Forth year and fourteen years ago a task had been set by the sisters of a school on Great Island to go forth and seek work experience. Marys College, a bundle of immaculately placed red bricks, sat, like a prominent blood stain on top of a hill known aptly as ‘Top of the Hill’. It was run by a waddle of nuns whose icy presence was felt at every corner of the school so much so that the most coveted positions in the class rooms were the seats next to the blazing hot radiators. There were normally only six to eight of these searing seats per room up for grabs so a fight broke out at the beginning of every freezing winter morning to achieve warmth for the forty minutes that followed. This fight was usually won by the pretty girls, the big girls or the crafty country kids who were queuing up by the door since their battered bingo bus dropped them off about five hours previous.
Marys College was a secondary school which was a step up from primary school or in the boys of Great Island’s case, three steps down. After six years in primary school learning how to sing the National Anthem and All God’s Creatures and also bursting your knuckles in some outrageously, barbaric conker fights, the powers that be decided you were ready to progress into the big school. In doing so you were leaving behind the playground that you had just spent six years getting comfortable in and great memories such as the lunatic chanting ‘on the shed’ while jumping up and down, on the shed and the game gathering jingle of ‘who wants a game of British bulldogs?’ which later became ‘Irish Wolfhounds’ due to a wave of national pride. It was not just a case of ‘Sink or swim?’ but ‘sink or swim or run from bullies’ as the crossover to the new school took place.
First year; with no previous contact or interaction with the opposite sex you were thrown into a mixed class, girls and boys with no filtering process what so ever. Forget French, German and Spanish, talking to these giggling girls was a new language to be learned quickly or you were deemed an outcast. It was a year of sweating, acting cool, looking at more advanced chests and praying you were not asked to do a maths question on the black board as early morning puberty was kicking in. And if you were chosen, you thanked God for a well placed maths book as you stood, petrified and for no reason, aroused, at the top of the class. As first year came to a close and you just began making friends, second year came around with the knowledge that smaller more frightened kids were about to enter the building making you somewhat safe due to the fresh meat on show.
Second and Third year; Voices were deeper and spots were rampant as confidence was growing along with other things in your life. Homework became more plentiful and algebra was introduced into the curriculum. X+Y-26=0. What are X+Y? Letters, unfortunately was not the answer to the question and therefore maths became a subject to be avoided at all costs. Physical Education or PE, to the lay person, was a time to show your ability to wake up at 8:30am, run for eighty minutes straight, without a shower afterwards and still manage to get to lunch time without the girls in the class noticing the smell or perfuse sweating you were now sporting. With the biggest exam in your life to date, looming ominously around the corner, a slight panic briefly took over your life in third year. Social activities like standing by shop doors and staying out until ten instead of quarter to ten became the source of fun and if life was still dull, peer pressure would hand you a can of warm beer from underneath its jumper to give you the courage to talk to a girl for more than twenty seconds. The Junior Certificate itself was basically the equivalent of a baby learning to crawl. Once they learn to walk, crawling is an accomplishment that is never really celebrated in later years just like when you go on past the junior certificate; it is not something you ever acknowledge as an achievement again!!!
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