her nose, she closed her eyes again.
‘Imelda had once said, “I don’t know how anyone can receive Our Lord and not die.” She prayed to heaven to let her receive communion somehow. The day, when the nuns were leaving the church, one of them turned to see Imelda still absorbed in prayer. The nun stood rooted to the floor for there, hovering over the girl’s head, was the Sacred Host. The startled nun quickly summoned the priest who approached Imelda in awe with the golden communion plate. As soon as he reached the kneeling girl, the Host settled on the communion plate.’
The Mother Superior paused for a moment, taking us in with accusatory eyes. I gulped and squeezed Frances’s hand.
‘Imelda still had her head bowed and eyes closed as if oblivious to everything. She slowly raised her radiant face and opened her mouth. Taking the host, the priest gave Imelda her First Holy Communion. Now she had received Our Lord it was too much for her heart to bear. She sank unconscious to the floor, and when the nuns’ loving hands tried to raise her, they realised she was dead. Will you two girls stop touching one another?’
Frances and I quickly unclasped each other’s hands.
The Mother Superior scanned us triumphantly, her finger wagging in admonishment. ‘So remember, children, that the day of your First Communion will be the happiest of your lives, and God could grant you no greater grace than to die at the moment when Our Lord is first placed on your tongue.’
There was a silence. The atmosphere seemed full of the sour smell from the nun’s black habit.
I felt greatly relieved when her clock clacked and she asked, ‘What time is it? Three? Goodness! All stand. Now, why don’t all of you make your way to see Father Holland, quietly? And I hope I don’t hear a noise like a wasp, Norton. As you may know, Father Holland is well liked by the local community for his patience in the confessional, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll have the time to listen to you lot bombarding him with your cheek and endless sins. So remember to help him in his task and examine your conscience daily by asking yourselves the following questions: Do I take the name of the Lord our God, in vain? Do I love my neighbour as myself? Do I covet my neighbour’s goods? We shall try to understand these questions fully during the next few weeks so that you may derive from the understanding of them a lasting benefit to your souls. Now off you go and don’t dawdle.’
I stared at the floor, pinned to the spot by her words. I did; I coveted my neighbour’s goods. I thought of the way I felt if one of us got any pocket money on Sunday. We should have received sixpence each, but a black mark against our name in the nuns’ little black books meant a deduction of one penny. By Sunday, most of us had received at least six black marks. I decided that, between one thing and another, I must have broken everyone of the Ten Commandments.
I scrambled to my feet with the rest of them, making my way out of the tick-tock musty room as quickly as I could without drawing attention to myself. I had a strange, giddy feeling that after making my First Communion I would never see Mum again. Never grow up, but be trapped here for ever ...
Frances and I dropped behind the other girls as we headed down the long, draughty corridor towards the priest’s quarters. Both of us were quiet, lost in our thoughts. All at once I decided: I had to summon up the courage to tell Father Holland that I could not possibly make my First Communion because my Mother was Jewish. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to go to hell.
I looked at Frances to see if she was still as afraid as I was, but she gave nothing away. She bounced along as usual, her hands deep in her tunic pockets. When she saw me looking at her, she grinned as though she had never been afraid at all. ‘Well, what do you make of all this?’
‘All what?’
‘Well, you’re not really a Catholic, are
‘Imelda had once said, “I don’t know how anyone can receive Our Lord and not die.” She prayed to heaven to let her receive communion somehow. The day, when the nuns were leaving the church, one of them turned to see Imelda still absorbed in prayer. The nun stood rooted to the floor for there, hovering over the girl’s head, was the Sacred Host. The startled nun quickly summoned the priest who approached Imelda in awe with the golden communion plate. As soon as he reached the kneeling girl, the Host settled on the communion plate.’
The Mother Superior paused for a moment, taking us in with accusatory eyes. I gulped and squeezed Frances’s hand.
‘Imelda still had her head bowed and eyes closed as if oblivious to everything. She slowly raised her radiant face and opened her mouth. Taking the host, the priest gave Imelda her First Holy Communion. Now she had received Our Lord it was too much for her heart to bear. She sank unconscious to the floor, and when the nuns’ loving hands tried to raise her, they realised she was dead. Will you two girls stop touching one another?’
Frances and I quickly unclasped each other’s hands.
The Mother Superior scanned us triumphantly, her finger wagging in admonishment. ‘So remember, children, that the day of your First Communion will be the happiest of your lives, and God could grant you no greater grace than to die at the moment when Our Lord is first placed on your tongue.’
There was a silence. The atmosphere seemed full of the sour smell from the nun’s black habit.
I felt greatly relieved when her clock clacked and she asked, ‘What time is it? Three? Goodness! All stand. Now, why don’t all of you make your way to see Father Holland, quietly? And I hope I don’t hear a noise like a wasp, Norton. As you may know, Father Holland is well liked by the local community for his patience in the confessional, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll have the time to listen to you lot bombarding him with your cheek and endless sins. So remember to help him in his task and examine your conscience daily by asking yourselves the following questions: Do I take the name of the Lord our God, in vain? Do I love my neighbour as myself? Do I covet my neighbour’s goods? We shall try to understand these questions fully during the next few weeks so that you may derive from the understanding of them a lasting benefit to your souls. Now off you go and don’t dawdle.’
I stared at the floor, pinned to the spot by her words. I did; I coveted my neighbour’s goods. I thought of the way I felt if one of us got any pocket money on Sunday. We should have received sixpence each, but a black mark against our name in the nuns’ little black books meant a deduction of one penny. By Sunday, most of us had received at least six black marks. I decided that, between one thing and another, I must have broken everyone of the Ten Commandments.
I scrambled to my feet with the rest of them, making my way out of the tick-tock musty room as quickly as I could without drawing attention to myself. I had a strange, giddy feeling that after making my First Communion I would never see Mum again. Never grow up, but be trapped here for ever ...
Frances and I dropped behind the other girls as we headed down the long, draughty corridor towards the priest’s quarters. Both of us were quiet, lost in our thoughts. All at once I decided: I had to summon up the courage to tell Father Holland that I could not possibly make my First Communion because my Mother was Jewish. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to go to hell.
I looked at Frances to see if she was still as afraid as I was, but she gave nothing away. She bounced along as usual, her hands deep in her tunic pockets. When she saw me looking at her, she grinned as though she had never been afraid at all. ‘Well, what do you make of all this?’
‘All what?’
‘Well, you’re not really a Catholic, are
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