Defacing The School Chapel...
April 20th 2008 16:08
I was the first boy, in my school, charged with desecrating the new school chapel, during its consecration Mass, that is, at its blessing and opening! I was eight years old, in grade three, had match stick arms and legs, small noggin white haired head, and was a little 'away with the pixies', as they used to say, not fairies, that came later!
I went to a rare school, run by a very particular order of monks that truly believed that you could thrash the fear of God into a boy's soul. Well, they succeeded with the fear, and the thrashing, but as far as God went, it all seemed to be a one way conversation inside my head, "Please God, don't let me be flogged for bad hand writing today." It never worked.
However, this particular order of monks had a very long history; they started in the early 12th century, and after much admired preaching among the unfaithful, developed a rather severe reputation, at request of the Pope, for putting to trial and punishing, heretics and other problematic peoples; of the faith, differing faiths and heathens. (Basically, anyone they could get their mitts on, at one point in history!)
However, when I went to their last surviving private boys college, (which was the last one left in the world!), they had long put down the lash, thumbscrew and rack, much to the chagrin of some monks I can attest, and picked up the sturdy and very dependable cane. It was with this ‘instrument,’ which the monks used with some alacrity, that they attempted to summon forth from their young charges, a healthy respect of them, God and a fervent desire of deliverance from eternal damnation. No matter the age, the punishment was to fit the ‘crime.’ The boys ranged from 8 to 18 years.
Except for one fellow, who was 21; he was already shaving at lunch, at the Prior's insistence, and still in "Leaving", (the last year of high school, or Year 12 today), because his father was rich, and the boy was avoiding the draft, to the Vietnam War!
Some background needs to be supplied here, in order to understand the wandering and imaginative mind that created a heretical church desecrator, namely me! My mother was an artist, of considerable talent, and of some future international fame. I was told by my mother, as a wee nipper, to always draw if I ever became bored.
If ever there was a more boring moment, I had not yet experienced it as intensely, as I did that fateful day, when I picked up my pen and looked for somewhere to draw.
The monks were chanting in Latin, the boys chorus, senior and junior, were all singing Fortissimo Con Spirito, (very loud, with spirit), the Bishop was bowing and scraping before the new altar, amassed altar boys whirling gold censers spewing forth their heady, smoky concoctions, visceral organ music, great gnashing of teeth and bearing of soul; after an hour or two of all this, I had had enough!
I picked up my hymnal firstly, looking for a suitable clean blank page to draw upon, when I noticed, on the cover, an embossed figure of a priest, holding up one hand, suggesting ‘STOP!’ I took the hint and decided it best not to draw in "God's book" as I thought at that moment.
I had nothing else to draw on.
Then I saw it, right in front of me; the prayer ledge!
As we were currently kneeling, (another annoying aspect of my religion, that being told to 'stand', 'sit' and 'kneel', in various combinations, throughout the rites), I decided to draw a nice house on the brand new Huon pine prayer ledge. A lovely, now extremely rare and expensive, soft blonde wood, that took the ink from my pen excellently well, I was most pleased. After completing it, I was dissatisfied with the result; my house looked like a decrepit garage. So I crossed it out and drew another one, this time with a front door knob, chimney and smoke, and a lovely set of curtains in the two front, four pane windows. But that was not all I drew, as I was told much later.
The mass finally ended and we all dispersed; the seniors from their side, the juniors from theirs.
The chapel was made in a big "L" shape with the altar at the joining point, many gathered in the senior assembly area, to chat and laugh, some roared off across the oval to parts unknown, others shovelled steaming tuck shop pies down the their greedy gobs, much of it cascading down their shirt fronts, all was normal and as it should be.
I was chatting to our family friend, a monk with some artistic sensibilities, he was Dutch. (This monk later left the Order and married, having five children!)
Suddenly, I hear the roaring voice of the Headmaster of the Junior School, "I WOULDN'T BE SEEN TALKING TO THAT BOY!" I instantly looked around behind me to see who the dreadful little heathen was, but no boy was quite close enough, for me to believe the roaring monk's eye line, was aimed at them. His Hellfire eyes, were burning at me!
"THIS BOY IS THE FIRST BOY TO DEFACE THE SCHOOL CHAPEL!"
I was stunned. I had no idea what he was talking about!
But, the face of my family's friend, the art loving Dutch monk, and the anguished compassion in his voice, said it all. "Ohhh, FOG!" His words were a gasping, wounded animal utterance, hollowed and heartbroken. If ever there was a facial expression that could have earned another million souls for, "The one, true, Holy and Apostolic Church", it was the face looking at me now.
