I went to a faith-based primary school. My school premises contained the school buildings, playgrounds, a pool, but also a church, a convent for the nuns, and a presbytery for the priests. Yes, it really was the school that had everything.
The church was also my local church where I went most Sundays with my Dad until I turned 18 and declared I wouldn’t go any more. (See previous post for stroppy teenager references) I was in that church a lot over the years, but the story I will tell you now goes back to when I was 11 or 12, in one of my final years of primary school.
My class had been brought along to the church during the day to sing at a funeral.
Let’s unpack that statement.
This is a fee paying school. Yet the students are taken out of class, not for some kind of educational excursion, but to sing at a funeral. Is it the funeral of a beloved former teacher or someone with a connection to the school? No, the deceased is unknown to us. We are brought out of class to sing hymns at the funeral of a stranger.
I’m sure for many of us, this was our first funeral, and the first time we had seen a real coffin. I’m sure some of the boys were sniggering and making jokes but as we were under the watchful eye of a tough Irish nun, we were on our better behaviour.
The church was always hot and frequently poorly ventilated. The side pocket where we indentured singers were sat on this day was particularly airless. I don’t cope well in unventilated environments.
The funeral mass is long. It rolled on and on. We stood. We sat. We knelt. We sang. And then it was time for communion.
I was feeling really unwell by this time, and starting to see spots. I wasn’t going to go to communion but I was nudged up and out of the pew. (Probably by that tough Irish nun.)
We queued up for communion, standing on both sides of the coffin. As I approached the priest with his communion cup, I fainted.
What happened next is unclear, but my friends told me:
The priest saw you falling and tried to grab you and nearly dropped the communion cup. You hit your head on the coffin as you fell. The girl standing behind you caught you but didn’t know what to do with you, so she let you drop to the ground.
The deceased’s daughter shouted, “Oh my God!” and ran over to where you were lying, scooped you up, and carried you out of the church.
I came to at this point, my first thought being, Oh no, my skirt is hanging down and everyone can see my underwear.
The deceased’s daughter (I remember her being tall and blonde and dressed in white, which seems not right for a funeral) laid me down in the portico of the church where there was some fresh air. The Irish nun came out to check on me. She was probably convinced I was just troublemaking. (Me! Of all people!)
I’m sure the last thing that family wanted on that day was for some stranger to faint at their father’s funeral, interrupting their grief.
I have questions.
Did the school or church extract a payment for our presence? Church hire fee for funeral so many dollars, school choir added extra so many more dollars?
Who thought it was a good idea to take children out of class to provide religious entertainment at a funeral?
Was there any informed consent by the parents of said children for taking children out of class to attend a potentially emotionally triggering event like a funeral?
I was still lying down as my class filed out past me at the end of the funeral. One of the boys in my class leaned in towards me and whispered “You’re wearing pink panties.”
Tales from Tobhamhor 