It took over my life. We had an altar outside in the convent garden and lunchtime was spent in front of the Virgin Mary waiting for her to give me a message but she never did. The Nuns thought it was wonderful - here was this little Anglican girl who was more devoted than the Mother Superior.
I even had my own altar at home which my mother didn't really approve of.
During the war, my parents had to take in lodgers so I vacated my room for this lady who turned out to be rather fond of her gin. When the bombing started, and my mother pushed us into the cupboard under the stairs, I used be able to smell this woman's breath.
In the end I brought about her departure from our house because I decided that I should save her from herself. I got her into my bedroom and got her on her knees - she was slightly inebriated and did it quite willingly but she wobbled a bit and fell against the door. I couldn't shift her. My mother had to get the next door neighbour to get his ladder and move her from the door. She did go after that! But I don't think it had the slightest effect on her drinking!
My mother was terribly embarrassed and was running her own first aid unit with this strange daughter. Later on, I realised she had a sense of humour but not at the time. I think that my interest in religion has stayed with me throughout my life in small ways, like I've explored Buddhism and now I've retired I've applied to do a post-graduate course in theology. I hope I'm quite sensible now!
