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Life in a Catholic Orphanage www.piperpost.net

Edith O'Gorman was a young Catholic woman who joined the Order of the Sisters of Charity in the USA in the 1860s and was assigned to work in an orphanage run by them. Eventually she rose to be a Superior in the Order. However, Edith O'Gorman had many doubts as to her religion and finally escaped from convent life. She became an active Protestant speaker and writer and in 1871 produced a book Convent Life Unveiled from which the following extracts concerning her experiences in an orphanage run by her Order are recorded.

The horrifying cruelties she records may at first sight appear to be too far-fetched to be true, a product of a vivid imagination or mere anti-Catholic propaganda. However, testimony to the veracity of her statements comes from other sources. Many cases of cruelty and sexual abuse behind convent walls have been hushed up through the centuries but some have eventually seen the light of day, in spite of every effort the Church has taken to guard her secret life from prying eyes.

In 1902 a similar scandal was revealed by the French press (See Encyclopedia - under entry: NÔTRE DAME DE CHARITÉ). It is not the only such story; further, many of the writer's claims were also stated by her in public lectures, subjected to debate in the newspapers of her day. Nobody was successfully able to disprove any her claims.

Edith O'Gorman wrote:

On the 4th of January, 1863, four days after I was clothed in the habit of the novice, I was sent by Mother Xavier to the convent in Paterson, New Jersey. At the sight of St Joseph's Orphan Asylum, that cold winter day, my soul was filled with the most conflicting emotions, and I became so overpowered by my feelings that I gave way to a copious flow of tears as I entered the community-room, to present myself to my new companions, whom I will now introduce to the readers as follows:

Sister Mary Joseph, the sister-superior, was a most stern and unfeeling woman, well calculated to render my novitiate one of unmitigated tyranny. She received me in the coldest of cold manners, and my affectionate greeting to the other nuns was also repulsed by their coldness; they appeared more like statues, without feeling, without heart.

On the morning following my arrival, Sister Mary Joseph promoted Sister Ann Joseph to be housekeeper, and installed me as mother of the orphans. This office, to me, was one of the most trying that could possibly be imagined, and no language can express the feeling I experienced when I first beheld these poor children huddled together in a cheerless class-room, without fire, bare shoulders, and bare arms, crying and shivering with the cold, presenting altogether the most forlorn and miserable scene I have ever witnessed.

The daily regime of these poor children was as follows: They rise at six o'clock, hastily dress, and repair to the bath-room, the older orphans always assisting the younger, because sisters are forbidden touching them. After they are washed and combed, they proceed to a cold class-room for morning prayers, then to a scanty and unpalatable breakfast, which, without any change, always consists of dry bread and coffee, without milk or sugar, made from the refuse coffee of the sisters' table, sweetened with treakle.

HUNGRY CHILDREN
The orphans' table is covered with black greasy oil-cloth; to each child is thrown a piece of bread, which is eaten from the table without a plate; the coffee is served in tin cups. Their appetite is never satisfied on the scanty allowance given them; and they retire from the refectory almost as hungry as when they entered it. It is most painful to witness the wistful and yearning glances they cast at the fragrant meats on the sisters' table.

The oldest of the orphans is scarcely 12 years, yet they perform all the drudgery work in the asylum. They do all their own washing and ironing; scrub the halls; dormitories, class-rooms, and refectories; make beds, sweep, and wash dishes, etc.

Their dinner consists of soup made from poor and infected meat thickened with the waxy remnants of the unleavened wafer, and crusts of mouldy bread, portioned out to them in tin cups, from which they eat with discoloured pewter spoons. I never saw a plate, or knife and fork, on the orphans' table.

At five o'clock they have supper, which consists invariably of porridge and molasses, and, for a change, porridge and buttermilk. Sometimes the weak little stomachs of these children refused their unpalatable food, and on such occasions Sister Ann Joseph, the housekeeper, would stand over them with a leather strap, called cat-o'-nine tails, and whip them until they ate the nauseous food; or else they were starved until they were glad to eat anything.

