Ca va bien? Some readers have asked me about the relevance of the hot French guy Darya meets in the New Forest and subsequently at the rugby the following day. Well…. it's a jolly good reason to keep reading and find out if he makes another appearance.
Just taking a break right now from ploughing through the second one. I have 4 proofreaders and 1 editor on standby for when it is ready. I am meeting with the illustrious illustrator tomorrow. As you can see, yesterday afternoon was spent by the sea on another glorious day. Alas, like life, the good stuff doesn't stick around for long enough, and it's back to the grim weather. 1st May. How depressing. Last night I went out and was too tired to put anything else up except my weekly 'plog' - just in case you'd forgotten that there is a book out there….
Right, it's May Bank Holiday this weekend, and I'm on lockdown for the next two weeks whilst I set about the second instalment. I have French rugby intervening this weekend, with the conclusion of the Top 14. We will then know who is going to be in the semi-finals and who are the 'barragistes'. Montpellier, Darya's favourite, currently lie second behind Jonny Wilkinson's Toulon. If they can win at home against Racing Metro Paris, they will be guaranteed a semi-final spot at home, the glorious Stade Yves du Manoir. So, apart from the odd occasional blogette when I shall simply be coming up for air just to let you know I am still alive, this will be the last substantive blog until the release of the second book. Yeah right. I say that now, but the chances are you'll still be treated (or subjected) to daily updates of the writing process.
The killing of Ann Maguire on Monday, the Spanish teacher at Corpus Christi Catholic College in Leeds by one of her pupils reminds me of an incident from my childhood involving another teacher, who we all knew and revered. I hope there are sufficient counselling services available for the children who witnessed the tragedy on Monday. They will need it. This incident will have a profound affect on the rest of their lives. It will be something they revisit time and time again. Could they have prevented it? What if Mrs Maguire hadn't gone into school that day? Could they have assisted? I cannot imagine how traumatic it must have been for those witnessing the events, but I can empathise in some small measure what it is like to lose a wonderful teacher in violent circumstances. I had no counselling support after the tragic death of Sr. Ogilvie in 1988, and it impacted upon the rest of my childhood.
Sister Josephine Ogilvie was a member of the Society of the Sacred Heart, an internationally-renowned teaching order of nuns. She taught in Armagh, Craiglockhart in Edinburgh and at Kilgraston in Perthshire before settling in Aberdeen in 1983. She taught at primary school level before she was appointed a religious education adviser for the Diocese of Aberdeen. In that capacity, she travelled throughout the diocese, visiting primary schools and engaging with the pupils. She was a delightful, kind woman who never saw fit to lose her temper or raise her voice, even though she was once titled the 'Mistress of Discipline ' in Armagh.
On Friday 6th May 1988, she was working in her office, now called the Pastoral Centre, which was situated in an ante-room adjacent to St. Mary's R.C. Cathedral. The office shared a lobby with the apartment of another nun from another order, Sr. Mary MacDonald, who happened to be the Diocesan Social Worker and who was not present at the time. That day around 3pm, Mark Reynolds, who had previously engaged with Sr. Mary with long-standing drug and alcohol abuse issues, visited the cathedral with tragic consequences for Sr. Ogilvie. No one quite knows what happened, suffice to say that it is thought that he swore at Sr. Ogilvie, she told him off and he, in his own words, 'lost it'. The priest who also worked in the Pastoral Centre then tried to enter the office but the door was shut on him from the other side. The man was then seen running out of a fire exit, over a wall, and onto Union Street, the main shopping street in Aberdeen. He was seen clutching some of his own and Sr. Ogilvie's clothes. He was covered in blood.
Sr. Ogilvie was dead. She was 59 years old which, for anyone who has been taught by nuns in their life will know, is an exceptionally young age for them to pass away. I think one is still going from the convent right now at 104. Anyway, the injuries she sustained were horrific and numerous. Sixty separate injuries in total. According to the coroner, her body was in a similar state to those involved in a serious road traffic accident. Fortuitously, she died early on in the attack from a heart attack as a result of a fractured larynx.