On the other hand, there was the Junior School Headmaster's face, that being more symbolic of a boiling, full blooded Beelzebub, than a monk of Christ! You always knew when the Junior Headmaster was going to explode, as a huge vein would stand up on his forehead, dividing it in half. You couldn't ask for a more intimidating image of Holy rage.
"YOU WILL STAY HERE, FOR THE SENIOR SCHOOL ASSEMBLY, AND FACE THE PRIOR IN FRONT OF THE SCHOOL!" he yelled. I now knew what Joan de arc must have felt like, for I too stood before the gallows, I too awaiting the mental torture and the sentencing, then finally, the dreaded corporal punishment.
Now I really knew I was in trouble.
I remember standing there as the bells sounded, alone and isolated from everyone, below the two story wooden staircase, that lumbered up the exterior wall of the crumbling mansion facing the senior quadrangle, and the melee of boys shouting and pushing suddenly, like school fish fleeing sharks in a feeding frenzy, all to be in their respective class positions, neatly lined up, before the appearance of the monks.
Then I saw him, my oldest brother’s face, he was standing in the front line opposite me, having bullied some poor sap out of his way, my big brother had a formidable reputation, and few boys sallied forth across his bows, lest it led to blows!
I see his face, silently ‘yelling’ in exaggerated expression, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??” Big brother looked shocked and panicked and he had good reason, for sometimes, punishment for the sins of the junior, were also visited upon the senior brother. At that moment, I was unaware that only the worst, the lowest of the low, the most heinous and heathen, were arraigned in front of the entire senior school assembly.
Today, it was little, gentle, skinny and silent me!
The bells ceased their incessant clanging, the jeering of the condemned ceased, and all eyes now slowly turned upwards, to the top platform of the staircase for the descent of the monks, down the face of the old, decaying mansion that housed the seniors’ classrooms, and the masters and monks common rooms.
Slowly they filed out, one after the other, some had their hoods up, hiding their face from view, some wore their huge capes, the hoods of these also up, giving them a faceless appearance, and then there appeared the Prior, the Headmaster of the Senior Boys School, and the Head of the Priory of Monks; his head was uncovered, his eyes were blazing, his jaw jutted in a fixed and fierce manner, as he swept his gaze across the silent assemblage below, then his eyes rested, squarely, upon tiny me.
No, not my old school chapel! Reims Cathedral, France!
I went to a rare school, run by a very particular order of monks that truly believed that you could thrash the fear of God into a boy's soul. Well, they succeeded with the fear, and the thrashing, but as far as God went, it all seemed to be a one way conversation inside my head, "Please God, don't let me be flogged for bad hand writing today." It never worked.
However, this particular order of monks had a very long history; they started in the early 12th century, and after much admired preaching among the unfaithful, developed a rather severe reputation, at request of the Pope, for putting to trial and punishing, heretics and other problematic peoples; of the faith, differing faiths and heathens. (Basically, anyone they could get their mitts on, at one point in history!)
However, when I went to their last surviving private boys college, (which was the last one left in the world!), they had long put down the lash, thumbscrew and rack, much to the chagrin of some monks I can attest, and picked up the sturdy and very dependable cane. It was with this ‘instrument,’ which the monks used with some alacrity, that they attempted to summon forth from their young charges, a healthy respect of them, God and a fervent desire of deliverance from eternal damnation. No matter the age, the punishment was to fit the ‘crime.’ The boys ranged from 8 to 18 years.
Except for one fellow, who was 21; he was already shaving at lunch, at the Prior's insistence, and still in "Leaving", (the last year of high school, or Year 12 today), because his father was rich, and the boy was avoiding the draft, to the Vietnam War!
Some background needs to be supplied here, in order to understand the wandering and imaginative mind that created a heretical church desecrator, namely me! My mother was an artist, of considerable talent, and of some future international fame. I was told by my mother, as a wee nipper, to always draw if I ever became bored.
If ever there was a more boring moment, I had not yet experienced it as intensely, as I did that fateful day, when I picked up my pen and looked for somewhere to draw.
The monks were chanting in Latin, the boys chorus, senior and junior, were all singing Fortissimo Con Spirito, (very loud, with spirit), the Bishop was bowing and scraping before the new altar, amassed altar boys whirling gold censers spewing forth their heady, smoky concoctions, visceral organ music, great gnashing of teeth and bearing of soul; after an hour or two of all this, I had had enough!
I picked up my hymnal firstly, looking for a suitable clean blank page to draw upon, when I noticed, on the cover, an embossed figure of a priest, holding up one hand, suggesting ‘STOP!’ I took the hint and decided it best not to draw in "God's book" as I thought at that moment.
I had nothing else to draw on.
Then I saw it, right in front of me; the prayer ledge!
