If TV movies are anything to go by, funerals are always held in pouring rain, with gloomy mourners huddled together under big, black umbrellas, some genuinely grieving, others wishing they were somewhere else. But the final farewell for Sister Annunciata, a much loved teacher from my convent school days, was held on a sparkling summer's day under clear, blue skies. And everyone there wanted to be there.


My former class mates had turned out in big numbers and I recognised most of them, including Jimmy Stancovic. He'd been my best mate in those turbulent days at St. Ignatius, during the big war.

Jimmy was about 12 when he had a serious falling out with God. Well, not so much with the big man upstairs, but with one of his agents on earth, the rheumy old parish priest who ruled the school with an iron fist, and an old fashioned barber's razor strap.

Father Kelly by name, Father 'whacks their arses off 'by inclination. The nuns knew from experience that he was a sadistic old bastard, always making excuses for him; always going on about a loving God moving in mysterious ways.

But there was nothing mysterious about the way Father Kelly operated and, certainly, nothing loving in his approach to keep his young charges in line.

Every Monday morning he would storm into the classroom, booze on his breath and a mean look in his eye, a look that kept us pinned to our seats.

“Alright you bloody little heathens," he would hiss between clenched teeth, “who went to mass yesterday and what was the colour of the vestments? Now, don't bloody lie to me.”

The teacher we all loved, the gentle Sister Annunciata, would wince at the rough language being used in her classroom by someone who should know better.

But she was young and nervous, and no match for a middle aged bully. Sometimes, when Father Kelly as in full flight, she would sneak a quick look at the picture of Jesus hanging on the wall by the door. I didn't know if she believed that the man on the cross could see what as going on , but I had the impression that she wanted to turn him to the wall , just in case.

So, like us kids, she remained dutifully cowered. All of us, except Jimmy. He hated the priest with all the venom a 12 year old boy could muster. Father Kelly was always giving Jimmy a hard time, especially after the argument he had with Jimmy's dad, a headstrong Yugoslav and he only known communist in Father Kelly's patch. It rankled Father Kelly to have a commie in the camp, a red viper in one of the Pope's cosier corners of the world; even if Marshall Tito's communist partisans were giving the Nazis grief in the Balkans.

Once, Father Kelly got so mad during a political argument with Jimmy's old man that he ripped Tito's picture off the Stancovic's kitchen wall and tore it to shreds.

Jimmy saw what as coming. His old man shaped up to drop the fuming priest, but Jimmy jumped between them and pushed Father Kelly away with such force that that the priest lost his balance, and crashed to the floor.

Old man Stancovic just stood and laughed. Jimmy told me that Father Kelly's face had turned purple with rage, and he thought the priest was about to explode and shower them with shit. Instead, he got to his feet, glared at Jimmy, then stormed off to his car with Mr Stancovic's mocking laughter ringing in his ears. Now here he was, his florid face stuck within an inch of Jimmy's nose.

“Now, boy, did you go to mass yesterday?” he asked. Jimmy stared straight ahead. “Yes.” He said in a loud voice. A lie. We held our breath, we all knew that Jimmy avoided mass like the plague, especially when it as being said by Father Kelly.

“Well, then boy. What was the colour of the vestments?"

“Green.” Jimmy didn't blink, or move a muscle. He always answered green, even if the priest's garment had been white on a feast day for the Holy Mother, or purple during Lent.

Father Kelly could never get Jimmy to change his tune. He could rave all day, but Jimmy was staunch and never changed his tune.
*** “You Pagan! “yelled Father Kelly. He grabbed Jimmy by the ear, yanking him off his seat and propelling him towards the classroom door.

“They were white”, you miserable creature. Get your bloody black heart out of this classroom and take it to hell with your mortal sin."

He shoved Jimmy through the door, sending him sprawling on the asphalt playground. Father Kelly followed him out. “Lie to God, but not to me.” he bellowed.
Jimmy must have been hurting badly. His elbows and knees were grazed and bleeding but kept his expression blank and his mouth shut.

Scared stiff, as usual, we slowly let out our breath. Sister Annunciata plucked up courage and ran to help Jimmy. Father Kelly gave him another angry look before marching off to the presbytery, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Bastard foreigners.” I heard him mutter. The class could never quite understand why Jimmy brought so much trouble on himself. Time and time again Sister Annunciata pleaded with him.