I could not refrain from weeping when, on the second day of my arrival, Sister Ann Joseph (their former mother) compelled them to run with bare feet in the snow for one half-hour, and she applied the cat-o'-nine tail vigorously on the bare shoulders of those who stopped or hesitated. The sister ridiculed my tender feelings towards the orphans, telling me I would soon get hardened to such things. I asked her what object she had in thus exposing these poor little ones to such hardships; she replied, 'To make them tough and hardy,' as she did 'not believe in making hot-house plants of orphans'; and she further remarked, that during the two years she had charge of them she never failed to make them run in that manner twice a week, winter and summer, and that I must enforce the same discipline.

CROUCHING WITH TERROR
The orphans were in such great fear of the nuns, that the very sight of them would send them, shivering and crouching with terror, out of sight. I assisted the young children in all their necessities; I combed their heads, which, through neglect, were swarming with vermin, and covered with sores and scabs, rendering it the most repulsive office I ever performed; however, with daily combing, and the use of red precipitate they were in a good condition before three weeks had passed. Every Saturday I bathed their neglected bodies, which were also covered with vermin. This treatment, to which they had been strangers, soon obtained the affection of their little hearts to me, and they would hail my approach with pleasure, every eye beaming with welcome whenever I came near them.

But this state of things was not to last always. Sister de Sales, the 'reporter', seeing the affection, and, as she called it, undue familiarity which I manifested towards the poor orphans, reported me to Sister Mary Joseph, who called me to account for it, and forbade me allowing the children to come near me.

I was subject to the closest scrutiny by the sly Sister de Sales. It was a matter of astonishment to her why I never whipped the orphans, and one day she reported to Sister Mary Joseph, that one of them, named Mary Gray, had told her a falsehood, and ought to be punished severely for it. Accordingly she came to me with an order from Sister Mary Joseph, commanding me to inflict a severe chastisement. I called Mary Gray aside, and chided her for her fault by portraying to her in vivid colours the enormity and hideousness of the sin and in punishment I told her to go on her knees and and ask God to forgive her, which she did very contritely.

But the poor child was not to escape so easily; Sister Mary Joseph, who was watching through a side door, strided into the room, and in a fierce manner asked me why I did not obey orders and punish the child. I replied that I had. To which she responded, 'I'll teach you how to punish her; you are spoiling these orphans, and soon they will rule the sisters.' She then took the child into a cellar, commanding me to follow her. She tied this little child, only about 6 years old, across a broken chair, stripped off her clothes, and in a merciless manner applied the lash on the tender flesh, which rose in purple stripes at every stroke.

STRAP USED
Such cruelty I had never before witnessed, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. But the sight of my emotion maddened her, and turning to me she said, 'I'll teach you to get over your fine feelings, and at once!' She then gave me the strap, commanding me to beat the child in the same manner she had. I remonstrated, saying I thought the child was punished enough on that occasion. Whereupon she took a large clothes-stick and gave me a blow with it across the shoulders, asking, 'Was that the way to practise the vow of obedience, as a superior's orders were not to be questioned, but blindly obeyed?'

There was no alternative, I must obey. I took the strap and, offering the action to God, for the first time in my life raised my hand to inflict pain. Oh! It was a terrible trial; and I can never forget the agony of that day, and the reflections which followed. I had sacrificed all that was sacred to me on earth, and entered a convent, and for what? To labour, as I thought, in the service of the poor and afflicted, and secure the salvation of my soul, aided by the example of meek and lowly women; whereas I found them cruel, hardened, and unfeeling. I expected to meet Christian love and kindness, yet a Sister of Charity had struck me a severe blow with a stick and compelled me to act inhumanly.

