll and pram in the playground.  They did not survive for long, however.  The pram was quite a large one and was soon commandeered to house other children instead of the doll!  Nevertheless, the lasting impression the playground left with me was one of happy times.