s the alarm clock goes off, I pull the thin comforter up around my neck and slowly take stock of where I am.
Two strong, competing images come to mind when most people hear the word, images from opposite ends of the spectrum: there’s the wizened older woman, scowling in black, who spreads guilt and misery through the parochial school classroom; and then there’s head trip.My vision is both romantic and austere: a beautiful woman who’s stripped herself bare, who’s wrapped herself in dramatic robes and strapped her head into a wimple and veil and cloistered herself away on lunar-landscape-quiet monastery grounds.[Up to 1834] [After 1834] [Staff] [Inmates] [Records] [Bibliography] [Links] A parliamentary report of 1777 recorded parish workhouses in operation at Budock (with accommodation for up to 15 inmates), and at Penryn (up to 50 inmates).Penryn had a workhouse on Church Lane from 1821 onwards.By the 1920s, the union was operating a children's home at 11 Clare Terrace, Falmouth.
The building still exists, now in private residential use.
The average annual poor-rate expenditure for the period 1834-36 had been £5,050 or 4s.10d. Initially, Falmouth Union retained three existing parish workhouses — Falmouth Town (for up to 108 inmates), Falmouth Parish (60 inmates), and Penryn (96 inmates).
At Penryn, Edward and Mary Tregaskis continued in post but were known as master and mistress of the workhouse. From late 1840, the master and matron of the Falmouth Town workhouse were Thomas Deeble Smith and his wife Eliza.
Maybe it’s an innate sensitivity, this attraction, something built into my DNA.
Whatever it comes down to, I have some powerful ideas about nuns.
Why would she choose to live with his many brides and very little privacy and pooled resources; to abandon any and all romantic partners, along with the possibility of ever again touching someone else’s naked body; to set aside every personal need and closely held ambition in favor of the needs of others?