In the month of March 1863, in company with Sister Mary Joseph, I attended the dying bed of a poor woman named Mrs Stanton. Her husband had been killed in the battlefield, and she was compelled to go out washing to support herself and child. Finally her health failed, and she was dying. Troubled about the fate of her dear child, she sent for the Sisters of Charity, and with her dying breath, commended her little one to the mercy and care of Sister Mary Joseph, entreating her to be a mother to the orphan for the sake of Him who saith, 'Inasmuch as you have done these things to the least of My brethren, so also ye have done them unto Me.'

Annie Stanton, the name of this little one, was scarcely 3 years of age, and was a most lovely and interesting child. Young as she was, she grieved for her mother, and it was truly heartrending to hear her piteous cries of 'Oh God take me to my mother! I want my mother; I want my mother! Oh, my mother, my mother!' Alas, the unhappy child must soon, like myself, discover the hard truth, that mother and home were gone for ever. However, I resolved to alleviate the hardships of this child as long as I possibly could. Annie would go at the appointed time to the refectory, only to leave it with her coarse food untouched. I often, unobserved, shared my own meals with her; but the spy De Sales, was ever on the alert, and soon made known to Sister Mary Joseph my 'partiality' - as she termed it; consequently, I was made to fast on bread and water for one week as penance. Nevertheless, I would on every occasion from the sisters' table give palatable food to the weak and delicate among the orphans. I was often severely penanced for it.

BED-WETTING
Every night before I retired custom demanded that I should arouse the younger of the orphans in order to wean them from the bed-wetting habit customary with children of their tender years. Some of the little ones were not easily awakened, therefore I would take them in my arms and carry them, contrary to the rules, which forbade sisters to touch them except to inflict correction. One cold night I was caught by De Sales in the awful act of carrying Annie Stanton, whereupon I was of course reported, and Sister Ann Joseph was sent to watch me, and give me instructions in regard to the manner in which I should treat the orphans.

The following night Annie Stanton cried at the unusual manner in which she was awakened. Sister Ann Joseph dragged her from her bed and ordered her to walk in her bare feet on the cold floor. The child, half asleep, refused, and began to call for her mother. Touched by this appeal, I went towards the child in order to coax her. Sister Ann Joseph pushed me back, took off her hard leather shoes and began to beat her on the delicate flesh, which rose in black and blue ridges at every cruel blow. I could not endure this, but pulled the sister away, asking her if she meant to kill the child, and if she did, I could not stand there and let her do so. My interference doubly enraged her; she sent another child for the leather strap, placing the little naked body across the bed, and beat the child till the blood came.

The shrieks and screams of her victim infuriated this woman, who then seemed the personification of a fiend to such an extent, that in order to smother her cries, she dragged the little one to the bath-room, placed her in the tub and turned a shower of ice water upon her, keeping her under it until she became so chilled that her body stiffened out as if dead. As a very natural result of this barbarity, a violent fever ensued, which nearly resulted in death. Never can I forget the cries of that suffering child, as she pleaded for mercy from that heartless woman - a woman, too, bearing the name of a 'Sister of Charity' and 'Mother' to the motherless little ones under her care.

On another occasion Sister Gonzaga took Mary Carrigan, a girl of 9 years of age, for the trifling offence of picking some gooseberries from the nun's garden, and shut her up in a dark closet in the cellar, infested with rats and mice, from eight o'clock in the morning until five in the evening, and when this Sister of Charity went to release her little victim, she found her in an idiotic condition, clinging to the wall and her little bare feet bleeding and bitten by the rats; this brutal punishment had resulted in transforming that once bright and intelligent child into an idiot!

In the fall of 1864, for some slight offence, Sister Mary Joseph beat Mary Gray with so much severity as to cover her naked body with black and blue stripes. This poor child, made desperate by repeated ill-usage, ran away from the asylum; was picked up in the streets and taken to the poor-house, where she was discovered and brought back to the convent.

