A sad thing was the end of the summer holidays.  After three months of intense bliss, the inevitable return to school, to lessons, to incarceration, was upon me.  It meant another three months of separation from my parents, from my life of freedom, from happiness.

I never wept about it.  Since going to school I had learnt to keep my deepest feelings to myself.  I had become a little stoic who knew the inevitable had to be endured.

Somehow, the weather nearly always seemed to be wonderful when the final day came, when my luggage and I were taken to the pier in Douglas to board the boat for Liverpool - the Ben My Chree, perhaps.  I think my mother was a little afraid of any show of emotion or feeling and I knew she would not like me to wear my heart on my sleeve.

Nevertheless, as the boat left Douglas harbour on, say, a fine, September morning and I waved goodbye to my parents, I would literally feel my heart thumping.  For me it would indeed be a test of endurance.  As the ship steamed out into Douglas Bay, I would watch the Tower of Refuge and Douglas Promenade and the coastline gradually recede and become a distant picture.  Then the hills in the background would blur and become just a smudge against the horizon and finally disappear.

That was the moment for a big sigh, the end of dreaming and a return to reality.  Reality meant accepting and enjoying other things.  And enjoy them I did.

There was the stopover in Liverpool and a reunion with my cousins and my aunt and uncle.  There was the opportunity for me to feel very adult (in a childish way), when travelling on the boats on my own.  Obviously I never analysed it in any way but certainly I always did feel very grown up indeed.

Being alone on the Isle of Man boat seemed a real adventure to me and one of the things I particularly enjoyed was buying a mug of Bovril and crackers and solemnly paying for it myself.  Weather permitting, it was fun to go walking round the decks, poking into corners, investigating things, just a coil of rope perhaps, and trying to imagine and what it might be used for.

The stern of the ship was fascinating.  Standing at the rails I could watch the wake churned up by the propellor, leaving a long, watery, rough roadway of foam streaming behind us and stretching far away into the distance.  In my imagination I wove all sorts of situations and stories around it.

Then there were the seagulls.  There was always a flock of them following us, flying overhead, behind, alongside.  Despite their raucous, shrieking, screaming voices, I loved to see them.  They were a part of home, for of course they were always in evidence on Laxey beach.  The sound of them became a pleasure to me and even to-day, so many years later, I can still feel nostalgic when I hear them.

I never thought of them as predatory birds.  They were so beautiful.  Hovering, floating in the air with no apparent movement, then suddenly wheeling and swooping to sea level, they would bank and rise just as effortlessly and swiftly. On a bright day the interaction of the sun on the constantly moving water, and the brilliant white of the birds' plumage was dazzling, scintillating, hypnotic.

Leaving for Ireland at 10 o'clock at night on the Dublin boat was different.  At night time, Liverpool's floating dock seemed to me to be masses of mysterious, enormous sheds.  And of course it was dark with artificial lighting.  Travelling by night, a small child was expected to go straight to bed, but expectation is not always followed by compliance; though inevitably in the end sleepiness took over and I always slept soundly in my bunk right through the night. In any event there was a certain satisfaction in leaving at what I felt was the middle of the night.

In the dark, things were much more mysterious and therefore more exciting.  The lights on the quayside were reflected on the river and unlike their originals on land, the reflections did not stand still.  They danced up and down in the moving water like fairy creatures, delighting me and firing my imagination.

The seagulls would be there too, even in the dark.  A port, ships and lights will always attract them.  The bustle of departure, the sound of the gulls and the throb of the ship's engines all added to the mystique of adventure.

Docking at Dublin's North Wall in the early morning brought a different world.  At that time nothing ever started too early in Dublin and going to Grannie's in the taxi, the city at first seemed deserted.  There was very little traffic on the move but even during the short drive the day began and the city came to life.

