Having a favourite teacher might seem like an oxymoron to those of you who had a difficult time at school. This piece is from my memoir, which begins with the introduction ‘Getting To Know My Dad’ which I posted here several weeks ago. I am grateful for the many responses I received for that piece and hope that you will be inspired to comment on this excerpt from my life story. Teachers can have a huge influence on our lives. I hope you had a few good ones.
A very old photo of ‘Mauldy’ about 1956.
Mother Imelda
Mauldy we called her. Mathematics, history, geography and geology were the subjects that Mother Imelda taught me in high school.
She was a big woman; big in heart as well as body and short tempered. Her fuse was lit by those silly girls in year eight, but also by me when we argued over maths.
‘I’ll never pass both A and B,’ I yelled at her before sitting for my Junior level mathematics exams.
‘All right,’ was her reply, hands on hips, wimple askew, ‘but if you do, then you’ll study maths A for your Leaving.’
I had to relent, sure that I would win; but I didn’t. Somehow I scraped through with both of them and from then on we had regular battles. My teacher, chalk in hand, bashing mathematical symbols on the blackboard, me fighting tears while protesting that I couldn’t make any sense of her calculations.
My friend, Denyse, obviously had a different kind of brain. She patiently tried to calm both of us, offering other means of resolving those problems. Sadly, I couldn’t understand her methods either, and, despite further help from my boyfriend, Alan, I failed Leaving Mathematics A. The good thing is I have never found a purpose for all those incomprehensible calculations.
A farmer’s daughter, (I think) too tall, too heavy and lacking in the ‘feminine ways and appearances’ so necessary for snaring a male partner back in the 40s and 50s, Mother Imelda took herself off to a convent, becoming an unconventional nun.
Her feet were so large, I swear she wore men’s shoes and she trod so heavily, that she never managed to sneak up on any of her pupils. By the time she tried to pounce on us we were back behind our own desks, saintly expressions on our faces, as we diligently worked away at whatever lessons we were supposed to be doing.
All those black clothes that the nuns had to wear must have been so hot in our summer heat (no relief in stuffy classrooms then, apart from open windows.) Mauldy appeared to suffer more than the other nuns, constantly trying to scratch her head through layers of black veil and pulling at the voluminous robes that hung from neck to ankles. Hence, she constantly looked untidy. Having gone through menopause myself many years ago, I now realise that the poor women was probably suffering from hot flushes.
In spite of her personal problems, she managed to inspire me with her enthusiasm for history, which she taught me in year’s nine to twelve. She seemed to know everything about any era we studied and because of her, I still love anything to do with history. Our teacher took her lessons from well marked books which we were allowed to borrow, with the proviso that ‘You don’t look at the marked pages.’ Well, of course, as teenage girls, how could we not examine those pages in detail? Invariably there was a tasty bit of sexual information involving whichever king, queen, or political leader we were supposed to be studying, This information was probably not relevant to the actual history, but the temptation to investigate beyond dates, wars and conquests (geopolitical ones) or losses, beyond the questions that might appear in our examinations, led to my enthusiasm for investigating the hows and whys of our past.
Val and Denyse, 1958, our final year at the Brigidine Convent.
Geography and geology were the other subjects she taught. I particularly remember my final two years of school, receiving no more than one or two lessons a week in those subjects, mainly because only three of us (Denyse, Val and I) continued on to our Leaving. No school could afford to pay staff to teach one or two students, so Val and I basically gave ourselves lessons in geography with Mother Imelda providing a quick check on what we were up to, or an explanation when we ran into difficulties. Investigating terrain, temperature, latitude and longitude, provided the basics for each country. Having to discover the rest of the information for ourselves was actually a good way to learn and provided both of us with practice for our later teaching careers.
In regards to geology, I have to conclude that Mauldy was simply delighted to pass on this other love of hers to a willing, solitary pupil. We never had arguments while examining rock or mineral samples. Fossils had to be studied from books. Children hadn’t heard of dinosaurs back then, so I was a first to be fascinated by those giant creatures. Trilobites were my favourites though (I’ll leave it to you to look them up) and in later years I have often visited the Natural History Museum in London, dragging a grandchild with me, hoping to inspire them with the fascinating story of our earth’s history. Where do diamonds come from? How are volcanos formed? What is a schist? These are the sort of things we discussed, long before they became common on anyone’s syllabus. For a girl to study geology back then was extremely rare and to be taught that subject by a nun, had to be even more unusual.
Mother Imelda was my favourite teacher. Our battles were actually indicative of her desire to pass on her knowledge to me and her other students. When she died I attended her funeral, crying through the ceremony, regretting that I had never thanked her for all that she gave me. She was the first and very rare person to tell me that ‘You can do anything you set your mind to.’ For one so lacking in self-confidence, those words meant the world to me.