TIED TO POST
Sister Ann Joseph beat so unmercifully a child of about 11 years of age, named Jennie Carney, that she also ran away, bearing on her body the marks of cruelty. Lizzie Madden, 12 years of age, ran away twice on account of ill-treatment; and when she was captured and brought back the second time, Sister Mary Joseph tied her to a post with rope and scourged her most inhumanely. Kitty Rooney, a sweet little child of 5 years, was obliged to be kept out of sight for two weeks on account of the way her face was disfigured by the beating and kicking she received from Sister Gonzaga.

I could relate other instances of the sisters' unkindness and cruelty in the asylum, but I will merely direct my reader's attention to one more. Mrs Berry, a poor widow, placed her two children in the asylum some time in 1863. These children were named Sarah Ann and Mary Berry. Sarah Ann, the younger, was about 3 years old. Sister Ann Joseph was infirmarian to the orphans, and she formed a marked dislike for this child, and in every possible way caused her to suffer. One day in January, 1864, Sister Ann Joseph ordered Sarah Ann away from her scanty breakfast to the infirmary in order to give her some medicine. This was a matter of surprise to me, as I knew of nothing ailing Sarah Ann that morning; moreover, she was a very healthy child, never having been ill while in the asylum.

In about ten minutes after Sarah Ann left the refectory, and while I was still at my breakfast, Emma Scanlan came running for me in breathless agitation, calling, 'Oh, sister, sister! come quickly, Sarah Ann Berry is dying.' I hastened to the class-room, where I found the child writhing on the floor in mortal agony. On taking her up she immediately expired in my arms. Fifteen minutes had scarcely elapsed after she left the refectory in the glow of health and here she was a lifeless corpse. Her sudden death spread terror into the hearts of us all.

I sent for Sister Ann Joseph, who came into the class-room extremely pale and agitated. I said, 'Sister, what medicine have you given this child? See, she is dead.' She authoritatively replied, 'I gave her salts - what's that to you? I believe I have charge of the infirmary!' 'Yes, sister, but are you sure it was salts you gave her?' looking her steadily in the eye, for I felt a strong conviction that all was not right, as her past repeated unkindnesses to the little child rose up before me.

In a sharp, angry tone she replied, 'The child died of the heart disease, and it is none of your business what I gave her,' slamming the door violently as she went out. I had the painful task of laying out the little corpse in its pine coffin, and it was conveyed away, four hours after death, to a pauper's grave in the cold earth. No physician was called in, no investigation made, nor slightest inquiries permitted to be circulated in regard to the sudden and mysterious death of this poor child. Even her mother would not be permitted to see her until she threatened to report Father M'Nulty, and get her child disinterred unless he would give her permit to look again on the face of her dear child before the grave would hide her away for ever from the earthly vision.

Having mentioned in some of my public lectures the preceding examples of cruelty to orphans, Dr John Quinn, the Romish physician at Paterson (NJ), entered into a controversy with me in the papers endeavouring by falsehood to blindfold the public. He says: 'I myself attended the child Sarah Ann Berry for heart disease before she entered the asylum and I told her mother she would not live long.' I gave a lecture in Paterson, April 22, confronting Dr Quinn with the facts. Mrs Berry, the mother of the child, and Dr Quinn were both in my audience. After the lecture she came forward before several witnesses, among them Rev. G. Winans, Rev. M. Dally, Messrs. Turner and Williams, besides a large number of ladies and gentlemen, and embraced me, tearfully thanking me for the kindness I had shown her children. She then and there testified that every word I had said about the treatment of her children was true and stated that neither Dr Quinn or any other doctor ever tended her child for heart disease or any other disease, and that she never spoke to Dr Quinn in her life.

She gave further testimony to the cruel treatment her other child, Mary, received from the nuns; and when she took her away from the asylum the sisters retained the good clothes the child had brought to the asylum, and 'sent her out of it clothed in scarcely rags enough to cover her,' her back and shoulders bearing the marks of many cruel blows. Jennie Carney, one of the orphans I have mentioned as having run away from the asylum on account of ill-treatment, was also in my audience. She too, came forward, being then a young girl of 17 years, and with great affection greeted me. She publicly testified to the truth of my statements about the orphans.

