‘Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be good’

Sister Agnes went around checking who did not get their ashes, marching the ones who did not get them up to church at the top of the road. The morning was chilly, catching the girls’ sombre mood as she lectured them about being good Catholic girls.

“Isn’t it better to get rid of your auld sins than end up in the fires of hell?”

Of course they were delighted to be getting out of the classroom for an hour, while the rest of us carried on with our schoolwork. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be good, I thought, as I settled down to maths – after all, I had made the ultimate sacrifice, giving up sweets. It was my birthday in Lent. So as not to feel too deprived I saved any sweets I got in an old red Oxo tin Aunty Polly had given me.

“Sure you’ll have a great party on Easter Sunday after the Lord has risen,” Agnes said. I felt she was reading my mind.

Shank’s mare

At last Holy Week arrived. Seven weeks of Lent over, seven deadly sins, seven churches to visit – remember we were only kids, and our parents had no cars so it was shank’s mare.

I collected my pals – Cora Eustace, Terry Swinburne and Philly Murray – and we set off early. The morning was beautiful, and there was warm sun on our backs as we traipsed the streets of Dublin.

First St Agnes, then down to Bernadette’s, next Mount Argus, the Holy Rosary, Saint Francis on Meath Street, on to White Friars on Aungier Street, finishing in the Pro-Cathedral on Marlborough Street.

To gain the indulgences, we had to say seven Our Fathers, seven Hail Marys and seven Glory Bes. We didn’t really understand these things, but sure didn’t it make us feel good?

After that we sat on the steps of the cathedral to have our lunch – bread and butter sandwiches and a bottle of water, carried in a lemonade bottle. Fasting was still the order of the day.

On the way home, we were tired but happy – that is until we met my brother and his pals. We were not amused as we discovered that while we went to pains to recite the whole prayer, they adapted the shorter version, Hail Mary, Holy Mary.

By the time we reached home, Jesus had had his Last Supper.