Rochelle Memories Drifting

I was the lucky one amongst my siblings in many ways since the interest my teachers took in me from an early age allowed me to escape the poverty of our home and introduced me to a new world through my boarding school, Rochelle.

Perhaps the most-abiding memory from my days in Rochelle is the singing of the school song on Speech Day. Although I can'’t sing, I listened and I followed the words. It was always an emotional occasion for those about to leave school but as the years have gone by, the words often spring to mind and nostalgia for those far-off carefree days of youth fills my heart. A few years ago I suddenly heard the song on the radio and discovered it was the Harrow School song I was listening to. The tune was the same but the words applied to the more famous school, similar though they were.

There was something very special about Rochelle and we all took something more than academic or other achievements away with us. One of my memories is of staring out the window of Upper Four's classroom at the barrage balloon that hovered serenely over the city. It sailed so gracefully in the air with the sun shining on its silver body.

We were sheltered from the harshness of the outside world and carried on oblivious to the war that was being waged in Europe. When the war ended in 1945, I was about to leave school. We were brought in to the Headmistress' drawing room and allowed to listen to a programme about the concentration camps. It was all strange and new to us and I don't believe we quite took in what was happening. I know we had taken out a Union Jack flag from the Guide cupboard earlier that day and we had sung 'God Save our Gracious King' and taken photographs of ourselves with the flag. We had been aware of the war but it hadn't bothered us too much.

I remember we used to wash our hair and dry it by sticking our heads in the big gas stoves in the kitchen. We sent our clothes to the laundry every week and sometimes we would put a note in the laundry bag asking for our stockings to be mended. The only housework we had to do was to make our own beds.

My scholarship lasted for four years and this brought me up to the Intermediate examination. However, the school agreed to extend it for one year and thus I had to skip out the fifth Form and go straight into Sixth Form and sit for my Leaving Certificate in one year instead of two. I hated this and I turned against exams and study and I fought against the plans for me to go on to teacher training instead of University. From then on this huge chip appeared on my shoulder! I missed out on becoming a prefect but was given a compensatory honour of being in charge of Navarre, the senior residence. I didn't appreciate any of this and felt quite bitter and resentful thereafter.

In recent years I have been back to two big reunions in Rochelle. It was good to catch up on so many of my former mates. Some looked just as I remembered them as school-leavers. Others had aged appreciably but all carried the same loving memories of their days in Rochelle. The last occasion was a 'Farewell to Rochelle' gathering after the last boarder had left and the school had been sold. Tears flowed in abundance as we said farewell. The old order had certainly changed and I for one was well aware of the passing years and the end of an era.

I often have such vivid dreams of places that I know they are based on places I was familiar with in the past. Some years ago I had two such dreams. In one I found myself back in Rochelle but it had become a mixed school and boys and girls, dressed in shorts and tee shirts were sitting in deck chairs on a flat roof, eating ice cream. I climbed out through a window on to the roof and began talking to the young people. I was telling them how different their life in school was from mine. The window leading to the flat roof was so vivid to my mind that I felt it had to be real. Yet none of my friends remembered such an area in school. It bothered me for years. On the first reunion some of us stayed in the school and we wandered around, seeking out all the remembered spots. Suddenly, I saw a door that used to lead to Staff bedrooms. I knew that I would find the window that led out on to the flat roof on the other side of that door, and I did. Quite amazing!

One of those who travelled from Dublin with me was Jean, Beryl's sister. The other dream that haunted me for years was of a walled garden but could I place where it was! I thought of Blenheim Palace, of the Rectory gardens in Abbeyleix, of the De Vesci gardens but none of them was the garden in my dream. Suddenly I knew it was Jean's garden in Mountmellick. The memory had sunk into my subconscious till the mystery was solved during that reunion. Seeing Jean was the spur.

Whenever I hear the sound of tennis balls hitting a racquet, I am back in memory on the school tennis courts and the sun is shining. Sometimes in the summer we played rounders but we used makeshift posts and bats. The most precious memories from those days are of the girls and the friendships and our loyalty to one another. I was prepared for confirmation when I was 15 but the confirmation in Cork was during the Easter holidays so I was actually confirmed at home in Abbeyleix. My dress had been made in Dowdens of Cork. They supplied all items of our school uniform and they were quite expensive. My sister, Helen, later wore the same dress at her confirmation.