Orphans cannot complain to their friends, because they cannot see them alone - a sister is always within hearing. A day is set apart every month for visitors to see orphans, and on that day they are attired in a neat-looking uniform, drilled, and warned in regard to every word, look and manner, and if they transgress these injunctions they know the punishment which awaits them. Orphans are forbidden any communication with the parish children; they are completely walled in with their plaints and pleas from the ear of bamboozled humanity.

But the orphans do not suffer alone. The kindness of the Sisters of Charity to children extends farther than the orphans, as the children of parochial schools can testify. When a child fails in recitation or conduct the rod is called into requisition, and the hands and bodies of those little ones often carry to their parents marks of the sisters' cruel correction. Another mode of punishment is to keep delinquents confined to the class-room from nine o'clock in the morning until six in the evening, without dinner or a moment's recreation. Yet the poor parents stand in such awe of the sisters that they dare not complain for fear of incurring the displeasure of the priests, who threaten with excommunication all parents who withdraw their children from the parish school and send them to public schools.

Feature: The Truth about Easter

Film Review

The Golden Compass.
www.piperpost.net

New Line Cinema, 2007. From the novel by Philip Pullman. Direction/Screenplay: Chris Weitz.

I've not read His Dark Materials - the award-winning book series by Philip Pullman; in fact, to be honest, I'm not much into fantasy literature at all although I read the Nania stories to my children when I was a Christian but that is not surprising. Nice to come across someone who writes fantasy from a different perspective. Pullman has done this and has, incidentally, expressed his abhorrence of the Narnia books. In the C.S. Lewis universe innocence is prized and the children are never allowed to grow up.

Many who've read the books say The Golden Compass movie has shortcomings. Doubtless it does; few movies accurately reproduce the inner soul of a good book. All I can say is that I enjoyed it more than I thought I would, especially the acting of the feisty Lyra Belacqua (Dakota Blue Richards, a newcomer to film) and, as always, the superb acting of Nicole Kidman, playing the slyly evil Mrs Coulter [I don't suppose the redoubtable Ann suggested this name to Mr Pullman?].

When the film appeared I read with great amusement that some Christian groups were upset because they believed the movie to be a ploy to promote atheism. How very cute! Never mind the reams of film footage promoting Christianity. About time we had a refreshing change from the blah-blah of the celluloid propaganda for a dying religion. Pullman, indeed, is an atheist, but the story is far removed from anti-religious propaganda. Donna Freitas, a visiting assistant professor of religion at Boston University, brings a Catholic perspective to the debate when she describes it as a Christian story - but one that moves beyond orthodox Christian ideas about God.

This notion may be seen in the centrality of Dust to the movie's plot. An early scene introduces us to this spirit, or is it matter, this permeating force that embraces all living things? Some think Dust is God. One thing is certain, Mr Pullman has conceived an idea that will be the subject of debate from now to eternity!

When the movie opened in the USA there was an outcry from the usual suspects. Bill Donohue, President of the Catholic League, thundered forth, ably supported by the Evangelicals in organizations such as Focus on the Family. But I couldn't help but chuckle when they attacked Nicole Kidman for playing in the movie. Nicole is a devout Catholic (and I still think she's a great actor in spite of that handicap)!

Lyra finds herself engaged in a life-and-death struggle with the reactionary forces embodied in The Magisterium. She carries with her a gadget called an alethiometer, or Golden Compass, which she consults from time to time to learn the truth.

It is easy to see the Magisterium as the Church hierarchy (and this is certainly what many Catholics believe) but perhaps it is more accurate to see it as embracing all that stands in the way of human enlightenment. In an early scene one of the Magisterium members promises when debating fellow members: 'I'll not dispense with centuries of tolerance and freedom of inquiry.'

