In which Chickenlady puts up with the bizarre habits of nuns
I'm bored, here's an anecdote about knickers from the life of Chickenlady.

I've always had a strange relationship with knickers and have often exhibited odd behaviour surrounding them.

Okay, let's be honest - this qotw is producing some fairly dull stories so I thought I'd join in


A cold winter's day, Chickenlady is about seven or eight years old and suffering from extreme knicker envy.

My parents were not particularly well off and most of my clothes were bought in the local market or during the sales - nothing wrong with that, except that I went to a private prep convent school (long story involving Roman Catholic nepotism and pity) and I was surrounded by children whose parents only purchased outfits from John Lewis and Marks and Spencers. One girl, Katie, that everyone (read:me) thought was beautiful and amazing (actually she was a spoilt brat) had frilly cotton knickers with the days of the week embroidered onto them. I had banana yellow stockinette with 'Ranebow' (sic) printed on them.

Day after day I'd see Katie and her gorgeous knickers - when you're that age and frightened of the nuns you tend to all go to the toilets when you're told and leave the doors open so we all knew what knickers (actually, why am I explaining all of this?)

Anyway, the venial sin....or was it a mortal sin? Hmm....the sin of envy - probably considered mortal, particularly bearing in mind what I did to Katie....

During playtime I collected up some mud and rolled it together just as Sister Patricia had showed us for making coil pots. I made a big fat mud sausage.

You can see where this is going, can't you?

I decided to place the mud sausage, well, more a mud cigar actually, onto Katie's chair in class where everyone would see it and think that she'd pooed herself! Excellent plan, Chickenlady!

I managed to get into class first and surreptitiously dropped the mud cigar onto Katie's chair - we all sat on miniature wooden chairs pulled up to miniature wooden desks - I say miniature but actually they were simply in proportion for small children rather than the Borrowers or midgets, although on reflection they'd have been ideal for midgets but we didn't have any of them in the school - not that the school was anti-midget and in fact some of the nuns were very short but they looked less like midgets and rather more like gnomes - beards and all.

Anyway, the rest of the class files in and everyone stands behind their places - Bizarre habit insisted upon by the nuns - we had to stand until the teacher entered the class, said a prayer and then we would be allowed to sit down and get on with our lesson. So we stand there, Sister Patricia comes in, we all drone, 'Good morning Sister', she replies,
'Good morning class. Let's begin with our prayer' - she then drones the prayer, we all join in and with each breath I'm thinking about the mud poo! It's just sitting there on Katie's chair. Beautiful Katie that everyone loves. Beautiful Katie who won't be friends with me because of my cheap banana stockinette knickers with the misspelt transfer print on them. Beautiful Katie who invited me to tea once and I told a rude joke to her entire (posh) family and they didn't think it was funny. Beautiful Katie who everyone loves.

The prayer finishes with a communal scraping of chairs on the parquet floor and an echo of 'phuts' as eighteen seven year old bottoms drop onto their wooden seats.
Wait for it....wait for it....any moment now.....she'll scream.....someone will laugh.....wait for it......

Sister Patricia begins the lesson - hundreds, tens and units. Katie is asked to hand out the Cuisenaire because Katie is beautiful and all the teachers love her. Katie has huge brown eyes that remind me of a Jersey cow, she also has very hairy legs but she always wears lace edged ankle socks and not knee high socks from International Stores (I know, that really dates me).

Katie stands up and the cigar poo is stuck to her dress!!! And then, as if in slow motion, the mud cigar slowly and without leaving a single skid mark, slides to the floor and rolls under the table.

No one has noticed. Not one grubby fingered, snotty nosed, sticky-out eared or lazy-eyed child in the entire class has noticed.

The rest of the maths class continues without event. We all get on with sorting out how to add up and subtract using the Cuisenaire rods and the equal addition method - which coincidentally I had to unlearn when I taught in primary schools and decomposition was the new way of doing subtraction. Nuns probably couldn't teach decomposition because the Lord God Jesus didn't decompose, instead the Lord God Jesus ascended into Heaven, unlike His blessed mother, Mary who assumpted into Heaven but us poor benighted sinners will have to pray that the dear Lord God Jesus takes mercy upon our wretched souls and allows us to suffer in Limbo until we have atoned for our sins.

All of this was going through my mind as I wondered what would happen to the mud cigar poo.

The end of the class eventually arrives, it's time for lunch and the bizarre habits and rituals begin again.
We all stand - communal chair scraping and foot shuffling - did I mention we were only allowed to wear slippers inside? All outdoor shoes were left in the cloakroom.
We all put our hands together, eyes closed, heads bowed.
Make the sign of the cross.
Sister Patricia begins the Angelus.
We all drone the prayers.
Make the sign of the cross.

"Holy Mary! Mother of God! Who has left that on the floor!" Sister Patricia's face was the exact shade of the four Cuisenaire rod and it looked like it was going towards the two rod. My mud cigar poo had been found.

It was under Katie's chair. My dastardly plan was coming together; everyone would hate Katie and her perfect cotton knickers with the days of the week embroidered on them. Everyone would see that Katie was a stinky poo pants.

Katie began to cry.

It really did look like a turd lurking under her chair.

Sister Patricia kept Katie's table behind and sent the rest of us off to lunch. Everyone was giggling about the escaped poo and guessing who might have done it. We all waited expectantly with our lunch bags ready to file back into class - another bizarre habit - we ate in class with napkins as tablecloths because there wasn't a dinner hall.
Then the girls, including Katie, came out.
Then two of the boys came out.
This left only Smelly Peter in class - Katie sat next to him and that was the only thing for which I didn't envy her - Peter only bathed about once a month and after PE lessons he put his trousers over the top of his shorts.

Peter had got the blame for the mud poo.

And that's where I'd rather messed up - it was winter time, all the girls (including me) were wearing tights.


Everyone still loved Katie. She became Head Girl.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 6 Jul 2010, 14:38, 8 replies)

you and your knickers.
*sniffs*

ps will reply to that long long gaz soon...
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Tue 6 Jul 2010, 14:39, closed)

needs more summary

(waxdart hello., Tue 6 Jul 2010, 14:51, closed)

Mmmm.
Knickers.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Tue 6 Jul 2010, 14:52, closed)

There were more tangents than a maths class in that story
but I liked it!

PS Did an eight year old girl really have hairy legs? I wouldn't have thought it would be an issue until puberty.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Tue 6 Jul 2010, 14:52, closed)

My 3 year old boy has hairier legs than I did at 12
I think his mother may have had an affair with some sort of primate.

*ook*
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Tue 6 Jul 2010, 14:57, closed)

OK
Well, you learn something every day!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Tue 6 Jul 2010, 16:01, closed)

*Clicks furiously*.
( Duke Of Belmsford has got 99 records, but Jay-Z ain't one, Tue 6 Jul 2010, 22:35, closed)