When Hymns Harm

My Primary school (infant + junior) was a smallish Roman Catholic affair, now greatly expanded from the 300 or so intake of the 1970s, when I was there.

Once a week we had an Assembly. I'm astonished to hear that schools now have to have this daily. Once a week was quite enough! In we would troop, class by class, as line by line the floor of the Dining Hall would fill up with children sitting cross-legged, trying to claim as much room as possible before a teacher came and told everyone to squeeze up again. Line after line of children in ever increasing size till the eleven-year olds squeezed in at the back and braced themselves for half an hour of boredom.

I can't remember a single thing that was said to us in any of these sessions.

I do remember what came first though, before any of this wildly memorable instruction began: the hymn.

The Headmistress, a nun in black called Sr Callista who looked to us about 90 but who, from contemporary photo's, I can see was probably around 45, did love to hear us sing. She especially loved to hear us sing at Mass, every Wednesday morning. Several parents stayed on for this event, and Sr Callista made it her personal goal to present them with children who walked in line and bellowed loud enough for them to hear the words. This way, they knew that she was an excellent Headmistress. And so the Assembly became a perfect time for Singing Practice. You couldn't get away with a mumble into your jumper. It had to be sung, and sung high and loudly and you had to smile and learn it and enjoy it.

But other than presentation, did any of the teachers ever wonder what we made of the words?

Sr Callista introduced new hymns. After all, she was looking after young children. So the Thees and Thous were replaced by a pale blue Celebration Hymnal and "folk" hymns were used. As we sang she beamed with pride. Aren't we good? Don't we like the new hymns? Isn't this all marvellous?


Here's one of them, as much as I remember from 30+ years ago:

[chorus] Suffer little children to come unto me,
for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven!
Suffer little children to come unto me,
for theirs is the kingdom of the Lord!

[verse] And Jesus said, "Children, little children,
blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah (can't remember that line)
[repeat, then chorus again]

The tune was monotonous and I now loathe it. I've noticed that many of the hymns people of around my age count as favourites, I can't stand at all. Probably because of how much we had to sing them back then. But there is a more serious reason for my hating this one.




At this time, I was being seriously bullied at home. Emotionally, verbally and physically. "I lived in fear" sounds like a cliche, but it describes it exactly. I was regularly hit. Mostly it was across the face. But thighs were targets, too, while brothers preferred forearms. More elaborate options included holding my hand against the wall behind a door, then slamming the door open against it, so that the metal handle bruised my palm, wrist, fingers or knuckles. I still have trouble with my hands today.

The unfairness of it all is what stings when I look back. It's the unfairness of it that ripples into my present and causes problems. The physical pains can't be re-experienced, but the sting of injustice lasts. When I'm low it haunts me, like a ghost walking his same path night after night anew.

Why didn't I speak up?

Why didn't I find a confidante?

Why didn't I write about it at school, try to tell someone that way?

Well, there was this hymn, you see. And in it, it said that little children had to suffer to go to Jesus- "Suffer little children to come unto me..."

Of course, "suffer" in this sense, means "cause" or "encourage". But I was an adult a long while before I knew that. I thought I must be being blessed with all this suffering... and prayed for more.

photo's taken last summer at Fountains Abbey

Charity can be cruel

Carol at Shrink Wrapped Scream is doing a post on pushy charities today. In it she mentions the little collection boxes that children bring home from school. She ends up with four.

This isn't a new thing. I remember getting one when I was about 10 (er... circa 1977!). Looking back, I hate that they gave it to me. I still remember my child's eye view of it-

The boxes were given out in assembly, you had no choice whether or not to take one.

Well, my family just never had anything to put in them. We kids didn't get pocket money, and mum just had no spare pennies. I remember finding her in tears one morning and when I asked her why, she said, she didn't have enough money for both- she needed to buy our breakfast (porridge oats) but also some sanitary towels for herself. I was too innocent to really understand what she meant. I went next door and asked if we could have some oats. I'm glad I decided on the oats and not the ST's...

Anyway, it was a Catholic school and we all went en masse to Mass every Wednesday morning. One Wednesday the whole Mass was arranged around each class processing up with their filled boxes, lots of coins for kids in the third world. We had rehearsals and it was drummed into us how bad it would look if we didn't have a box, 'cos we'd still have to go in procession. Well ours had been thrown away months before.

That Wednesday morning was the only time I ever played truant. I just walked round and round the estate till I thought Mass would be over. Got there just as they were going into class. I just sneaked in line. A girl asked where I had been, I lied and said the dentist. My class-teacher overheard me. I looked up and saw him. I can't describe his expression, but it said that he knew I was lying, but wouldn't do anything, 'cos he understood. Maybe then, at least one teacher saw how potentially cruel the practice was.

The shiver of fear that went up my spine as I spotted him came back as I was typing this.