I clutched for life, my mothers coat sleeve holding on to the warmth, the security, the bond, the cord; my struggle was in vain. I felt myself being slowly pulled away.
Someone , larger than life , someone I could not see, someone I felt was a dividing force, pulled me back, the grey white and red checkered arm was gone;(My mother's grey and red check coat was made of the best English Tweed
'Ammi Ammi don't leave me, please'
Mother's silent strangely painful gaze was no longer visible;
swept away by a figure clad in thick folded cloth; I drifted along the blended figure's movements which were firm brisk and balanced. (I came to know many days later)
She was Sister Francis Xavier the ever smiling loving almost dancing 'full of life' Teacher Incharge of The St Anne's Presentation Convent Rawalpindi Kinder Garten and I was the new admission to the school.The year was 1954.
All was soon peaceful; I remember almost floating along rows of beds with white sheets white nets, all so private. The floor polished and shining;I was being comforted and accompanied by a motherly figure in the Sister's Residential Parlour and Rest Rooms.
Another folded and draped figure in white covered from head to foot appeared in the distance. I held onto the folds of the first one, my tears were dry, my soul accepted the place. It was a long hall with a very high roof. Everything seemed large huge long and broad, I guess because I was only four and a half years old,
I was crying no more.
The next thing I recall sitting on a stool in front of a large black piano (which was placed on one end of the hall) black and white keys laid out in rows;--
then there was music in the air, the keys moved as fingers of another figure in white gracefully touched them.
'O May I go a wandering along the mountain track?" ]
Oh the music, it crept by me' 'I still hear it in the air' it sings to me---
(It was the song of The Happy Wanderer')
My second starkly vivid memory is a large letter 'A' being written on the broad black board so well formed , the stroke so well defined so perfect, I believe it laid the foundation of my being in the Teaching Profession in the future.
I don't remember for how long I sat on the stool, quietly and still. Listening to the music I realised I had surrendered I did not know then, to the Will of the Almighty.
Music love kindness purity and serenity all around had given me the security the comfort the calm peacefulness. It felt like home and each figure in white was like My Mother to me.
'To learn or attain something one has to give up something was the first lesson.'
That was the beginning of my unforgettable school days.
|
|
|
More by anjum wasim D. |
rate
email
print
link to this page
Comments: 5
At four I started preschool. Had the most beautiful and gracious lady for my teacher. A Sr. Mary Eucharia. Sister prepared me for my First Holy Communion. Her caring, compassionate and jolly personality made her the most sought after teacher in the school. Her zest for life and her enthusiasm drew the pupils to her like a magnet. Her classroom was a bright and happy place to be, where learning was fun with this pretty, gentle nun who was always smiling and singing and encouraging each pupil to be the best they could be. Music was one of her greatest gifts and her pupils loved when she played on the huge piano in the corner.In secondary school prepared me for music exam. She taught us how to dance the "Minuet"She played the Cathedral organ when needed. Sr. Eucharia's sweet nature will never be forgotten in my home town. Sr. passed away this month at the age of 93.Great grandfathers came to say goodbye. I wept tears thinking of that sweet nun. I send my prayers up to her now.
Yes Anne, I didn't know she had died. I saw her last year and she looked just as apple-cheeked as ever. I wondered why I've been thinking of her so much lately!. Moya
Thank you for sharing.
Moya, I had also been thinking of Sr. Eucharia, funny!! When Sr. visited my Mom she loved to have a piece of Christmas cake which we had all year round. She had a sweet tooth. Remember the cake tins where there was always some currant (currnay) cake. Maybe just an Irish custom?
Thank you,your Majesty, for reading my school time memories and appreciating the article.