It’s hard getting up before the sun does on cold winter mornings. I prefer to do the milking rather than the separating. A cow’s warm udder and teats full of milk take the chill out of my hands on a cold morning. Before my first bucket is full, I’m warm all over.
Whether we feel like it or not, we have to milk the cows and do the separating every morning and afternoon – rain, hail or shine.
I’d been at the Farm for over two weeks before it rained enough to have a lesson in the classroom. All our lessons, except Science, take place when it’s too wet or windy to work outside. Sister Agnes says it all evens out in the end, and she should know, she’s the Arithmetic teacher.
My first lesson in the classroom was Arithmetic with Sister Agnes, who also teaches Religion, Music and Latin. I’ve learnt about more weights and measures than I ever knew existed. I’d thought the smallest weight possible was an ounce, but it’s not. There are 256 drachms in an ounce and 7000 grains in a drachm. I can’t even imagine how light that must be – much lighter than a grain of sand.
Sister Agnes makes us repeat over and over again, all the lengths from inches to miles, all the nautical distances from fathoms to leagues, all the areas from perches to acres, all the fluids up to gallons and all the weights up to tons, until we can recite them perfectly. She says we need to learn the practical measures that we use on the farm before we can move on to other Arithmetic.
She gets pretty worked up during our weights’ and measures’ drills, walking in between the rows of desks, hitting them one by one with her cane. ‘Getting into a rhythm helps your memory,’ she says. It really helps mine. I haven’t had the cane once from Sister Agnes, except when she walks past hitting my desk.
I can’t say the same for Sister Ambrose and Sister Cornelius. I don’t think either of them likes teaching indoors, where they both turn into monsters and so do we.
Sister Ambrose teaches History and Geography, usually at the same time. She has a small collection of maps and charts that she pulls down in front of the blackboard. We slip easily from learning about the rivers of Africa to the kings and queens of England. It all depends on the order of the charts and maps. It can get a bit confusing at times.
Sister Ambrose also lisps but doesn’t seem to know that she does. When we repeat the names of the Stuart kings with a lisp, she hits the chart over and over again with her cane. ‘No, no, no!’ she says. ‘Why can’t you say “James” and “Charles” properly? Hold out your hands!’ She then walks between each row, giving us all two cuts of the cane on each hand. We’re not really making fun of her, just repeating what she says.
She also takes us for Sport: athletics and rugby in winter, and in the warmer months, cricket and swimming (if there’s enough water in the creek). ‘If I didn’t become a nun, I would’ve been a champion swimmer,’ she told us one morning at milking duty. I’d thought her broad shoulders and strong arms must’ve been from milking cows. She’s also the farmer among the nuns and happily oversees all the milking and farm duties.
Sister Cornelius teaches us English and Science, and is so small that she needs a stepladder to write at the top of the blackboard. She also supervises all the work in the veggie garden and orchard, and knows the Latin names of everything that grows there.
In the classroom, she keeps her cane on the desk, ready for action. She calmly starts each English lesson by reading a poem. Some poems are so long, like The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, that we start playing up or nodding off. That’s when she gets mad, grabbing the cane and hitting anyone who’s not paying attention. She looks really funny when she gets mad – more like an angry leprechaun than a nun. That’s when we start laughing and she starts shouting and throwing things – books, chalk, dusters, boxes – anything she can lay her hands on. Whatever starts out at the front of the classroom, ends up down the back after English. It takes ages to clean up after Sister Cornelius.
Fortunately, she teaches Science outside – in the orchard, in the paddocks, the veggie garden, down by the creek and, when it’s raining, in the barn. She loves doing experiments and observing or dissecting anything that moves and lots that don’t. She’s obsessed with the weather, so every day we take it in turns to record rainfall, temperature, humidity, air pressure, wind speed and direction, using a variety of instruments that she bought, made or borrowed from Henry, the caretaker.
Although Sunday Mass isn’t technically a lesson, Sister Agnes turns it into one. She picks out different Latin phrases from the mass every week for us to learn, as well as a new hymn to sing. She writes the numbers of the hymns on the blackboard so that we can find the right ones in our hymn books and practise beforehand if we have time. The hymns must’ve all been written using the same music because they all sound the same.
Father Brian arrives early on Sundays to hear our confessions, one by one, as we line up on the verandah ready for Mass. There’s no privacy but we’re used to that. To keep it short, we’re only allowed to confess one sin each per week. Not a bad system. It’s easy enough to come up with one sin to confess, I have so many to choose from. And penance is only ever a few Our Fathers and Hail Marys. Hardly a challenge.
Father Brian speaks Latin so fast that Mass is over in half an hour. He breezes through the epistle, gospel and sermon, and before we know it, he’s popping the body of Christ into our mouths at Communion. After he gives his final blessing, he bows to the Three Sisters, puts on his hat, and then climbs up into his sulky for the trip back to town.
Sister Agnes is always smiling as she waves goodbye to Father Brian. I’m not sure if that’s because she likes him or she’s glad to see the back of him. She seems to be just as happy after he’s gone.