16. Chapel

We go to chapel every day and twice on Sundays.

After prep, it’s time for Evensong. Before we go for dinner, we file silently into the school chapel past Havard who stands in her black university gown, at the entrance to the cloisters.

It’s odd the way she stands there, scrutinising us. I wonder why she does that. Why not just wait inside the chapel? When we are all in our seats she walks down the aisle, like a priest, robes billowing behind her. Everyone stands.

Last week, as I walked past her in the cloisters, she called me over. “Sophie, those are very smart shoes. Where are they from?” I’m stunned. “What!?” I say silently to myself. “Did Havard just comment on my shoes?” I feel embarrassed and I don’t know what to say. This interaction is not one that I am used to or prepared for.

My shoes are from Bari in Puglia. At the end of every summer, Mummy takes me and Audrey to Bari to buy our clothes for the winter. We buy several outfits each and one or two pairs of shoes. They are definitely outfits, of the mix-and-match type. We have an element of choice in the process, which is heavily guided by my mother’s taste and preferences. Mostly I quite like what she chooses even if I would probably go for different things if she let me. The shoes are often a problem though. Because of my flat feet, I can’t wear dainty little ballerinas or feminine loafers. They are usually too low cut and my feet splay them wide, they look terrible. So I’m usually reduced to a narrow choice of high-cut, enclosing and rather masculine moccasins. Buying shoes in Bari is always a trial. I don’t look forward to it one bit, watching Audrey with her slender little feet buying elegant shoes I’d love to wear, leaving the shop in silent, angry tears.

So today, I stand there looking down at my shoes. Oddly enough these are a rare pair of elegant, flat, Italian leather pumps. They are very uncomfortable, being far to narrow for my extra wide feet. The leather is stiff and smooth, shiny, brown and highly polished and they pinch my toes. But they look nice enough. These are my indoor, mufti shoes, so they are mercifully mud-free. I look up at Havard.

“They are from Italy Miss Havard” I say. I hope that’s the right answer. Is that what she wanted to know when she asked where they were from?

“Very nice” she states. She gives me a half smile.

I’m very confused by this interaction. Havard has never commented on my clothes before except to tell me to pull my socks up or pull my skirt down. (The length of our school skirts is a constant source of contention and order marks - they make us look so square, cut just below the knee. So we roll them up at the waistband to create a mini skirt look - much, much cooler and definitely against the rules).

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say next, so I just smile sheepishly at her and follow the others down the cloisters and into the chapel. I can hear Emma and Caz giggling behind me.

“Oooh, very nice shoes Sophie” Caz mimics Havard, taking the mickey. I scowl at her.

There’s something I like about the chapel. It's not a beautiful building but it's peaceful and containing. I like singing the hymns. I like the sound of us all singing together accompanied by Ruddock on the organ. 140 girls’ voices, and a few teachers, all joining in together. We sound quite good, although there is usually someone being silly and singing out of tune on purpose or changing the words to the hymns for a laugh.

The day thou gavest, Lord, is Ended

The darkness falls at thy behest…

So be it, Lord; Thy throne shall never,

Like earth’s proud empires, pass away:

Thy kingdom stands, and grows forever,

Till all Thy creatures own Thy sway.

I don’t pay attention to the words. They don't mean anything to me. They are just sounds I make, following a tune that I know well by now. It’s soothing to sing together. I feel less alone when we are all chanting in harmony.

We kneel on the hand embroidered, cross stitch hassocks and pray.

ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father,

We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep,

We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own

hearts,

We have offended against thy holy laws,

We have left undone those things which we ought to have done,

And we have done those things which we ought not to have

done,

And there is no health in us:

But thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us miserable offenders;

Spare thou them, O God, which confess their faults,

Restore thou them that are penitent,

According to thy promises declared unto mankind

in Christ Jesus our Lord:

And grant, O most merciful Father, for his sake,

That we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life,

To the glory of thy holy Name.

Amen.

I am Jewish. These prayers are not my prayers. I don't know what my prayers are though because my parents don't go to synagogue. I don't pray. I could like it I think, if the words meant something to me. But these do not. If there is a God, and I don't know if there is, I don't think I would be seen as an offender or a sinner. That doesn't sounds right to me.

Chapel is mercifully brief, only twenty minutes or so and as we file out and rush to the dining room, my thoughts turn to food. A memory of dinners at home flashes through my mind. Home-cooked food, hot and comforting. Tonight I’ll have to make do with tinned ravioli and chips.

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The lyrics of the hymns we sang and prayers we intoned are jarring to me now. They did fit perfectly in the post-empire relic of a school which was Oakdene. We were an anachronism. An institution that had not yet caught up with the realities of the present nor the promise of the future. We belonged to the past with all our outdated rituals, old fashioned rules and military jargon: mufti, tuck box, exeat... What were we being prepared for? What was our education about? I really don’t know, I don’t think anyone did. Were we supposed to grow up and find husbands? Or pursue brilliant careers? We learned Latin and Greek literature, needlework and music alongside Maths and English, Physics and Chemistry, but what was the point? Who were we supposed to become? One message was very clear every day; we had to learn to follow the rules and be good. We had to look neat and tidy and be quiet and polite. We mustn’t ask too many questions or colour outside the lines. We must be kept in line, know our place and conform.