His entrance to the school way,not made on a chariot of gold with white horses drawn at the helm.But, in an aged, rusting, ancient old clacking, clanking along car, dried prune devil like eyes beadily glaring out above the window line.
For surely run, anything young don’t get caught in these sights.
Clap, clap, come come girls, lets have order, an alphabetical queue, hand in hand, two by two,we all happily went, whilst the ladies in black, they led.
Those days seemed always the same, strange though it seems we honestly never knew.
Nine, ten, eleven we were, drummed into our innocent minds, no matter what you do, heaven will be waiting for you.
So in two by twos we giggled and whispered whilst walking that long winding pathway, about homework, the color of sister Jenkins new hair sprouting out from underneath her long, dark cape.
Once again, into view that golden chapel, walking in, young eyes turning up to statues of mother Mary or Jesus tortured, gazing sadly at us whilst pinned to the cross,blood streaming down his side.
Now, with slight trepidation, where directed, necks bent low, eyes staring ahead, shoulders hunched, we filed on through.
With no milling around, our pews being easily found, in two by twos we sat, our breaths quietly held.
I’ve been a good girl this week, my homework’s been done, my rosary said, please don’t let it be me.
A boney finger ‘tap-taps’ my shoulder, a quietly said, could you please follow me, I turn, I follow the swishing of an old, long faded dark cloth.
My homework was wrong, I’ve been bad yet again
ohhh why is it me, truly sister, I have not sinned.
She stands aside, I know what to do, she opens the door, I glance down at the floor, a golden gilded robe I see pulled up above a naked old hairy knee.
‘Jesus died for you my girl, its your turn, so come on now, do your bit.’
Only ten, but my Mass, it’s begun again…