MASS OF GIGGLES

Maureen was in my kindy class. We were the same age and spent many weekends and holidays together, either on their farm or at our home.

Our parents were married a few days apart in the Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Cootamundra: her parents on the 4th of May 1940 and mine on the 10th. Our mums had even shared some of the wedding fineries: shoes, gloves etc.

Once we had started going to school, we were forced to sit with the nuns during Sunday Mass.

Our church had four main areas: the central two sections were for the general congregation, the left-hand side was for the nuns and the right-hand side for the brothers.

When it came time for Holy Communion, we headed for the altar in our rows. Up we'd go, receive the host and slowly march back to our seats.

Maureen's father always sat on the aisle a few seats back in the congregation section next to ours. I knew he would be checking on us and I also knew to avoid looking at him on my way back to my seat. He would always have a comical expression on his face and one glance would make me start smiling. We weren't allowed to smile in church. It was serious business for kids and nuns.

I never made it back to my seat without glancing at him. The temptation was too great for a 7 year old and when I succumbed I would immediately start smiling. Sometimes the smile started forming in anticipation. I found it impossible to control the giggle and it must have looked like that conspicuous struggle on the face of a child who is trying not to laugh. By the time I got back to my seat the smile had turned into a muffled but obvious giggle.

The nuns were constantly watching us in Mass for any sign of trouble and the consequences of my church giggles were clear. I would be called out to the front of the school assembly on Monday morning and berated heavily in front of the school. Then I would receive whatever punishment was deemed suitable on the day. Sometimes it was the cane (one hit, on one hand in infant school but this was increased once we arrived in third class when it could be anything from 1-6 on both hands because, after all, we were 8 by then) but mostly the discipline was being kept in during recess. During recess, at my desk, staring out from the unsupervised classroom and trying to convince passers by to pass me a bottle of milk through the window.

We would never have told our parents about this: it never occurred to us. In retrospect, if Maureen's father had known the consequences I faced from this he would never have done it.

By the time we got to Sunday, my memories of the previous Monday's punishment had long faded and I would find myself back in the communion queue planning how, this time, I was going to successfully avoid looking up at that fateful seat in the congregation.

Funnily enough, my continued punishments seemed to be enough of a deterrent to Maureen and her behaviour in Mass (or in class) never found her in trouble. This was not the same for me.

I don't ever remember walking to school on Monday without knowing that the morning assembly was going to have something in store for me.