When I think of Catholic school, the following images from my childhood come to mind:
- school uniforms from Henry Barrie in Manchester’s St. Anne’s Square
- getting slapped on the back of the legs by Mrs. McDonald in 4th grade (or Transition 3 in English speak) for talking while lining up after playtime
- inedible school lunches…liver and onions…rock hard rock buns…milk left outside in all weathers
- younger siblings wearing threadbare, but still “wearable” school uniforms
- Sister Winifred boring her finger in to my shoulder blade while she said “You bold girl” — don’t remember what I did, but it must have been *awful* like wearing beige socks instead of white or sitting on a radiator
I miss the comraderie of a private school, but I don’t miss the pettiness of teachers and the incompetent and largely unqualified nuns who taught the lower grades. Teachers now need to have college degrees and certifications, back then teachers needed a teachers’ certificate only.
Some of the teachers at my school had been students at the school. Many did not marry. Their worldview was very narrow. I recall Ms. Pugh teaching a class called marriage and courtship…ahem…she never married.
BTW, the logo represents the order of nuns that ran my school. I can’t find my school crest. My school was torn down to make way for a nursing home and a housing development. So sad. I visited my old school this past month on our trip to England. I think my children were too tired from walking to appreciate it, but at least we mad the trip.
My school was on Mersey Road in Didsbury.
My school was torn down in the 90s...a new street was developed where The Hollies F.C.J. Grammar School was located.
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