It's nice to go over old ground

Luky;
WE WERE strolling along the extensive grounds of the new school that has replaced the old Greenhill Convent of Bloemfontein.
Whenever we passed a group of girls they'd rise to their feet and nod respectfully.
"These are some old girls who want to see the new buildings," our guide Sister Philip explained, indicating us.
"Take a good look at us," I advised.
"This is how you'll look one day."
The girls smiled the pleasant enigmatic smile you only get from girls educated by nuns or boys raised by Brothers.
From personal experience I know that this smile may cover any emotion, from profound agreement to a cynical: "Sez you!"

It was the ninety-eighth anniversary of the founding of our old school
It was in 1876 that the first Holy Family nuns reached Bloemfontein by ox wagon.
Generations of girls have passed through their hands since, girls who have become gradually less critical of their preceptresses and more grateful to them as the years have passed.
Therefore some of us had come together that morning to pay our respects to the old school and see how it was managing to exist without us.

"This is where our matrics sleep," Sister Philip announced, leading the way into a spacious and airy wing of the building.
"Gosh," I said to my friend, another old girl who lives in my town and who had brought me here, "can you remember how we used to sleep on the balcony, even in the heart of winter?
We must have been made of sterner stuff in those days.
I doubt whether I could still do it today."
"Sure, 'twas the greatest punishment for any of you to be put indoors," Sister Philip commented derisively.

As we followed her from floor to floor I thought about our visit to the cemetery and the graves of our old Sisters that morning and of the thrill I had experienced when I'd spotted the grave of  Sister Camikllus.
I have not been a faithful old girl, I must confess, and the first and only other time I had visited these graves I was walking beside Sister Camillus as she put flowers on a Sister's grave.
And here was Sister Camillus, dead for years.
Ah, and there was the grave of infirmarian and cook, Sister Gerard.
Oddly enough she had died within a week of the demise of her own siswter, another Holy Family nun.
They were buried side by side.

I popped a flower into the glass jar on her grave, mindful of the days when she said referring to my sister and myself:
"Sure they're two bold ones but this one (meaning me) is the boldest."
Sister Philip had come to the end of her tour and it was lunchtime.
We thanked the kind Sisters, said goodbye and went for lunch to my friend's sister who lives in town.
After lunch my friend's husband looked at the time.
"We'd better go home quickly you two."
And off we went - regretfully.
But nothing would keep us from going back next year.


Photograph by Catherine Nicolette - for use copyright free for any worthy purpose