As a small child at a convent school in London in the 1950s, I had an attack of hiccups in the playground one day. Mother Ignacius (a small, terrifying nun) was on duty. Beckoning me to her, she took a penknife from her pocket, opened the blade and pointed it at me. “Hold this!” she commanded. For what seemed like an eternity but was probably a matter of seconds, she glared at me while I held on to the blade, trembling. I stopped hiccuping immediately through sheer terror – of the nun rather than the blade (Drinking straw device is instant cure for hiccups, say scientists, 18 June).
At teacher training college in the 60s, we had to wear large navy blue knickers for PE and dance (Letters, 17 June). As it was a church college we called them “harvest festivals” as “all is safely gathered in”.
Rev Margaret Roylance
Virginia Woolf heard birds singing in Greek and blamed her own mental state. Does recent evidence (Do Norfolk birds speak Punjab? 10 June; Letters, 17 June) support the case for a biographical reassessment?
Heaven forfend that I should want to advertise my advanced age (Letters, 18 June); I merely wish to moan about not getting a letter into the Guardian since 1955.
To be fair (Edwin Poots resigns as DUP leader after 21 days in post, 17 June), three weeks is a long time if you are a creationist.