I sometimes get into quite heated arguments about nuns. The problem occurs when I meet fellow 1960s women who went to bad convent schools. They relate horror stories of humourless (and, in some cases, dangerously stupid) nuns, who preached hellfire, imposed weird exotic punishments and daily excoriated the fearful, frightening, filthy world of sexuality. Not, frankly, the best way to the heart of a teenage girl, even a dreamy one with a picture of Cliff Richard on her wall.
And certainly not if her poster (torn down by Sister Evangelina with little cries of horror) depicted Mick Jagger with his shirt off.
