As soon as we entered the convent boarding, the saints came marching into our lives. Nuns tell us the life stories of many saints and we learn that in their privileged position, they can intercede with God on our behalf. As children this idea appealed to us hugely.
Saint Joseph was a firm favourite. He is usually depicted with a sprig of white lilies in his hand. I used to take all my childish problems to him.
In Good Shepherd Convent, Kandy, we H.S.C. (Catholic) students were told we could attend the five-day Catholic federation camp at St. Anthony’s College, Katugastota. Highly excited, we spoke of nothing else for days.
The big day arrived and we went downstairs with our bags, when Mother St. Joseph our Principal called me aside. “Bernie,” she said avoiding my eye, “your mum just rang. She is against your going to the camp.”
“But why,” I cried, shocked. “She thinks you have a boy friend at the college.”“But I don’t…. I began, protesting hotly....” “I am sorry dear,” said Mother sympathetically, “but there is nothing I can do.”
I went upstairs, dumped the bag on the bed and had a good cry. I knew the reason. My mum was a matron at St. Anthony’s College and I often visited her and played endless games of cards with the Antonian cricketers who also stayed weekends for cricket practice. My mum’s reasoning was that I couldn’t possibly have resisted the charms of the Antonian cricketers. But she was wrong.
Sitting despondently on my bed, I looked up and saw the large statue of St. Joseph placed at one end of the dormitory.
“St. Joseph,” I said going up to the statue, “Please let me go to the federation camp. You know that I don’t have a boy friend...” I paused. St. Joseph was a Saint in Heaven and would disapprove of a half-truth. “.... at least not in St. Anthony’s College,” I amended hastily. “Please find a way for me to go to the camp.” Now, while speaking to St. Joseph I had reached out and touched the sprig of lilies placed between the circle of his thumb and forefinger.
I found, to my surprise that it was not attached to the statue but could be removed. Well.... well.... I carefully drew the sprig out and held it up triumphantly. “St. Joseph,” I declared, “You’ll only get your lilies back if you send me to the camp.” I hid the sprig of lilies behind a large cupboard. A few minutes later, I heard feet running up the stairs. “Bernie,” panted a little boarder, ”Mother Principal wants you to come down at once with your bag.”
I grabbed my bag, blew a kiss of thanks to St. Joseph and ran pell-mell down the stairs. “Your mum rang again,” said Mother, “She’s changed her mind.”
After a wonderful time at the camp, we returned to the boarding and resumed the usual routines. A few days later, I happened to stroll into the dormitory to find Mother St. John staring at the statue of St. Joseph.
“You know dear,” she said as I joined her, “There is something odd about this statue, but I can’t figure out what it is.”
I jabbered something to distract Mother’s attention, and the moment she left I rushed to the hiding place. Yes, the lilies were there. I placed it in St. Joseph’s hand with profuse apologies.
On a visit to Melbourne a few years back, I strolled into a shop full of the most natural-looking artificial flowers I’d ever seen. Amidst the blaze of colour was a sprig of white lilies. I smiled, remembering the day I stole St. Joseph’s lilies, and bought it on impulse.
On my return to Sri Lanka I gave the sprig of lilies to St. Joseph’s church in Grandpas – to make up for my tardiness on that long ago day.
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