At this stage I knew I was next door to being back at school.  There would be just that day at Grannie's with my being petted and fussed over by Grannie and Auntie Flo.  My aunt would make my favourite dish, an apple and batter pudding, for lunch and they would both keep pressing me to eat more of everything.

Next day the taxi would be at the door and Auntie Flo would remind me in a whisper to go to the lavatory.  Then out with the cases and into the taxi and in no time at all we would be passing through the gates of the convent.  That was the point of no return when I knew I was really well and truly back at school for another three months.  Three months during which I would not see my parents or my brother and my only contact with them would be the written word.

Getting back into routine did not take long.  Back to Christian Doctrine, English, Arithmetic and all the rest.  Back to the ritual of getting up, going to bed and living always according to the bell.

Like my classmates, I made my First Communion.  For me, that was eight days after my seventh birthday.  There were six of us and a snapshot of us shows me with part of my knickers on display!

Nowadays, little girls mostly wear long white dresses for the occasion and look like demure little brides.  Not so when I was a child.  The emphasis was distinctly on the religious aspect to the exclusion of all else.  We did wear white dresses - short ones - and white veils, socks and shoes, intended only to symbolise our purity and innocence.  Any gifts given to us for the occasion were all religious ones, prayer books, for instance, but nothing secular.

We made our First Confession on the previous day and we were all very solemn and serious.  I find it hard, today, to imagine what we could have had to confess.  Our little peccadillos must surely have been very minor.

But then, in those days religion was a very serious matter.  There was no such thing as making it more attractive to the young by, for instance, using the current form of popular music.  No.  Everything was strictly uncompromising.  One saw it in terms of black and white.

I have a very clear picture of an occasion at Grannie's when I must have been travelling home for the Easter holidays.  It would still of course, have been Lent.  I was given a boiled egg for tea and lots of toast, dripping with butter.  Even at that young age I felt dreadful about it.  My aunt had one piece of dry toast and one cup of tea without milk.  For adults the Lenten regulations allowed: 'one full meal and two collations' per day and Flo would certainly have considered it a heinous sin to have deviated one iota from church law.

When my brother, Des, was six years old he started at the Boys' College section of the school.  We used to travel together on the two boats, Douglas to Liverpool and Liverpool to Dublin.  I felt very much in charge, was very bossy and laid the law down as to what was or was not permissible.  My brother, however, was never any trouble.  He accepted my big sister act and I loved both having his company and the sense of responsibility it gave me.

At school we were allowed to see each other fairly regularly. Grannie and Auntie Flo of course, also used to come to the school to visit us both.  Certainly after Des began school I felt less isolated. Though completely separate, the Boys' College was within the convent grounds, quite close to us, which helped me to feel less alone.

It was not very long after this that we began travelling on the Assaroe, a small boat which plied between Dublin, Douglas and Silloth in what was then Cumberland.  It had twelve cabins and Des and I always had one of them. We soon got to know the crew, particularly Captain Wilson.  They were all very kind to us and took great care of us.

On one occasion Des and I boarded the Assaroe in Douglas, as usual.  The sea was very rough and we anticipated a nasty crossing but certainly not what followed.  Mother and Daddy stayed on the pier waiting to watch us leave but it was a long wait before that happened.

The sea grew rougher and the poor old Assaroe seesawed violently up and down alongside the pier.  The swell was too great to allow us to be taken off the ship and at the same time, too dangerous for the captain to risk trying to leave the harbour.

There was nothing else to do but to ride it out inside the port.  I disliked it and was anxious but I could survive the wait.  For my brother it was otherwise.  He had a deflected septum and could not breathe properly through his nose.  This had been caused by an accident when he was younger.  He had been out in the car with my father and on the way home, coming round a corner, the passenger door flew open and my brother fell out into the road on his face.  In those days there were no such things as seat belts.

I well remember my mother's look of horror when Daddy returned carrying his son and started to tell her what had occurred.  The end result was that Des would have to have an operation, but the surgeon decreed that this would not be possible before the child was eight years old.

