There was a camogie team in the school but the only association I had with a caman was when one of my friends, trying to knock down some apples, threw it too far into the air and it ended up flying through the window of the headmistress’s study.

At last the great day arrived and, kitted out from head to toe, we presented ourselves to the headmistress. I was so glad that many of my classmates from the primary school were there. We seemed so small among the great big pupils. Suddenly from being the big girls in Primary, we became the wee girls in our new school.

When the ordeal of The Qualifying exam had to be faced, it was not for us the familiar surroundings of our own classroom with our own teacher. That was 1949 and we had to travel over to the new Christian Brothers Primary School, a good mile away. The irony was that we still had boys from our side of town attending St Joseph‘s. Later they would transfer to classes in the Abbey Primary.

From Second Standard (now P2) we were expected to learn how to sew and to make a hand-sewn garment. This entailed cutting out a newspaper pattern of the article to be sewn from a pattern supplied by the teacher. My first garment was an apron with a huge pocket across the front like a kangaroo’s pouch.

During my primary school days there were periodic visits from the school doctor or nurse.  These visits were designed to ensure the health and welfare of school children at a time when visits to a doctor cost money that the parents of the poor could not afford.  Each child was given a full medical and any deficiencies were noted for further action at the local hospital or clinic.  The trouble was that away from the protection of concerned parents, the inspection – and especially the results of it – was less than solicitous of the patient and nuns and classmates often seemed anxious to advertise individual pupils’ deficiencies! 

In each class pen/wiper and ink monitors were appointed. These pupils were made responsible for ensuring that inkwells were filled and for distributing pens. If you were popular with the ink monitor you got a good nib. If not, you made blots galore and earned the side of the ruler from the teacher for ‘dirty work’. 

Fortunately for me, having been taught at home and being already older, I was considered suitable for Senior Infants and after a few weeks with the ‘babies’ I was moved on to Sister Coleman’s. She was a dear and I thrived there. My poor sister Patsy hated school from day one! 

 I was almost six years old when I started school. I don’t know at what age my aunt proposed sending me but in any case I was spotted by a couple of Walking Nuns from the Convent of Mercy, out doing their Sunday calls, and me just playing harmlessly in the street. They followed me home and upon enquiry, were horrified that I had not started school at my age!

Although I was reared by my aunts, prior to their relocation to Dromalane my parents lived only five minutes walk away and I was a frequent visitor. They had no radio so we made our own entertainment, with regular singalongs in the evenings. My father had a lovely tenor voice and he and mother knew all the old Irish melodies, as well as the songs of the day.

Newry suffered very little over the Second World War years. I remember going with my aunts to be issued with my Mickey Mouse gasmask. I can still smell the rubber from it. Of course we never had to use it in earnest. We were also issued with identity cards and ration books.

My earliest memory is of waking up in the pram and being given a bottle. I also remember being carried downstairs each morning in my pyjamas to get a miniature cooked breakfast with the family.

I recall having measles, with the lights out to keep the room dark and a tilly lamp burning (the same tilly lamp I keep today). I was bundled in a quilt on the armchair and constantly fussed over.

The young ladies pictured here will soon be approaching that dreaded ‘bump’ birthday of forty!  Then they were attending St Joseph’s School where the Walking Nuns taught them well.

How many faces can you put a name to?  Answers on Guestbook, please!

Eventually the war was over. Everyone was delighted, with the obvious exception of those who had lost their sons and loved ones (see Newry’s War Dead, reviewed here).