I wish I could have normal recurring dreams like everyone else seems to; falling off buildings, discovering you’re naked in a crowd of people, or even flying. But no. Two or three times a year, unprompted by anything particular in my waking life, I have to re-sit the Leaving Cert. And not just re-sit it. I am sent to a new school half way through the school year, and have to figure out how, this time, I will manage to pass Honours Maths.
For those fortunate enough not to know from experience, the Leaving Cert is the terminal examination for second level students in Ireland. Or, as I thought of it at the time, the eye of the needle through which we all had to pass in order to continue through life. It was the ultimate in obstacles. If you didn’t pass it, you couldn’t become an adult.
I used to look at people aged 19 and up and think, wonderingly, ‘he/she did it. Amazing.’. Kind of like the way that as 14 year olds, my classmates and I would stare at a pregnant teacher, count the months and exclaim to eachother ‘she DID IT approximately 19 weeks ago!’.
The Leaving Cert is a memory test; a gargantuan, two year long struggle to memorise as many quotations and 4th hand/rate analyses of Shakespearian tragedy, be able to ‘treat of the land reform struggle from 1870 to 1914′, and do as many pointless french cloze tests as possible, regurgitating it all in about a dozen intense 2 1/2 hour periods over the most important a week and a half of your life. And then there was Honour Maths.
Honours Maths was the Holy Grail of academic achievement at second level. I never got it. It may have been lack of will, or just wilful stupidity. But I sat in that class for three years (did 5th Year twice and failed maths both times) on my parents’ and teachers’ insistence, and never got much further than the first third of the curriculum. But if you were at all clever you had to be in Honours Maths. No question about it.
It was estimated that just to keep up you needed to do 2 hours homework a night and 7 or 8 on the weekends, just in maths. Forget about your 6 other subjects, each with a teacher claiming an hour a night for her subject. But it wasn’t just the maths itself I hated (actually, I quite enjoyed parts of it, but just as I was figuring out calculus, we’d move on to trig, and so on). Or even the way it was taught – since most of the girls in class were able to follow without too much trouble.
But because of Honour Maths (my English teacher always pronounced the first ‘H’ in contempt), I was plucked from my comfortable undemanding secondary school, and enrolled as one of the Magdalen Sisters.
Two weeks before the autumn term of my last year of school began, I was summoned from the tennis court and informed that I needed to get measured for a new uniform. Why a new uniform with only 10 months of school to go? Because I had failed Honours Maths (again) and I would not be saying goodbye to my school friends before I began as a weekly boarder at the local crammer. Years later, my parents wondered that I had been unhappy in the convent; ‘but you always seemed so happy bounding out of the place on a Friday afternoon…’.
The school of course will remain nameless, staffed as it was by women who in their heart of hearts believed they were doing right. The women who taught me that shame is a weapon.
We were allowed a bath or shower once a week. Mine was on a Tuesday at half past seven. The optimum day was Wednesday – two days out from the shower you took at home on Sunday night just before going to school, and two days ahead of going home. Otherwise you were supposed to wash in the sink in your cubicle, with the door open and no displays of nudity allowed. It took the First Years a while to decipher all the mixed signals, and in the meantime they would be hauled in front of the other girls and told how they stank until they wept in shame.
At the beginning, if I got called into The Parlour to be harangued for offences like being friendly with the wrong girls I would grit my teeth and refuse to cry, no matter how many appeals were made to my parents’ disappointment or my family’s sacrifices. Soon, though, I learnt that the fastest way to get out of there was to count to about 50, let the nun get into her stride, and let the waterworks begin.
Bed clothes were pulled back every day during breakfast. Innocently, I thought it was to give the bed an airing. Until the morning I woke up, saw I’d had my period over night and left a 50p coin sized stain on the sheet. I begged the sister who did morning inspection not to say anything. ‘Oh, of course I won’t. You’re such a nice girl and from a nice family. It could happen to anyone.’. After breakfast, the nun in charge of the boarding school marched into my cubicle, told me how filthy I was, and slapped me in the face in front of the dormitory. It would be nice to think there was camraderie between the girls to get you through episodes like that. But anyone who was seen to consort with a girl in disgrace would fall into disfavour herself. And it just wasn’t worth it.
And, this is almost too good for the story, but it’s true. The head of the boarding school that ran on fear and distrust was, herself, the teacher of Honours Maths. I learnt a lot from her, but not much mathematics.
In late spring, thanks to the intervention of a former teacher in a sister convent, I finally got out of Honours Maths. Out of spite, I think, I was put in the remedial class. Which was actually fine as they let me get on with my own exam preparations. In the end, I took the Matric and got a C in maths, or, as it’s also called, an honour.