“Please Jimmy, don't goad the good Father. Go along with him and Jesus will bless you with his love. Remember Jimmy, blessed are the peacemakers."

Her entreaties were wasted on Jimmy. He didn't want Jesus' love, or his blessing. He just wanted to get even with the priest.

But things went from bad to worse, especially after the arrival of the girl refugee. Sister Annunciata ushered her gently into the classroom, a thin pale face, short, dark hair cut in a ragged fringe, and a wary look in her large, brown eyes.

She reminded me of a nervous little fawn I had seen in a Walt Disney cartoon, always on the alert, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

She wasn't a bad looker, either. Though, I thought she was a bit old fashioned with her long, red velvet dress hanging down almost to her ankles. She had black boots that buttoned up the side, the kind you saw in photos of European women taken before the war. And she had on a black beret, like those worn by Frenchmen in comics.
*** Sister Annunciata put her arm around the girl's thin shoulders and smiled.

“Class Class, this is Eva Thomas, who has come all the way from Germany to be with us”.

We just sat and gaped while Sister Annuciata went on. “Like us, Eva is a Roman Catholic, but because her parents were Jews the Nazis treated them cruelly. Please welcome her.”

The girl looked uncomfortable. She stared over our heads at the back wall of the classroom. No one said anything. The closest we had ever been to a German was on a Saturday afternoon at the pictures, watching Nazi storm troopers stomp all over Europe in flickering black and white newsreels.

I held my breath and waited for the girl to speak, wondering if she would hiss like Gestapo officers did when they spoke English in a war picture. Sister Annunciata tried again. This time she sounded a little irritated.

“Class, please show some manners and welcome Eva to New Zealand.”

“Zieg Heil!” A mocking stage whisper from the back. The class giggled loudly. “That's enough,” snapped Sister Annuciata, unsuccessfully trying to pin point the culprit. “I am really disappointed in you all.”

That was Jimmy's cue. Suddenly, he was on his feet, smiling at the girl. “Hullo Eva, I am Jimmy Stancovic. Welcome to St. Ignatius.” The class followed Jimmy's lead with a loud chorus of welcome. Sister Annunciata beamed at Jimmy. I knew what she would be thinking. 'Good old Jimmy. Solid and dependable when you needed him.'

The girl smiled for the first time since entering the classroom. A small, shy smile. “Hullo.” She said softly, with just the faintest trace of an accent. But she wasn't talking to the class. She was looking straight at Jimmy. The rest of us may as well have not been there.
*** They seemed to already know each other, kindred spirits reconnecting. It was a bit spooky and I don't know if anyone else noticed. From that moment on Jimmy became Eva's unofficial protector.

He was never far from her in the playground, always watching to make sure the school bullies kept their distance, or that some of the more snooty girls weren't giving her a hard time.

I tackled Jimmy about having a crush on her, but he told me to shut up or I'd cop one on the nose. Even though Jimmy kept a protective eye on Eva, they never made their growing friendship obvious.

Eva pretended not to notice him, but I often caught her smiling at him when she thought nobody was looking. On reflection, I guess Eva and Jimmy did have a lot in common. At one stage he had put up with a lot of name calling during the war, on account of old man Stancovic being a foreigner with a funny accent.

Eva resisted all attempts to get her to talk about the war or her parents, and after a while the kids gave up poking questions at her and she faded from being the class oddity.

Though, I noticed her as always jumpy when Father Kelly was around. One morning when he was in full flight about hell and eternal damnation I saw that Eva was trembling like a jelly.

Jimmy noticed as well, and glowered at the priest who was striding between the rows of desks waving a big, coloured poster.

It was an ugly picture of men, women and children, faces contorted in a mixture of pain and terror as yellow flames engulfed their tortured bodies. Father Kelly's warning to boys and girls who deliberately stayed away from mass.

“This is it!” he thundered, revelling in our horror. “This is where you will all end up if you break God's commandments and die with mortal sin on your soul, and missing mass is a mortal sin.”
*** There was a loud silence as he looked accusingly at us. Some of the girls began to sniffle, and that was the last straw for Sister Annunciata. She stepped forward and grabbed Father Kelly's arm with both hands, trying to push the poster away from our goggling eyes.

“Father, you're scaring them. Put the picture away, you've made your point. They've had more than enough.”

Father Kelly glared at Sister Annunciata, shaking his arm free and brandishing the poster above his head.

