Are You Sitting Comfortably?

Then I'll begin...

Once upon a time a small boy was handed over by his brainwashed and compliant parents to be similarly brainwashed by an authoritarian system known as the Roman Catholic Church.

I look back on those years of physical and mental abuse with lingering and simmering anger.

Catholic Education? It wasn't education it was indoctrination! Yes, I received instruction which gave me a basic grounding in literacy and numeracy but on reflection the main objective was my lifelong obedience to the commands of the Church and its officers.

If I had any doubts about the dogma which was taught by rote via an official Catechism and had the temerity to seek clarification from my teachers, I was told not to think, "all the thinking has been done for you, just have faith and believe".

In order to maintain and strengthen control of their aptly named "flock" (because we were certainly expected to behave as mindlessly as sheep), the officers of the Church bore titles such as, "Reverend Father"," Sister", "Mother Superior" etc. All titles designed to imply family relationships and obedience to authority.

Think about it. "Mother Superior" the name surely implies a familial relationship that is actually "superior" to that of your own mother!

And when you are required to call a priest "Father", you immediately adopt a subservient social position. Such a term of address commanded even greater obedience and authority in extreme patriarchal societies of the past.

Other senior officers of a church that supposedly promotes the humble example of Jesus, strut pompously around bearing titles such as, "Your Excellency, Your Eminence, "Your Grace", "The Most Reverend and of course the Pope himself is known as "His Holiness" or "The Holy Father".

As far as I'm concerned, the whole bunch of them are just a pack of parasites. Religioun and the ridiculous idea of a supernatural God has caused more pain and suffering over the years than can ever be justified. Wars, human sacrifices, Inquisitions, so called "witches" and heretics burned at the stake purportedly to “save their souls!”
And still today, terrorists and suicide bombers heed their religious mentors and continue to do their dreadful and violent work in the name of some fanciful and vengeful God!

As a child, I lived in a community largely populated with families of an Irish Catholic background and there was no escaping the all encompassing intrusion and authority of the Church. Sunday attendance at Mass was compulsory and any absenteeism was a "Mortal Sin" that we were assured would incur the wrath of the Heavenly Father. Such a sin had a prescribed punishment which was certain banishment into Hell where the miscreant would suffer the torments of fire and persecution by demons for the rest of eternity.

Many such seemingly minor transgressions carried the promise of similarly draconian consequences. It didn't take much to upset the supposedly "loving God".

The best thing that happened to me was when entered the Royal Air Force at the age of eighteen. Suddenly I was removed from the whole abject, pathetic, fearful, and subjugated Roman Catholic community and had the space to think for myself.

I eventually realised that I had absolutely no need for any organised religion, and I decided that if there was a God (which I was beginning to seriously doubt) I'd meet him on my feet, not my knees.

I came to understand that the Catholic church had simply tried to control me with fear! Fear of Hell. Fear of Purgatory. Fear of Excommunication and fear of physical punishment from various schoolteachers.

However, there was one particular fear that overwhelmed all others and that was fear of Sister Basil, the vindictive and violent headmistress of Saint Theresa’s Roman Catholic Elementary School.
Unlike the promised punishments of God which were only to be contemplated and hopefully avoided after death, Sister Basil’s physical violence was unpredictable, immediate and terrifying!

I have before me a newspaper cutting taken from the Yorkshire Evening Post and dated November 1990. It was written by journalist John Morgan and features a report on the behaviour of Sister Basil.

He remarks that many children of the era, “will remember the thundering of the local headmistress, Sister Basil, who was not one for tolerating nonsense. She made quite an impact on her arrival at St Theresa’s School. She asked the best fighter in the top class to declare himself. And the unsuspecting youngster walked within striking distance of the nun to declare that he had the honour.
Sister Basil then delivered a left hook which Henry Cooper would have envied. She said, “I am the best from now on”
“Sister Basil can only be described as a big lady. And she subscribed to the maxim: Spare the rod and spoil the child”

You might be wondering why our parents didn’t object to the corporal punishment that was a regular feature of each school day. Well, you must understand that Roman Catholic parents had themselves progressed through a similar system as children and physical violence was considered to be the norm. Not only was corporal punishment the usual form of “discipline” in schools but it was invariably a frequent part of each child’s home life.

On one occasion after being severely beaten by Sister Basil for some small misdemeanour, I went home covered in weals and bruises from neck to ankle. “What happened to you” asked my mother when she saw my physical condition. “Sister Basil hit me, Mum” I replied. After a few moments of reflection my mother could only say, “Well, you must have deserved it”.

I have attached a picture of a nun which I found on the Internet. It made my flesh creep when I saw it and I can only say that if it isn’t the actual Sister Basil, it bears an uncanny resemblance.

Today, I'm an Atheist. I have no belief in ghosts, spirits, lucky charms weeping virgins, astrologers, psychics or any other mumbo jumbo. By the way, I understand that the Pope is not in good health and I can’t help wondering why they haven't taken him to Lourdes, where all the healing miracles occur? After all, if anybody qualifies for a miraculously cure, the Pope should be a priority case.

Ahhh! It’s good to get that lot off my chest.

Now I think I’ll have a Bex and a good lie down.

Before I go, I thought you might enjoy the following little monologue.

It might be helpful to those of you thinking of starting a little business.


LUCKY JAMES
by
John Bilsborough 1971

Our hero, little James, was not, the world's most dedicated swot.
His parents tried, with threats and praise, to help him mend his idle ways.
They bought him books, with charts and maps and stories about clever chaps
who Got It Right and Did Their Best, but James, alas, was unimpressed,
and went, as people sometimes say (with bated breath), his own sweet way.