Having taught at all three levels of education, I remember the teachers in school in a different light from how I saw them as a pupil. Miss Watson was remote from us and she was thus a figure we were rather scared of. Twice I stood on the carpet in her presence on matters of discipline and that was a scary experience. Miss Jagoe was the teacher who really put the fear of God in us. When she was angry we quaked in fear and trembling. Miss Kent, perhaps, should never have been a teacher. She was the butt of some rebellion and lack of respect and we delighted in defying her and goading her. I liked Miss Edwards, our French teacher, although some found her sarcastic. She was always kind to me and helped me have confidence. She was quite upset when she heard that I wasn't to go to University and she dictated a letter for me to write to my uncle, begging him to help me. She supplied me with the paper and envelope and she posted the letter for me. My uncle replied that he could no longer give me any financial help as he now had a wife to support. You needed money to be able to go to University in those days. We all liked Miss Baird, the singing teacher, and Miss Clugston, the PE teacher. Miss Goode taught Irish, not the most popular subject but she was a good teacher. Miss Smith, who taught English and History, was very old-fashioned and was dismissive of everything Irish. I didn't like her. In the summer we wore ankle socks instead of stockings and she used to send us to our rooms to change back into stockings. She said that ankle socks were inappropriate for teenage girls! Miss Jagoe taught us English in the lower classes and she taught Scripture. She was more likeable and I always felt that she cared for us. She used to sit up on a desk in our midst as if she wanted to be closer to us. Miss Johnson taught Geography and she took some teasing from us but she took it in good part. She was all right. She and Miss Kent were Guide Captains.

Smoking in school was always a bit of a problem. Some of the girls were quite heavy smokers and the rest of us would try the odd cigarette. I remember one session in Navarre where we all had a smoke and we threw the butts in the water tank. The smell of smoke must have lingered noticeably in the air. Anyway, our clothes must have reeked of tobacco. Miss Field, the Kindergarten teacher, who was young and friendly, warned us about it and said that Miss Kent was about to pounce. Sure enough, Miss Kent approached me and ordered me to draw up a list of all those who had been smoking. Armed with paper and pencil, I went the rounds and asked each girl, 'Were you smoking?' Each gave the same reply, 'No'. I handed the list to Miss Kent. She had a habit of staring at you till you looked away and that she considered was proof of your guilt. The others had warned me not to blink under her stare and with difficulty I held out. Eventually, she slammed the door in my face and admitted defeat. Afterwards Miss Field told us that Miss Kent knew we all had been smoking but couldn't accuse anyone in particular. We were on our guard then. Fortunately, cigarettes made me feel ill and dizzy so I had the sense not to smoke in adult life.

We had another episode during that year in Navarre. In the bright summer evenings a group of boys from the Boys' Brigade and some of the choirboys from St Nicholas' Church would gather on the road beneath the high wall. We would congregate in the bushes on our side of the wall and chat and laugh with them. They would bring us sweets and it was so innocent and harmless. One of the residents across the road complained to the school and Miss Edwards reprimanded us but she told us she would take it no further if we promised not to go near the wall again. Next night we heard the lads calling so we all sneaked into the bushes and began telling them about being found out. Suddenly, the bushes parted and there was Miss Kent rushing to the wall and looking down at the lads. Among those looking up at her was Edward Darling, son of our chaplain. Not so long ago Edward retired as Bishop of Limerick! Next day we were summoned in threes to appear before Miss Watson and we were left in no doubt about the fact that were not the whole Senior school involved we would be expelled for that infringement of the rules! How different today is!

When the time came for the Leaving Certificate exams, I had to trot alone to a convent and take the exams there. I expect the Department of Education thought that my school would cheat to compensate for the missing year of study! I felt like an outcast from my own surroundings. However, I was intrigued by what I saw in the convent. A nun greeted me warmly and showed me around the convent gardens. For the second time I was presented with a beautiful freshly cut prize rose. Before each subject exam the girls knelt on the grass and the nun recited a prayer before we entered the examination hall. There a bottle of holy water was passed around and each girl sprinkled some on her pen before making the sign of the Cross. As I was so disillusioned, I had intended sitting there through each paper, copying the questions over and over. However, the atmosphere was so different from that at Rochelle and these girls obviously wanted to do their best. I found myself reading the questions and realising that I could write reams in the answers. How did this come about? I had done the minimum of study over the year and I set out to fail so that I wouldn't have to follow the hideous path mapped out for me. Because I had spent only one year in preparation I was entered for pass papers rather than honours so the questions were well below my capabilities. Perhaps there is a Force above us that determines the path of our lives. I don't know but does it matter? As long as we make the best of what is given to us, nothing more is expected. My life turned out well enough and having my lovely Anna is something that compensates for any earlier regret in my life.

A few days before the end of term I was running on the gravel when I fell and cut my left knee badly. Later, at home it turned septic and became so painful that I had to spend a week in bed. Uncle Charlie bathed it daily and put antiseptic ointment and gauze dressings on and eventually, it was healed. That was the third accident in twelve years to that knee and now it is full of arthritis, my legacy from those injuries!

I shall end this account of my five years in Rochelle by attaching a copy of our school song. This December I hope to attend a school reunion in Dublin with Hazel. I expect there will be fewer of our contemporaries about but it will be good to look back once more on those years.