path leading to the front door. It had a strangeatmosphere, desolate in spite of the sound of the water.
But when she had been asked inside she found not a desolate place at all, though one which was quiet and calm. The nuns smiled at her. She saw them doing ordinary things, cooking and writing and sewing and sweeping the floor. Somehow, she had not expected that, just silent women saying silent prayers.
She was to help in the kitchen and the garden and with the chickens, because there were too few of what they called Lay Sisters at that time – some were too old, too sick, two had recently died. She had expected someone to ask her if she was baptised and confirmed, if she prayed and went regularly to church. No one did. She had expected nuns to be stern and stony-faced but several smiled.
She went home feeling pleased.
Bertha Prime had pinched in the corners of her mouth and said that May wouldn’t last long and that it was not natural for a lot of women to live cooped up together.
For seven months, May cycled the six miles to the convent and back every day and when she was there she was perfectly content. She did not mind manual work, she liked being outside better than in and she found the nuns kind and friendly. She grew used to the bells and the way they stopped whatever they weredoing every so often to kneel and pray or go to the chapel. When that happened she carried on with her own work and no one suggested that she should do otherwise. She did not have much conversation unless about a job just done or needing to be started, but she had time to think; otherwise the routine was gentle and soothing and the time slipped by as smoothly as the water in the stream.
At the end of seven months, just as the cold of winter was beginning to ease, Bertha Prime slipped in the yard and broke her leg, and a week later, had a slight stroke.
May left the convent. She would be welcome back whenever she could go, they said, when she could be spared from home. But she never would be. May knew that.
The convent in its deep bowl beneath the woods and beside the water became a place she returned to sometimes in her mind and she often dreamed about it. It was a solace to her. But she never returned. Just come to see us, they said. She did not.
After that she knew she would never take any job away from home, that she would be here to run the house and look after her mother forever, or what passed as forever. She had had her chance of freedom but freedom had not been for her, she had been afraidof it, and life under the rule of fear was not life worth having. At the Beacon she was safe and not unhappy. As her mother turned in on herself and never fully recovered from the first stroke, so May took over the reins of the house, made the decisions, looked after the everyday work, saw to paying the men, and once a week took the bus into town to shop. Later, she bought a car, against Bertha’s wishes, and learned to drive rather quickly, to her own surprise, and then she was able to go to the supermarket further away and to visit Colin and Janet and, once she was married to Joe Jory, Berenice. She enrolled for a night class in local history, knowing that she should not waste her brain, and borrowed books and joined the Local History Society. Twice, she presented papers to their meetings, one of which was printed in the biannual
Local History Journal
. So long as May kept things running smoothly at home and she herself was looked after and not left alone at night, Bertha accepted all of it without resentment, though without comment or interest either. May was quite alone in her activities outside the Beacon and inside it, alone in her own mind. But if it was a lonely life she grew used to that, and it was not a sad one. May was perfectly well aware that one or two men had found her interesting and even attractive and that if she had chosen to do so she could probably havemarried, but she did not choose. She liked her home and, if she ever
But when she had been asked inside she found not a desolate place at all, though one which was quiet and calm. The nuns smiled at her. She saw them doing ordinary things, cooking and writing and sewing and sweeping the floor. Somehow, she had not expected that, just silent women saying silent prayers.
She was to help in the kitchen and the garden and with the chickens, because there were too few of what they called Lay Sisters at that time – some were too old, too sick, two had recently died. She had expected someone to ask her if she was baptised and confirmed, if she prayed and went regularly to church. No one did. She had expected nuns to be stern and stony-faced but several smiled.
She went home feeling pleased.
Bertha Prime had pinched in the corners of her mouth and said that May wouldn’t last long and that it was not natural for a lot of women to live cooped up together.
For seven months, May cycled the six miles to the convent and back every day and when she was there she was perfectly content. She did not mind manual work, she liked being outside better than in and she found the nuns kind and friendly. She grew used to the bells and the way they stopped whatever they weredoing every so often to kneel and pray or go to the chapel. When that happened she carried on with her own work and no one suggested that she should do otherwise. She did not have much conversation unless about a job just done or needing to be started, but she had time to think; otherwise the routine was gentle and soothing and the time slipped by as smoothly as the water in the stream.
At the end of seven months, just as the cold of winter was beginning to ease, Bertha Prime slipped in the yard and broke her leg, and a week later, had a slight stroke.
May left the convent. She would be welcome back whenever she could go, they said, when she could be spared from home. But she never would be. May knew that.
The convent in its deep bowl beneath the woods and beside the water became a place she returned to sometimes in her mind and she often dreamed about it. It was a solace to her. But she never returned. Just come to see us, they said. She did not.
After that she knew she would never take any job away from home, that she would be here to run the house and look after her mother forever, or what passed as forever. She had had her chance of freedom but freedom had not been for her, she had been afraidof it, and life under the rule of fear was not life worth having. At the Beacon she was safe and not unhappy. As her mother turned in on herself and never fully recovered from the first stroke, so May took over the reins of the house, made the decisions, looked after the everyday work, saw to paying the men, and once a week took the bus into town to shop. Later, she bought a car, against Bertha’s wishes, and learned to drive rather quickly, to her own surprise, and then she was able to go to the supermarket further away and to visit Colin and Janet and, once she was married to Joe Jory, Berenice. She enrolled for a night class in local history, knowing that she should not waste her brain, and borrowed books and joined the Local History Society. Twice, she presented papers to their meetings, one of which was printed in the biannual
Local History Journal
. So long as May kept things running smoothly at home and she herself was looked after and not left alone at night, Bertha accepted all of it without resentment, though without comment or interest either. May was quite alone in her activities outside the Beacon and inside it, alone in her own mind. But if it was a lonely life she grew used to that, and it was not a sad one. May was perfectly well aware that one or two men had found her interesting and even attractive and that if she had chosen to do so she could probably havemarried, but she did not choose. She liked her home and, if she ever
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