On the Assaroe that day, Des was very, very ill indeed and the crew were really afraid for him.  I was put to bed in a cabin but Des was wrapped in blankets and brought up on deck where he could get more air.  It was seventeen hours before we finally reached Dublin, but thanks to the care given to him on the ship, Des came safely through the ordeal.

In my early days at school I was avid to learn and, if the term may be applied to such a young child, studious about it.  I found most lessons comparatively easy but still worked hard over them.  The time came, however, when the novelty wore off.  I was bored.  The challenge was insufficient and gradually I gave up trying.

Subjects which came easily to me were no problem.  I just rested on my laurels.  In the case of those which I found difficult, such as Maths, I hardly tried at all.  It is surprising how much one can brainwash oneself into believing.  I certainly convinced myself that I could not do Maths and that it was not worth even trying.

I was a complete duffer at games.  This was not my fault.  My lack of co-ordination was something I did not understand, but neither was it understood by anyone else.  At all events it certainly did not help my self confidence.  I merely felt incompetent, a person whom no amount of trying would ever help.

My school work, meanwhile, became slacker and slacker until eventually I lost all impetus.  By then I did not even know how to work hard.  So the years rolled on, term after term.  I wasted my time and bluffed my way through.

In later years when I was married and had children of my own, the memory of my wasted schooldays became almost a nightmare for me.  I was always scared my children might take after me. Any signs of slacking on their part caused me great anxiety and had me hatching schemes to combat such proclivities without appearing to be unduly nagging!  How easy it is in childhood to forge a bed of nails on which, in adult life, one may have to lie.

Due to my lack of application to school work, I frequently found myself in trouble.  In the Junior School we had a particularly strict Mistress of Studies, Mother Peter, and it was no joke to be sent to report oneself to her.  In her office she kept a nasty little cane and she was no mean exponent of the art of using it.  It was certainly 'short, sharp, shock' treatment which sent one away with stinging, smarting hands.  One thing it did not succeed in doing, however, was to make me work any better.

There are certain memories of things I learnt in my last years in the Junior School that do remain with me.  They are mainly things that were impressed on us, but which did not require active study.

For instance, we were frequently reminded that there were many very poor people in the world who often did not have enough to eat.  We should realise this and regard ourselves as privileged.  Wastage therefore was a sin.  Even to-day, as a result, I would still feel sinful if I did not properly empty out the last tea leaves from a packet of tea!

The nuns placed great emphasis on behaviour as it affected other people.  We were expected to be very civilised in this respect, always well mannered, though I take leave to doubt if we were.

We should behave as 'young ladies' and there was no room for any misapprehension of what this entailed.  It had nothing to do with social class and everything to do with good manners.  Or perhaps social class did come into it, for great stress was laid on our behaviour towards servants or anyone who might be regarded as being in a lower class than ourselves.

To be rude or overbearing to a servant was a sign of ill breeding.  We must say 'please' and 'thank you' regardless of a person's station in life and treat everyone with equal respect.  A lady, we were told, was one who would never, willingly or knowingly, hurt or embarrass another person.  The definition is one I have never forgotten.

Although I did not work hard I did have a good memory, which was most useful.  One could distract attention very easily by bringing out odds and ends of information picked up here and there.  I tended to remember such things and became adept at using this ploy when I needed to disguise the fact that I had not done the required work.

Work which involved just memory, such as learning something by heart, poetry for instance, never seemed like work and I was happy to do it.  Besides, I liked poetry.  Otherwise, I spent a great deal of time day dreaming.  At study time it would take me an age to begin, so of course I rarely got anything finished.

Little did I realise that I was becoming ever lazier and in consequence creating for myself a mould out of which I could not make the effort to climb.  In fact it was only during my last two years in the senior school that I succeeded in pulling myself together.

Those last two years were to prove extremely difficult for me, years of hard slog with the skin on my nose being all but rubbed off on the grindstone.