But anyway, compared to pretty much anything, it was rather mild. And in my case only lasted a year. A year, mind you, when the best thing that happened to me was pneumonia which got me out of school from November to January. I remember being outraged when they confiscated my copy of Anna Karenina on the grounds that it wasn’t ‘a proper book’. But have I picked up a copy and finished it in my 15 years of freedom since? Not at all.
The Leaving Cert loomed large over my whole life back then. People said it was the hardest exam I’d ever do, and they were right. (then again, I’ve never done comps.) It was the door to the good life thereafter. Thankfully, in my case, it swung open.
But night after night I’m back there again, plunged into a new school and furiously trying to find classes, textbooks, and work out how, this time, I’ll get through Honours Maths. The up side is that the school is always different, the course offerings are quite varied, and these days they let boys in too.
{ 19 comments }
Kieran Healy 03.23.04 at 2:30 pm
Christ. And to think I used to feel embarrassed and humiliated for having to get Honours Maths grinds in the privacy of my own home. That was for my Inter Cert, in the last days before grinds were respectable. I didn’t take on Honours Maths for the Leaving, having successfully acquired a full-blown case of math anxiety in first year.[1] Besides, I’d used up all my credit with the school by talking my way into taking Honours Irish, despite having gotten an F in the Inter.
By the way, Maria, what year did you do your Leaving?
That’d be a thread … Your Leaving Results. At least I was lucky enough not to be born to parents who thought you were obliged to “spend” all your Leaving Cert points on the most in-demand course you could “afford.” Otherwise I’d probably be a Barrister now.
dublingal_ny 03.23.04 at 2:31 pm
I found honours maths pretty easy. Now honours Irish was a completely different story.
Mark 03.23.04 at 3:07 pm
I seem to recall an almost identical issue with Maths Leaving Cert – I got an A in the Inter Cert and it thus it was assumed that I would be a solid candidate for Honours Maths. However, I hit a wall somewhere in my 6th year. I remember being able to do trig – I think my problem was with calculus (I seem to have blocked out my memories of this part of my youth although it was twenty years ago now as well.)
I was also moved down to a remedial level maths class. By this time it was clear to me (and I suspect my parents) that I was more interested in humanities than science, so everyone was okay with this new situation.
Oddly enough I am now a social scientist – imagine my horror on discovering that I would be required to take 2 courses in statistics in order to get a MA in Political Science (and a third course in order to get my PhD.) I passed the basic course but it took 2 attempts to pass the more advanced course and I still haven’t dared use logit in any major research project.
The other abiding memory of the Leaving Cert that I have is being the only person in my school taking Latin – my preparation for the exam consisted of learning (by rote – in other words, without really understanding) the English-Latin and Latin-English transalations of the first 4 books of the Aeneid. I will admit to enjoying the story (and I’m sure there are many valuable lessons to be taken from reading it in either English or Latin) but as I look back on the experience now it strikes me as one of the most useless things I have ever done.
Maria 03.23.04 at 3:13 pm
I did it in 1990, the last year of the matric (which I really enjoyed, insofar as it’s possible to enjoy an exam). I only got out of Hons Maths in the end by swearing blind that I’d really changed my mind from medicine and honestly wanted to do Arts. Thankfully, my parents were like yours Kieran, but I did meet a few who were appalled I was ‘wasting’ my points on Arts UCD!
I actually pity any teacher who was trying to get maths into my head by the end of it all – maths anxiety alone is worth a thread. Funnily enough, though, I did a lot of preparation for GREs last year and spent a couple of months revising pretty basic algebra, geometry & stats, and really enjoyed it.
Honours Irish is a whole other can of worms. And it really must have something to do with the assumption in the curriculum and teaching method that everyone in the class speaks it already. A friend of mine aced his oral by perfecting two introductory sentences in a beautiful Connemara accent, and the interviewer was so happy to have a ‘native speaker’ in the room that he did all the subsequent talking and gave the guy top marks. Myself, I got the honour without too much trouble but only learnt to actually speak the language after I met my VBF in college whose family all speak it as their first language.
Which is all very silly because Padraig Pearse believed completely in bi-lingualism, and Eoin McNeill thought making Irish compulsory would be the death of it.
Suzanne 03.23.04 at 3:17 pm
Maria,
I should be getting some work done, but I can’t resist such an interesting and significant dream. Very interesting dream here. Very interesting symbolism I think.