“Never enough Sister. Don't interfere; I haven't finished by a long shot.”

“Stop it you bastard, stop it!” A hoarse shout from Jimmy, who was gripping the sides of his seat so hard that his knuckles had turned white, the bones threatening to burst through his skin. “You're the bloody mortal sin. You're the one who'll burn in hell.”

Jimmy's outburst startled Father Kelly, but only for a moment. He threw the poster on the floor and started for Jimmy, a vicious look on his face. Sister Annunciata tried to block his way, but he pushed her aside without even looking at her.

Jimmy didn't move. He glared back at Father Kelly, ready to take what was coming. The priest had almost reached Jimmy when a loud scream stopped him in his tracks.

Eva had jumped up from her desk and was stumbling towards the classroom door, hands clamped over her ears.

“Nein, Nein, Nein.” she sobbed. She was shaking like a leaf and we could all see the pee running down her legs. Sister Annunciata ran after Eva, looking back over her shoulder at Father Kelly. I had never seen her look so angry.

Eva never came back to school. Jimmy told me she almost had a nervous breakdown. The relatives Eva was living with had told Jimmy that her parents had died in the ovens of a concentration camp. Father Kelly's fire and brimstone antics had almost sent her over the edge. *** A few weeks after the incident school broke up for the Christmas holidays. Jimmy brooded a lot over what Father Kelly had done to Eva. He told me that never again would he put up with the priest's bullshit.

He was as good as his word. On the first day back at school Father Kelly strode into the classroom, ready to give us a New Year's tongue lashing. He'd hardly got going when Jimmy gathered up his books and began heading towards the door, shaking his head from side to side.

“Where are you going, boy?” Father Kelly moved to block the doorway. “Get back to your desk at once.” Jimmy ignored Father Kelly and ploughed on towards the door.

Father Kelly went to jump in front of him but slipped on the highly polished floor and staggered backwards, off balance like a drunk. His head crashed into the blackboard and his face turned blue.

He started to gasp for air and froth at the mouth. He clutched at his throat and then crumpled face down on the floor in front of us. Sister Annunciata crossed herself and sent one of the boys for help. The class was deathly still. I looked for Jimmy but had gone.

Later, Sister Annunciata told us that Father Kelly had died from a stroke. She said it happened quite often to elderly men.

The church was packed for the Requiem Mass and as the Bishop of Auckland droned on about Father Kelly's noble life and good works I wondered if Jimmy was right. I wondered what part of hell Father Kelly was lecturing..

After mass, people stood clustered in small groups on the footpath talking softly among themselves. I noticed Jimmy standing on his own in front of the school gates, looking at us. Some of the mourners noticed him as well and scowled. Many of them blamed Jimmy for hastening Father Kelly's stroke.
*** Jimmy didn't notice their dirty looks. If he did he didn't let on. He waved at us and marched straight up to Sister Annunciata.

“Black.” He said.

“What's black, Jimmy ?"

“The colour of the vestments. Black for the dead and black for Father Kelly's - “That's enough Jimmy.” Sister Annunciata cut him off. She reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Let him go, Jimmy.” She spoke in the same soft tone a loving mother might use to admonish a favourite child. “Let him go. It's time for you to come back, and that means I want to see you in the classroom on Monday morning.”

“I think I'll see you sooner than that, Sister.”

Oh, when will that be? “Sister Annunciata asked.

Jimmy grinned. “How about Sunday mass?”

He winked at me and began sauntering across the road towards the bus shelter. We stood quietly and watched him go. It as then I noticed Eva sitting shyly on the seat, waiting for him.

I caught Sister Annuciata out of the corner of my eye. She had a tiny smile on her face, a 'that's my boy, Jimmy' kind of smile.

Now, the priest who had committed her to the Jesus she loved looked at me and said, “John, when we're finished here lets go and have a drink and talk about the bad old days.”

“You're on Jimmy. “I said. “I've been thinking a lot about today, and I want to know why the boy who wouldn't go to mass became a priest.”

Jimmy looked into the grave at Sister Annunciata's coffin, sprinkled with earth and flowers. He turned to me and smiled, I knew I had his answer.

The, he took me by the arm and steered me towards a group of old classmates who were talking to a tall, dark, striking looking woman. “There's someone I think you should meet,” he said.

As we approached the woman turned to us and smiled. It was the same small, shy smile I had seen in the classroom all those years ago.

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