FOR a long time I have been afraid lest a certain coarsening of my fibre might be setting in. The day I became sure of it was when I walked into a room and heard a man say: "That Mrs. Whittle isn't my cup of tea at all. I can't take the woman at any price." In the past I'd have crept out quietly in order to save his feelings and pretended I hadn't heard him, like the time I stood outside a doctor's office and heard him say to the receptionist: "Why are you bringing me Mrs. Whittle's card? Don't tell me she's here again, moaning about her husband's illness. I'm so fed up with the woman."
Blushes
The door was ajar and I could see the receptionist, painfully embarrassed, putting her hand to her lips and making hectic gestures into the direction of the passage where I was standing, all uptight, worried sick about my husband. In order to save the receptionist's sensibilities, however, I wandered down the corridor and picked up a magazine, visibly tearing myself away from that most interesting article as she called my name and said: "You may go in now." That was the day I put my husband and children into the hands of God and stopped running rings around doctors and specialists. But I was too lady-like to betray any of this to the doctor, and I suffered bitter inner humiliation because of it.
Regrettably those days are behind me. When I heard this man talk about me I cleared my throat and said: "Yes, yes? What's this I hear? Skindering about me, eh? OK, let's have it out." The poor guy nearly jumped out of his shoes, he got such a shock. "No, really, nothing personal intended," he muttered and got out fast, my rollicking laughter in his ears.
Big switch
What's happened to the girl the sisters of Greenhill convent took such pains to turn into a lady in the fifties? I can assure you that I took their teachings to heart and that I stayed true to them for many years. But there came a time when I decided: "Either turn thick-skinned and stay afloat or remain overly sensitive and go under." Perhaps it is possible in a convent to have perfect manners. In the workaday world it is a sure passport to oblivion in a dusty back office or a kick out of the front door. Because the unfortunate thing is that many people have not had a convent upbringing, and some of them only recognise the law of the jungle - survival of the fittest.
Why the agony
The reason we ex-Convent girls have such a big battle is, I think, because we are always looking for approval. When we were at school we felt that as long as Sister approved of us, God did too. It was rather hard on me as I recall. Sister so seldom did approve of me.
I taught my eldest two children the way I was taught, and halfway through their school careers they themselves changed their attitudes because the going became too rough. The younger children are tougher. They don't pick fights, but if anyone attacks them, they'll help him finish the fight.
Suits me
I'm pleased I'm no longer sensitive. One of my children once said: "You will go to heaven because at one time you used to be such a lovely person." An ambiguous comment? No. I took the decision to toughen up advisedly in order to stay afloat and not to be destroyed by people who have not been taught to believe in the term noblesse oblige.
Catherine Nicolette
Sigh. How well I remember the days. My brother and I were trained to always turn the other cheek. However, as my brother complained to me one day, he was thinking of changing his mind because when he turned the other side of his face that got slapped too. Where he drew the line was that after that he would get a kick as well.
I went to Dad one day. My siblings and I were getting beaten up regularly by neighbourhood children who regarded us as cowards and fair game. I told Dad I was having a problem in the neighbourhood because of the policy of Turning the Other Cheek, and asked his advice. Dad looked at me quietly from under his bushy eyebrows, and said, "Nog, it's like this. You're a Christian, a Whittle and my daughter. As a Christian, you will never ever start a fight with anyone else - ever. As a Whittle, if someone else starts a fight with you, you will finish the fight. And as my daughter, you will win the fight."
Thereafter I sallied forth into the neighbourhood armed with these sage words of wisdom, and after a few days peace reigned in the neighbourhood as the somewhat surprised bullies retired back to their homes. And, ever since then, mindful of Dad's words, as a Christian I never ever start a fight.
*Photograph taken by Rev. Nicolette in spring of Dublin. Please feel free to use photograph copyright free for any educational or spiritual purpose
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