I have taken some workshops on dreams from a very interesting teacher in the Us (he is from Australia and very interesting -see mossdreams.com) We have learned his Lightning dream work technique, which is to ask the person a few questions First off, you tell the dream, then 2., give the dream a title, then 3., how did you feel when you awoke? 4,. could any of this take place in reality (like to see if it could be precognitive in any way. After that we go around the circle to se if anyone else has anything to contribute, but the etiquette is always to say “If it were my dream, I would think about… ” because you are the only one who can interpret your dream. Often the other people have very interesting impressions to contribute. So here is mine:
If it were my dream, I would think about:
The connection between womanhood, adult hood and the “honours†math. The word honour seems significant in light of the “shame” practiced by the nuns. Having the first period and the class seem connected so I would think about how they may be related in my subconscious. For example: “the eye of the needle through which we all had to pass in order to continue through life. It was the ultimate in obstacles. If you didn’t pass it, you couldn’t become an adult.†And that the Honours math was the “Holy Grail†– the blood of Christ.. [and if you read the book “Mary Magdalen and the Holy Grail†by Margaret Starbird (check Amazon for a review) you may see this symbol from a totally different angle. Whether you believe her theory or not, the information in this book about how the church repressed sexuality and women may be very interesting in unlocking the part of you that may have been left behind , or lost during this part of your life]
Other words that pop out are:
“The women who taught me that shame is a weapon. / no displays of nudity / in front of the other girls and told how they stank until they wept in shame / parents’ disappointment or my family’s sacrifices./ Innocently / stain / filthy I was, and slapped me / girl in disgrace would fall into disfavour / head of the boarding school that ran on fear and distrust was, herself, the teacher of Honours Maths. I learnt a lot from her, / remedial classâ€
I would think about how all of these feelings and values are tied together in my subconscious and about how I feel about being able to live my life the way I want to. Do I feel deserving, Do I feel loved? Do I feel empowered?
“hardest exam I’d ever do, and they were right. / It was the door to the good life thereafter. Thankfully, in my case, it swung open. “
This comment about the good life thereafter could signify a lot more. I would think about this…
“new school and furiously trying to find classes, textbooks, and work out how, this time, I’ll get through Honours Maths. The up side is that the school is always different, the course offerings are quite varied, and these days they let boys in too. “
I would think about how this connects to me being able to move on with my life and how I have made some progress after all.
“the best thing that happened to me was pneumoniaâ€
I would watch this and make sure I don’t have a connection in my subconscious with sickness being a way to solve something blocking me.
“Anna Kareninaâ€
Then we ask the person how they would honor this dream? It can be a small gesture of a big change. I would think about reading this book.
I would reenter this dream if possible and create a new outcome.
I read a book by Carolyn Myss (I think it is in Sacred Contracts) where she describes being blocked on writing a book.. She has endless dreams about getting on an airplane and somehow it never takes off, or they make her get off or she misses it. Finally when she was ready to publish her book they asked her to leave her seat, but to move up into first class instead of deplaning and the plane took off! I think that the classroom could be just such a metaphor.
Oh and then we ask the person to create a bumper sticker (or slogan) about this dream (this may be part of the positive learning kept from working through the dream). It can be an affirmation that you hang on a post it by the computer or the mirror so you can see it and repeat it every day. Some thing alonfg the lines of “My body is a beautiful gift of God. I am loved and listen with love to my body’s messages†They sound corny but are so good for the subconscious. You can find wonderful affirmation cards from Louise hay on Amazon. I just got some “Power thought cards†It is fun to choose one and put it by my computer. Another set of wonderful affirmations are on the “Tarot Affirmations†cards by Sally Hill (also on Amazon).
Thank you for sharing!! Best wishes for going on to many new schools of learning that run on positive and empowering lessons in life. Hey, and with some men in the class!!!
Suzanne
Nat Whilk 03.23.04 at 3:19 pm
According to Patricia Garfield’s _The Universal Dream Key: The 12 most common dream themes around the world_, dreaming of having to take an exam for which you’re unprepared is quite common. She places that category 5th in her list of 12 common themes, above falling/flying (#6) and being naked in public (#7).
Suzzanne 03.23.04 at 3:25 pm
I just looked back over my post. You’d think I could have come up with some synonyms for “interesting” haha. Excuse me. Oh well, just pretend they are there, it will be more interesting that way :)
Suzanne
Suzanne 03.23.04 at 3:43 pm
Correction:
The correct title to this book is: “The Woman with the Alabaster Jar, Mary Magdalen and the Holy Grail†by Margaret Starbird
maurinsky 03.23.04 at 3:50 pm
I’ve never had those sort of recurring dreams: the unprepared for exams dream, flying dreams, falling dreams, or nudity dreams.
My 2 most common recurring dreams were:
1) I would be eating something and I would look down and a live baby chicken would be on the fork or spoon – I think this was due to anxiety over killing a baby chicken with my bare hands when I was 3. I stopped having that dream by the time I was 11 or 12.
