“It is now nine thirty exactly. You may turn over your papers and begin”. The solemn voice of the chief invigilator boomed out across the vast expanse of the exam hall.

“What?!” I thought in horror. “We can’t begin yet! We haven’t said the exam prayer!”

It took a few seconds for my brain to register that no one was going to say it, and a few seconds more for me to rack my brain for the words.

“Dear Lord, I know this exam is important and I would like to do well in it. Help me to remember…”

What was the Lord supposed to help me to remember? If I couldn’t even remember that, it didn’t bode well for this test of advanced calculus. Feeling uncharacteristically flustered, my eyes began automatically searching for the exam candle as something to focus on and meditate while I calmed down.

Of course, where there is no exam prayer there is no exam candle either. Luckily I had remembered to bring my rosary beads with me into the hall, along with a Miraculous Medal, so all was not lost.

“Those are pretty”, my friend had said whilst we were waiting to go in. “I’d like some of those in pink to wear at Christmas”.

I’d chosen not to expend the energy required in explaining to her that they weren’t a necklace…

In what sort of God-forsaken hell-hole did I find myself then, where exams are taken in rooms devoid of candles and candidates think rosary beads are items of jewellery?! In a university examination hall.

***

It seemed that even after an entire year at university, I hadn’t quite got used to life outside of the convent.

Walking into lecture theatres, I still found myself glancing up above the blackboard to see the crucifix, and being mildly surprised to discover it obviously wasn’t there. Every day at twelve o clock, I continued to feel a bit put out when the lecturer carried on talking and no one rang a gong to make him stop for the Angelus. On Ash Wednesday I looked on in horror as my friends proceeded to eat sausage rolls, and was lost for words when my boyfriend asked me what abstinence meant.

Certainly, there is a big difference between life in a convent school and life outside it. I miss the voluntary Mass on Holy Days of Obligation, which is “voluntary” in that sense of the word peculiar only to nuns, so that the entire school would attempt to cram painfully into one hall, no one wanting to be in the other hall, in the assembly for the people who were voluntarily not at Mass and who would have the dubious pleasure of explaining that voluntary decision to a certain Sister.

I miss the small frisson of excitement on Candlemass Day, as some five hundred people process up and down wood-panelled corridors in a way which must surely be illegal, waving lighted candles above their heads and attempting to set fire to the hair of people they dislike.

I miss the authoritative RE teacher who marched from classroom to classroom during November, collecting “for the dead”. No one would dare to give less than a pound, not when it was for the dead. And I remember with fondness the one non-Catholic girl in my class who, having been far too intimidated not to contribute, later whispered, “but why do the dead need our money?”.

In a strange sort of way I miss fearing for my life in RE lessons, lest I be asked a scriptural question I be unable to answer and be told that there will be one more crucifix on the wall in June if I fail my GCSE. I miss trying desperately to remember which knee to genuflect on when leaving assembly, and spending my lunch times trying to steal other forms’ hymn books in my role as hymn book monitor, for woe betide the hymn book monitor who did not have a full set to return at the end of the year! I miss praying for cats and giving 50p to Saint Anthony every time I found something I’d mislaid, and all the hundred and one other wacky things which we did which seemed so normal and straight forward at the time, and yet seemingly sound so odd to people in the real world.

The real world? It is easy to argue that a convent education does not give a person much insight into the real world. Does it matter? We all end up in the real world soon enough, and we all learn to adapt to it. I for one have learnt over the past twelve months that starting a sentence with a quotation from Mark’s gospel can be a bit of a conversation-killer. Even in the real world, my personal experience leads me to believe that a convent education brings with it a lot of advantages. Whilst I miss the small touches; the crucifixes, the candles, the statues, I also miss things which are much more significant; the sense of community for a start and the security of being in a group of people who share your beliefs and to whom you don’t have to justify your outlook on life. Whilst I can understand the points of view of some ministers, who argue against permitting faith schools, their intentions worry me. They could unwittingly destroy a part of this country’s cultural heritage which is rich in value and tradition. I for one know that I would not be the person I am today without a faith-based education.

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