This is precisely what was being done. And maybe today we again face the same move back towards the dark. The reactionary forces of religion - from the Islamics who advocate Sharia law through to the 'Born Again' Christians who want to shut science out of high schools - sometimes seem to be hellbent on wiping out the gains of centuries of enlightenment.

As the final battle scene fades we get a glimpse of what is to come. Serafina Pekkala says that Lyra will fulfil a prophecy about the war that is to come, a war that is about 'nothing less than freewill.'

Recommended movie.

Lyra consulting the compass

A long time ago a case of poltergeist activity occurred in a home in Galashiels, Scotland. The household included a 13-year-old girl, Margaret Wilson, who seemed, as is so often the case, to be the object of the poltergeist's activity. Loud rappings came from beneath chairs she sat upon and knocking sounds from beneath her bed.

The local minister of religion, the Reverend Wilkie, was called in and visited several times, conducting prayer meetings. Reportedly Margaret's body levitated from her bed, even when several strong men tried to hold her down. Strange sounds were also reported and Margaret told the investigators that while she was unconscious the Devil spoke to her.

On one occasion the minister took the girl's Uncle aside and questioned him closely as regards his behaviour towards the girl. The Uncle reacted angrily, denying he had done anything such as the minister implied. According to the account of this episode the minister further pressed a question of 'one thing in particular' but again the Uncle denied responsibility. Was the mysterious thing the appearance of menstrual blood? In any event soon after this Margaret was sent away and became a servant in Edinburgh. Immediately all strange happenings ceased in both her own home and in the place to which she had gone.

Feature:
Digging up the past

A musical that played in Sydney recently has reminded me of a sorry story from the past. The Hatpin relates the tale of mass infanticide in the late 19th century. www.piperpost.net

In 1892 a blocked drain in the inner-city suburb of Macdonaldtown revealed the horrible story - the drain was blocked by the decomposing bodies of small babies.

This was the era - which lasted for far too long - when being a single mother meant effectively being an outcast from polite society. Unwed mothers would farm out their little ones to baby minders running boarding establishments, enabling the mother to continue working and earning a living.

As such these homes theoretically provided services not dissimilar to those provided by childcare centres today. The unwed mothers were treated at that time as social outcasts and when they left their babies with the women who ran such establishments they generally believed they would soon be in a financial position to reclaim them.

A relatively substantial down-payment was demanded, perhaps as much as £20, with monthly fees due thereafter. These homes had, however, a sinister side. With no Government supervision and under the lax standards of childcare then operating many quite unsuitable people took on this work, treating it as a mere money-making activity. There was widespread abuse and cruelty and in many cases the women disappeared with the money soon after taking in the children. In other instances they simply sold the infant illegally to a childless couple and then disappeared.

In October 1892 a workman digging in the Sydney suburb of Macdonaldtown uncovered the bodies of two babies. The house had formerly been occupied by John and Sara Makin and further digging on the properties of other houses where the couple had lived revealed more tiny bodies. Police soon arrested the Makins, who had operating at baby-farmers. They had kept moving about to avoid the possibility of the unwed mothers returning to see their babies. In all there were 12 known murders, although there might have been more never uncovered. John Makin was sentenced to death and Sara to 14 years’ imprisonment.

A similar case occurred in Melbourne in the following year. Mrs Minnie (or Frances) Knorr, a woman with a chequered background and with a small child of her own, finding herself destitute, decided to take in babies. Someone digging in the yard of a house she had occupied discovered the remains of a small baby, a piece of tape tied about its neck. Mrs Knorr had moved from one address to another and just how many infant died is not accurately known. Certainly she confessed to having murdered two, by strangulation. Mrs Knorr was found guilty of murder and hanged.

In 1897 another Melbourne woman, Ann Dobbs, was found guilty of conducting an unlicensed boarding-house for children. The court was told that two children had died in her care in a previous situation where she had been licensed owing to 'unsuitable food'. After her licence was cancelled, she had taken in another infant for payment, by name of Hamsley, and this child had died. She was found guilty, but was merely fined £5.

