SCHOOL DAYS

At the age of six, I started the first grade
at St. Carthagh’s Elementary School in Tweed.
I was scared and glad at the same time, but was put
at ease right away by the friendly nuns who taught there.
I remember only a few of them like Sister Chrysostom, Sister
Mary Everista, Sister Mary Carthagh and also Sister Joan of Arc,
who was the organist and choir director of the parish. If there is one
thing I know for certain, it is that they all made a huge impact
on my life, by the way they taught us our ABC’s and enriched our
faith. God bless the sisters of St. Carthagh’s Parish and school.
One of the things that made a lasting mark on my heart was
that when May came around, they would make small altars
honouring Mary in our classroom. There was
something of the miraculous in these shrines, and
we children would go on excursions in the woods
to collect wild flowers to offer to Mary our Mother.
There would be votive candles all around and
each day of May, before class would commence
we would say our prayers and sing hymns to Mary.
I will never forget this, it was so beautiful.
Another not so fragrant memory was that of kneeling in the aisle
beside our desks in the heat of summer praying, while the
odourous reeking running shoes of the person in front was
suffocating the very breath out of us. Sweet memories for sure!
There was a huge school yard where we would have a fun day
just before school would close for the summer. There were all kinds
of games and sports, races of every kind, organized baseball teams where
because of my lack of strength at bat, I was usually the last one chosen.
I lived through it without being marked for life. When winter would
come whistling in, this whole scene became one of a fairyland.
There was a hill behind the school where we could sleigh ride down
it’s side or do the most daring thing of bobsledding at breakneck speed
down the big slope used by the older children. One of the sisters
was a real good sport, and she’d beg a ride on the bobsled. What a
glorious sight with her habit and veil billowing out behind her as
they rocketed down the slope. She was special because she would
show us her childlike side and we felt at ease with her.
This same hill
was to be the occasion of an accident that broke my nose and made me
look like a black eyed Susan for awhile. Someone had made a hump out of
snow at the bottom of a small slope and my cousin Clara, with me behind
her on a piece of cardboard took a turn sliding. Of course when we hit the
bump at the bottom, my face went smashing into Clara’s head , and there
was blood everywhere. On visiting the doctors, he informed me that it had
been a close call, and my nose was broken and is still a bit noticeable even
today. Clara faired better than me! My first impressions of this school
were that it was so clean, with the terrazzo floors shining like glass,
and it seemed to me to be so big. There were two beautiful, larger than
life statues out in the hall which truly made me feel that they
were real. I had the occasion to visit the school some years ago and
was shocked at how much everything had shrunk down to
miniatures. It gave me a feeling like I had lost something, guess it was my
youth. I remember helping make copies on a hectograph and the smell of
the ink is still drifting around in my head, it was a strange odour.
I was enthralled by the nun’s habits and their ways, as they seemed always
so serene. At one time I had ambitions of becoming one of them, but
it wasn’t meant to be. Through the years things changed and one by one
the nuns were leaving and their places taken up by non-religious. An era had passed!
It was a great loss for our parish, and they were missed by everyone, and
to this day I still remember them in my prayers. I like to imagine their
spirits still overseeing the children’s lessons, it’s a nice thought, and
sister Joan of Arc playing the organ and belting out hymns, urging us
on to do the same. It all made for happy memories, it was a special time.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Apr. 07, 2007