The following morning, my Dad, who is, at times, as subtle as a sledgehammer, announced that a nun had been murdered at the cathedral whilst reading the local paper. As a young child with a curiosity that only developed to an insatiable level when I got older (to the level of downright nosiness), I glanced at the front page as I was sitting beside him in the living room. It was the first moment in my life that I just stopped dead and went numb. It was a grainy photograph, but I distinctly recognised the face smiling back at me. I'd only seen it the previous week when she was leaning over my school desk having a good chat with me. Well I couldn't believe it. I walked around in a state of shock for the next few months. To say it impacted rather negatively upon my childhood is an understatement. I had an audition for the now defunct Children's Theatre at the Arts Centre the night before the funeral. I can remember putting in such a mediocre performance because I was thinking about the next day that I didn't get in, and I never had the confidence to try theatre again, which is a great shame. It was one of the very few things I enjoyed and appeared to be good at. Even my mother commented that I 'played to the gallery', although this was meant as a criticism.
It marked the beginning of my personal detachment from my catholic religion. How on earth could a God allow something like this to happen to someone so lovely and defile a Cathedral I had attended throughout my childhood? And, if that had to happen, why did he have to pick a lovely nun for such a violent end?
The funeral was held on the following Thursday, coincidentally Ascension Thursday that year. The Cathedral was packed as over 1000 mourners attended. I was very small at the time, and it was a most emotional experience as it was my very first funeral, but I can remember that I had never seen the Cathedral so full of nuns. They were everywhere. For me that was concerning, as I'd very much enjoyed a hate-hate relationship with the Brides of Christ up to that point. It would be different now, as they no longer wear the full habit, which is even scarier as I wouldn't be able to identify them!
It's nearly 26 years since Sr. Ogilvie died. Last year, on 6th May 2013, I attended her grave in Aberdeen with a small aubretia plant, which I planted at her head, marking the 25th anniversary of her death. I believe her assailant's parents, who were staunch catholics and completely destroyed by the murder, used to leave flowers at her grave. I think even Sr. Ogilvie's rosary was given to his mother as a symbol of reconciliation. I stood there in the rare Aberdeen spring sunshine, listening to the traffic passing on the Great Southern Road, which runs directly next to the community plot where she is buried. The trees had overgrown behind the plot now, and the bluebells were thriving up the bank leading up to the road. The old Aberdeen-Ballater disused railway line that was used transporting monarchs to Balmoral up until 1966 runs alongside the wall to the left as she continued to lie there with 13 or 14 other nuns, who presumably died natural deaths. The most startling thing was that I realised I had changed so much since the first time I stood on that spot in 1988. I felt so different. So surreal. Almost detached from the drama of her death. Looking at the simple cross that dominated the graves, with the roll call of names of nuns passed, I felt I had come to terms with what had happened. She was no longer there. I wondered what on earth she would have thought if she could have seen me now. Lawyer, soon-to-be writer. I know for a fact she would have disapproved greatly of the content of my novel. But I imagine she would have read it nonetheless, as she was a part of the process of my upbringing, and addressed me in a very gentle tone starting with the words, 'Now, about that book you wrote….'
The fact that I still think of her from time to time is a credit to her memory and her ability to engage with young people in such a positive and charismatic way. I hope the pupils of Corpus Christi eventually remember Mrs. Maguire in such a way, instead of her violent demise. Sr. Ogilvie's death did have a positive impact upon me in some ways though. Much was made of her assailant's drug habit, with much detail in the press as to the cocktail of narcotics he was taking prior to her death. As a result, I never indulged in drugs. In my youthful naivety, I thought drugs would make me go around murdering nice nuns.
Anyway, this has been such a morbid update, and I need to get back to work!
Laters,
MJ xx
No comments:
Post a Comment