Another notorious case was recorded in Western Australia. Alice Mitchell, a middle-aged woman and a nurse, ran a boarding establishment for infants at 24 Edward Street, East Perth, around the turn of the century. On September 29, 1906 Elizabeth Booth, in the shelter of the Catholic House of Mercy at Highgate Hill, a Perth suburb, gave birth to an illegitimate child, a baby girl.

The Catholic establishment only catered for women for a limited period and three months after the birth Elizabeth and her baby had to seek accommodation elsewhere. The young mother was able to find work but only if freed of her child. So the little girl was boarded in the home of Alice Mitchell. It was to cost 5/- per week for board, 5/- for any doctor's visit and 5/- for vaccinations. Three days after leaving her baby the mother called back and was told the doctor had visited and that the baby was healthy. All appeared to be in order yet within another six weeks the small infant was dead.

Eventually police investigated the affairs of Nurse Mitchell and uncovered a sordid tale stretching back over some years. In all it was discovered that at least 37 infants had died in homes operated by the lady. The subsequent coronial inquest and trial of Nurse Mitchell was a sensation. Public figures were blamed for inadequate control of such premises. The criminal was fortunate, for she was convicted of manslaughter and given a sentence of just five years.

While it would be simplistic to blame society's mores at that time there is no doubt that the stigma attached to a young woman giving birth out of wedlock played a major role in this unhappy situation. In an era when birth control was barely known, sex information hard to come by and, indeed, anything to do with sex treated as vaguely 'dirty', it is not surprising that many young women found themselves in the situation described above.

Feature:
I hear voices and there's no one there. www.piperpost.net
'I have a theory that you can’t find any saints any more because of psycho-tropic medication. I think that the old days the saints were hearing voices and they didn’t have any thorazine to calm them down. [laughter] Now that we have all of this medication available to us, you can’t find a saint any more.'

- Co-host Joy Behar, speaking on the TV panel show The View - 9 January 2008.

Jeanne d'Arc's head was filled with voices. She started hearing them at age 13. Did the onset of puberty trigger something in that devout girl's grey matter? Statistically speaking, young girls reaching or passing through the age of puberty are more likely to have mystical religious experiences of one kind or another than any other group in the community. Jeanne was treading a well-worn pathway.

She was undoubtedly impelled by powerful forces. But things are not always as they seem, especially when dealing with religious miracle. She was, like Saint Bernadette (aged 14 when she had her first glimpse of Mary), an unhealthily religious child, decking church statuary with flowers, praying frequently, and preferring to attend church services rather than go dancing with the other village girls.

But chiefly, and forever, Jeanne will be remembered for her voices, the messengers from the Other World, by which her every action came to be directed. At least this is what she told us; those around her at the time heard no voices! It was these heavenly messages that impelled the teenager on her risky and relentless course towards ultimate destruction. Indeed, she had success, Orleans was saved.

Testimony to the rightness of the Maid's cause, and the reality of her voices? Maybe, maybe not. Testimony to the forcefulness of the Maid's personality and leadership? Who knows? But doubtless there were pious believers ranged on either side in this war, as in every other.

There is a clue, though. Jeanne may well have been on the wrong side, for her voices failed her at the end. She fell into the hands of her enemies. Maybe this event could be accommodated within the compass of the divine will and purpose, and undoubtedly many believers will think so. But what happened afterwards could not.

Jeanne consulted again with her heavenly visitants, and the voices eventually told her to escape. She obeyed and jumped from her prison tower, only to be injured in the fall and soon recaptured. So much for the miraculous messages from the heavens. The voices had failed her twice. And on the second occasion it cannot be suggested that it was the 'divine will' she fall and be recaptured, unless perhaps her deity had set his face against her! Jeanne - from an old painting:

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