When he cavorted in the brook, he scorned to take his little book
of Flowers of the Field and Fen, and even at the age of ten,
to his dear parents' lasting shame, he could not give the Latin name
of any common weed, nor state if it were spathed or cuspidate.

Though all admitted he was bright, and on occasions quite polite,
to doting aunts when in receipt, or under promise of, some treat.
His teachers showed sincere concern: "What will you do? When will you learn?"
And he said, "Lady Luck will dance with those who give her half a chance.
I rather fancy that the curse of Education makes things worse."

So, when he found a crowded bed of four-leaf clovers near the shed,
he did not call mama to see this floral curiosity,
but scooped them up and straightway sent the text of an advertisement,
with postal order to impart the good news via "Exchange and Mart."

This first, clandestine, enterprise brought in so many prompt replies,
with fivers in each envelope, he laboured to increase the scope
of this new venture, in his room - his parents happy to assume
that he was swotting for exams and puzzling over kilograms,
and studying Shakespeare, drawing graphs and learning about golden daffs.

But, no, while staid and studious chums abused their fevered brains with sums,
our hero laboured to devise fresh outlets for his enterprise...
The fateful day arrived at last. The sweating little swots all passed,
each one admitting, in his heart, though while success was earned, a part,
a little part, was owed to Fred, their lucky frog, or Tiny Ted,
some mascot, amulet or charm or suchlike, keeping them from harm.

Our hero, who was not a swot, took his exams and failed the lot,
and faced a chorus of dismay: "You've learned your lesson, anyway."
Indeed he had. He knew that hope was easier to sell than soap.
And every day a thousand more requests came popping through the door,
for talismans and lucky stones, St Christophers and holy bones
and charms and spells and healing vapours, bingo pencils, scratch-card scrapers,
magic numbers, lucky spoons, wishbones, horoscopes and runes
and fluffy dice and rabbits' feet... It would be fun, but indiscreet,
to name some famous names who bless our James for bringing them success.

Now, he pays all the clever swots to tie themselves in dreadful knots
in sorting out his V.A.T. and suchlike foolishness, while he
cavorts in blissful ignorance, in clover, in the South of France.

[wolty]

@ Phroso, thanks for sharing. It is inspirational to hear stories such as yours and how you have made a good life for yourself after the trauma over the years.

[Loki]

I got off so easy compared to many here, glad you never gave up thinking

[Praxis]

That's not Sister Basil mate, that's Sister Thomas (or Tom Bomb as we called her) from St Anne's East Kew, circa 1971. Right down to the ruler. I swear

(maybe there was a nun factory where they churned out specimens like that?)

Thanks for sharing your story. Much of it reasonates with me.

I questioned those nuns starting at the age of 8, they didn't like it one bit. I refused to go to confession after 12, rightly claiming I didn't do anything wrong. They didn't like that either. I stuck to my guns though, through various family threats and subtle attempts at blackmail.

Once a freethinker, always a freethinker I reckon.

Cheers and thanks again. Keep up the good work

[Citizen_Erased]

...and I decided that if there was a God (which I was beginning to seriously doubt) I'd meet him on my feet, not my knees.

I like that quote. It really represents what I believe as well - Live life; don't cower. Thanks

[nari]

Phroso, yours is a remarkably (bleak) story and I bet there are hundreds like it. Scary.

Corporal punishment at home and school was considered quite normal up until about the 1970s. I went in the 1960s to a Brisbane private presby/metho school where a kid who was caught eating in class had to go to the principal for a large dose of castor oil. The same principal taught maths, and I recall if you weren't quick enough to answer she would tap you on the head with the sharp edge of a ruler until you did.
In retrospect, that was nothing compared with other denominational schools.

Even then I equated such behaviour as installing respect and fear for the teachers, and I fell for it. It is all about control by fear. My better half, who was forced to attend a catholic school because there was no high school within cooee, developed a hatred for catholicism he wears to this day.

What still surprises me is all this control thingy, the instillation of 'worship god and hail mary' survives so well today.....21st century and there are still worshippers who tolerate brutality and menace.

nari

[humantoo]

Thanks for your story.

My father was the only one in his large Irish Catholic family who rejected the Catholic church. (in the 50's & 60's...whew! brave man!) We were always the outsiders -watching relatives go off to church, talking about it and living it.

I always felt that I had missed out on being in this exclusive club, not for the religion as I was exposed to many of those, but because of a lack of inclusion.

Later on in life I became privy to seemingly inexhaustable sexual and physical abuse stories as told by and about my cousins, uncles and aunts and for the first time I was glad I had never been admitted into 'the club'. I knew then that we hadn't been included because we had been taught to question and apply logic....in other words, potential loose cannons. (abuse survives best in silence)

My father was the black sheep of his family and the fact he turned his back on the church was unforgiveable to many. As it turns out, all of his family had black hides, they just chose to bleach theirs to keep up false appearances.

I see the Catholic Church as a pack of vultures feasting on the poor, uneducated and superstitious. Show me a third world country and I'll show you a Catholic Church perpetrating the same things that you experienced on yet another generation.

The sooner we can eliminate the need for church-based charities the better.

[TRISH]

The trick to surviving your childhood and later teen years was to act covertly suss out like minded people. Teen years were okay most teens only think of a small number of things they are interested in most of the time so mixing was okay. The rot sets in at weddings and childbirth and then you are outed.