2) I’m walking down the street and huge holes keep opening up in front of me, and my dream is spent dodging these holes so I don’t fall. I haven’t had this one in a while, but I had it frequently through my 20’s.
Fergal 03.23.04 at 3:54 pm
So this was in the mid/late-80s? I don’t remember any stories of places that were THAT bad, even then. You must have got caught in a particularly bad time-warp.
The Matric was still going in 1992, when I did it. Thank god it only had a ‘common’ level and not separate honours and pass papers.
But after all that, do you think it was any worse/better than any other system?
Kieran Healy 03.23.04 at 3:55 pm
I did it in 1990, the last year of the matric
Aha! Same year as me. Did you responsibly sit through the whole of Matric English — I think it was the English paper — or bail out early to catch the second half of Ireland vs Romania?
Maria 03.23.04 at 4:08 pm
Ha, the 1990 English Matric!!! Being the nice convent girl I was, I stayed in the exam hall to finish my paper when pretty much all the boys (and a good portion of girls) upped and left to watch the match about an hour or so into the exam.
What can I say, getting an A in English was easy that year, if you could only stay till the end of the paper. It wasn’t so bad though. Warm day and some kind souls put radios near the open windows so we could hear the commentary on the match. The invigilators were so keen to hear it they turned a blind eye.
But the best bit was running out of the exam hall at the end, jumping into a car and being driven 15 miles home, IN TIME TO SEE IRELAND WIN THE PENALTY SHOOT OUT!!!
(btw, this would be the 1990 World Cup, when Ireland made it as far as the last 16 and the whole country stopped to watch the matches.)
Barry 03.23.04 at 5:09 pm
“We were allowed a bath or shower once a week. Mine was on a Tuesday at half past seven. The optimum day was Wednesday – two days out from the shower you took at home on Sunday night just before going to school, and two days ahead of going home. Otherwise you were supposed to wash in the sink in your cubicle, with the door open and no displays of nudity allowed. It took the First Years a while to decipher all the mixed signals, and in the meantime they would be hauled in front of the other girls and told how they stank until they wept in shame.”
Maria, where and when was this?
To me (a 43-year old USAian) it seems rather abusive.
William 03.23.04 at 5:40 pm
Hah… I actually gave grinds in honours maths. Memorizing didn’t scare me. Then I went to college and it was all about understanding and I never recovered.
maria 03.23.04 at 7:40 pm
god no, not abusive! a bit smelly mind you.
It was just that there were less than a dozen shower/baths to go around 60 or so girls. The place had been built long before the practice of daily showering came in and they hadn’t gotten around to renovating – presumably because of the expense.
On the Matric,I thought it was a great exam compared to the Leaving in that it was more like an undergraduate exam – with essay questions that allowed the brighter students to shine. The L.C. breaks things down into little bite sized pieces, each with its own set of marks. That rewards memory and regurgitation,but there’s little enough room or reward for flair and imagination.
The L.C. is a good exam for the median student, and it’s done more for meritocracy than just about anything else in Ireland. The Matric was a good way to identify and measure outstanding students, but probably did so in a way that privileged the already privileged. The Matric was also set by university professors, so teachers and the Dept. of Education didn’t seem to like it much, as it was a threat and also not completely hidebound by the official curriculum.
All in all, though, I’d be more nostalgic than regretful about the Matric. Its passing was probably both a symptom and an enabler of a change to more people, and people from a wider range of backgrounds, going on to third level.
Greg 03.24.04 at 1:45 am
We made the last eight in 1990, Maria, without even winning one match, bizarrely. I did my Inter that year, and worked at the Caroll’s Irish Open at Portmarnock while as the first round of the World Cup was played.
The point about how the Matric probably “privileged the already privileged” is a good one; many of my friends did it, and got plenty of extra points to help them towards their college points, but I couldn’t afford to, and did without.
(Though to be fair, I doubt I would have been in the mood for another set of exams anyway.)
nick 03.24.04 at 5:57 am
I, too, have recurring dreams about having to re-take my maths A-level. (Which I passed with an A grade. In 1992.)
Fortunately, my Catholic education (in the north of England) left the nuns behind at an early age, and my sixth-form college was presided over by a harmless Marist father who always seemed to make it to the pub at lunchtime before the students…
(My hope is that Ireland has changed in the last decade. Shudder.)
Kieran Healy 03.24.04 at 7:15 am
We made the last eight in 1990, Maria, without even winning one match, bizarrely.
No, no, Greg. We beat England 1-1, remember? We also lost to Egypt 0-0 and drew with Holland 1-1.
John Quiggin 03.25.04 at 8:09 pm
I rarely have bad dreams, but after reading this, I got the seminar nightmare about a seminar I had to give the following day.
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