As we were currently kneeling, (another annoying aspect of my religion, that being told to 'stand', 'sit' and 'kneel', in various combinations, throughout the rites), I decided to draw a nice house on the brand new Huon pine prayer ledge. A lovely, now extremely rare and expensive, soft blonde wood, that took the ink from my pen excellently well, I was most pleased. After completing it, I was dissatisfied with the result; my house looked like a decrepit garage. So I crossed it out and drew another one, this time with a front door knob, chimney and smoke, and a lovely set of curtains in the two front, four pane windows. But that was not all I drew, as I was told much later.
The mass finally ended and we all dispersed; the seniors from their side, the juniors from theirs.
The chapel was made in a big "L" shape with the altar at the joining point, many gathered in the senior assembly area, to chat and laugh, some roared off across the oval to parts unknown, others shovelled steaming tuck shop pies down the their greedy gobs, much of it cascading down their shirt fronts, all was normal and as it should be.
I was chatting to our family friend, a monk with some artistic sensibilities, he was Dutch. (This monk later left the Order and married, having five children!)
Suddenly, I hear the roaring voice of the Headmaster of the Junior School, "I WOULDN'T BE SEEN TALKING TO THAT BOY!" I instantly looked around behind me to see who the dreadful little heathen was, but no boy was quite close enough, for me to believe the roaring monk's eye line, was aimed at them. His Hellfire eyes, were burning at me!
"THIS BOY IS THE FIRST BOY TO DEFACE THE SCHOOL CHAPEL!"
I was stunned. I had no idea what he was talking about!
But, the face of my family's friend, the art loving Dutch monk, and the anguished compassion in his voice, said it all. "Ohhh, FOG!" His words were a gasping, wounded animal utterance, hollowed and heartbroken. If ever there was a facial expression that could have earned another million souls for, "The one, true, Holy and Apostolic Church", it was the face looking at me now.
On the other hand, there was the Junior School Headmaster's face, that being more symbolic of a boiling, full blooded Beelzebub, than a monk of Christ! You always knew when the Junior Headmaster was going to explode, as a huge vein would stand up on his forehead, dividing it in half. You couldn't ask for a more intimidating image of Holy rage.
"YOU WILL STAY HERE, FOR THE SENIOR SCHOOL ASSEMBLY, AND FACE THE PRIOR IN FRONT OF THE SCHOOL!" he yelled. I now knew what Joan de arc must have felt like, for I too stood before the gallows, I too awaiting the mental torture and the sentencing, then finally, the dreaded corporal punishment.
Now I really knew I was in trouble.
I remember standing there as the bells sounded, alone and isolated from everyone, below the two story wooden staircase, that lumbered up the exterior wall of the crumbling mansion facing the senior quadrangle, and the melee of boys shouting and pushing suddenly, like school fish fleeing sharks in a feeding frenzy, all to be in their respective class positions, neatly lined up, before the appearance of the monks.
Then I saw him, my oldest brother’s face, he was standing in the front line opposite me, having bullied some poor sap out of his way, my big brother had a formidable reputation, and few boys sallied forth across his bows, lest it led to blows!
I see his face, silently ‘yelling’ in exaggerated expression, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??” Big brother looked shocked and panicked and he had good reason, for sometimes, punishment for the sins of the junior, were also visited upon the senior brother. At that moment, I was unaware that only the worst, the lowest of the low, the most heinous and heathen, were arraigned in front of the entire senior school assembly.
Today, it was little, gentle, skinny and silent me!
The bells ceased their incessant clanging, the jeering of the condemned ceased, and all eyes now slowly turned upwards, to the top platform of the staircase for the descent of the monks, down the face of the old, decaying mansion that housed the seniors’ classrooms, and the masters and monks common rooms.
Slowly they filed out, one after the other, some had their hoods up, hiding their face from view, some wore their huge capes, the hoods of these also up, giving them a faceless appearance, and then there appeared the Prior, the Headmaster of the Senior Boys School, and the Head of the Priory of Monks; his head was uncovered, his eyes were blazing, his jaw jutted in a fixed and fierce manner, as he swept his gaze across the silent assemblage below, then his eyes rested, squarely, upon tiny me.
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Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Sleezer's World
My heinous crime, failing to stop the flag from falling and touching the floor: I was to be cast into the depths of hell for that one. Now it's a national sporting event.
Raven
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
yep, that flag on the ground thing was always a biggie in the USA, even in battle; I think originally that idea came from the British and the French maybe, again battle flags.
cheers
fog
Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Sleezer's World
Raven
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
whole hour of doing nothing, sounds annoying for a second grader, but, did they physically flog the crapper out of you as well? That always happened at my schools.
cheers
fog