When I made my first Communion Day it was still required to abstain from food and drink from midnight. We had prepared and practised for months and we all had new clothes to wear. It was very much looked forward to event.

On the morning of First Communion day I got up and went to the refrigerator, poured myself a drink of milk and drank it. I then ran to my mother in floods of tears because I knew I wouldn’t be able to receive to Communion. She settled me down and told me we would go to church and I was to go with Sister Bernadette and the other children and she would go and see the parish priest who may be willing to give permission for me to make my First Communion even though I had ‘broken my fast.’ If Mum had not come to get me by the time Father arrived on the altar to say Mass then I would know he had given permission. Imagine my relief when Father appeared on the altar. And do you think my mother went anywhere near the priest prior to Mass?

Latest posts by Pauline Smit (see all)

    Read previous post:
    Laetare Sunday: It Always Sneaks Up On Me

     Ten minutes ago I finished playing a dirge-of-an-entrance-hymn perfectly suited for Lent: Forty Days and Forty Nights. I played the...