Species

Middle School Classrooms and Skating Rink (The frog dustbin was not there in my time)

The German nuns who managed Ramnee while I was there, were for the most part a rather strange lot of women. When I was young they could instill terror and fear that was like nothing else on earth. The sense of discipline drilled into us from a young age was harshly severe, and we would not dare to throw down a sweet wrapping, let alone deface school property, cheat in exams or throw attitude at the teachers - back chat we called it.

Sister Dominica was the only nun I really and truly loved. She was a close friend of Anna's, my grandmother, who had at the time taken up a job as matron in All Saints School. Granny would walk down every Sunday to visit me, and we would sit and chat in Sister Dominica's domain, the art room, in the Mary Ward building. Those Sunday mornings were always very special, as I listened in fascination to the comfortable conversations between two gentle soul mates who enjoyed each others company.

Sister Uta my second class teacher, was someone  I remember as being  warm and kind. Sister Cecelia the piano teacher and Sister Lucy who instructed us in needlework, were among the more likable nuns, for whom I  felt a certain affection in spite of  scoldings I often got from them. Sister Hermine was one of the first people who told me I had a talent with the written  word. She had an old register in which she made students write down essays that were particularly good, and I was one of the privileged few to be bestowed with that honor. Sister Josephine or Joss, was the Vice Principal and an institution in herself, who had been there for as long as any of us could remember. Sister Elygia was in charge of the infirmary and rumour had it that under her veil she had hair down to her derriere. I was not admitted sick very often, but  remember groaning loudly one night in the hope of making her come to see what was wrong with me, so I could catch her unveiled and confirm the reports. She never came to check on my pitiful moans so I could never confirm the hair-say.

There were other strange entities who prowled the corridors of St. Mary's, and  in one way or another left crazy impressions on me, some of which took me years to get over. There were those who were against any thing male and issued  instructions on how to behave appropriately if that evil genus ever crossed our paths.

 I was talking to my dear friend Kukki Raghuvanshi nee Mohindra the other day, since I could not remember the name of the nun who was in charge of the chemistry and biology labs. She reminded me that it was MaJo, Sister Mary Joseph, who had instructed her to pick up her skirts and run as fast as she could if she was in conversation with a boy and the clock struck six!

 MaJo was the one who told me about an incident that happened in her youth.She was getting off a bus with an armful of books when she stumbled and dropped the  pile into the mud. A young man leaped to her aid and helped her pick up the scattered volumes. She claimed she rushed back home to burn the offending tomes, since they had been tarnished by the touch of a boy!

 I was once asked if my father kissed me good night and when  I proudly said yes, was informed it was a sin and something that I should  forbid and never let happen.

Mary Ward Hall

We were on one of our usual Saturday walks, with one nun leading the line and another bringing up the rear. As we approached The Flats we observed a group of  boys practicing football on the field. Unfortunately the nuns had noticed them too and a bellowed command was immediately given " Girls, right about turn!". The excited 'caterpilar' had to quickly swivel around and wistfully head back in the opposite direction with only fleeting images of forbidden fruit dancing before our eyes.

We were told very firmly that touching ourselves in private places was a "shameless act" and  being good Catholic girls, would have to acknowledge these sins in weekly confession. I don't even want to imagine what the Italian priests must have thought about while patiently listening to adolescent females with raging hormones admitting to their 'shameless acts'.

Looking back at those days in Ramnee I feel it  would have been so interesting to know the stories of these solitary women who lived so far from home. Where were they from, what were their families about, what were their childhoods like, what made them become nuns - just a call from God or maybe a broken heart or some equally dire tragedy, how did they end up in India, what were their lives  all about. I think it would have been so much more enthralling to know them as human beings rather than the cold, distant, forbidding, alien species that they appeared to be.

Downstairs - Refectory. Study Hall and Tuck Shop
Upstairs - Dorms