Unconventional Women: a book review

This is an unconventional love story, told with warmth and wisdom. It draws close to a small group of women who, in the 1950s and 60s, followed a call to join the Servants of the Blessed Sacrament, an enclosed order that began in France but that established a community in the Melbourne suburb of Armadale. Sarah Gilbert worked hard to gain their trust and tells their story with a rare kind of intimacy. The result is a book that has much for the entire Catholic community to ponder. At its heart is a deepening understanding of the Eucharist.

In 1951, the order bought a 25-room mansion, which was then converted to use as a convent. Even a mansion can feel small when you are never allowed to leave the grounds except to see a doctor. The sisters lived under a demanding regime. There were always at least two of them, around the clock, praying before the Blessed Sacrament, 365 days a year. The time not spent in prayer was devoted to making altar breads for parishes that were swelling in numbers during the postwar baby boom. They worked like crazy, often in uncomfortable circumstances. They were allowed to bathe once a week, wearing a modesty covering as they did so. Their social life was circumscribed: even recreational discussion of the outside world was frowned upon (‘we talked about the chooks and the cat’). There was limited, if any, intellectual life. ‘There was no real human touch.’

Sarah Gilbert listens intently to their experience, fertile soil for any worthwhile theology. Maureen Flood, a trained nurse, grew up in a rural pub and joined when she was 21. Barbara Fingleton, also a nurse, grew up on an isolated sheep station, where her contemplative spirit flourished. Vianney Hatton, a graduate, left a relationship to follow another kind of romance. Her mother then had all Vianney’s party dresses altered so she could use them; her daughter would no longer be seen at Sydney’s Trocadero nightclub. And so on. Gilbert follows about eight women closely. Their stories are all unique.

None of them looked back with rancour on their years of enclosure. On the contrary, there are moments of great depth in their memories. Barbara, for example, considers the very fragility of the wafer used for the Blessed Sacrament as a reminder that God identifies with our fragility. Maureen says she was ‘drawn irresistibly into a world of mystery’.

The resilience and beauty of this spirituality becomes central to the story as Gilbert narrates the experience of the community as it comes to terms with the impact of Vatican II. It has become commonplace in small pockets of the Catholic community to trivialise or even disparage the openness of those years. People with that tendency owe it to themselves to read this book and take its lessons to heart.

Unconventional Women describes in meticulous and sometimes painful detail the risks the Blessed Sacrament Sisters were prepared to take to deepen and expand their understanding not just of the Eucharist but of living in the presence of God. Education was an important part of this. They were led to start a contemplative community in Redfern, then an Indigenous ghetto, a far cry from the upmarket Redfern of today. They formed close bonds with Indigenous people and worked with Mum Shirl and Fr Ted Kennedy, the local parish priest, in a church where the wounded were welcome, and the purpose of the Eucharist was healing. Maureen wrote: ‘the Eucharist is really meant to be the food for the poor—the food of the broken people—and we had made it into a fairly elitist kind of thing.’ The result was ‘a contemplative order close to the streets’.

Some of the most tender parts of this book describe the ageing of the sisters and their diminishing numbers, both through death and through the choice of some to follow other paths. One, Melissa Jaffer, became a familiar figure on the Australian screen. Another, Jill Thomas, married and struggled with poverty when work was scarce.

Perhaps the most moving story of all is that of Marie Grunke, who became pregnant when she was 21 and unmarried. She went to New Zealand to give birth and, with great anguish, gave into pressure and allowed her son, Michael, to be adopted. Her heart was broken. She joined the order and for 25 years was unable to share with anyone the most significant event in her life. This is not the place for spoilers, but the story will bring tears to the eyes of readers.

This book has had a deep impact on me. It had filled me with appreciation that such beautiful people, with all their struggles, simply exist and bring light to the world. I knew some of them, and I certainly knew the Redfern parish during the unforgettable ministry of Mum Shirl and Fr Ted. One sister, who is not much mentioned, suffered from a lack of confidence. I remember our occasional talks. She was always grateful to God for the gift of life.