Mother Agnes silently motioned her to a chair in the small, parquet-floored room where the new entrants divested themselves of their worldly attire and dressed in the habit of the postulant. Brigid sat down and saw the nun pick up a large pair of scissors. Her lower lip wobbled. She was proud of her luxuriantly rich, shiny hair and had always taken care to brush it a hundred times a day. Her crowning glory, her granny called it. The shock of hearing the harsh rasp of the scissors, and the feel of it tugging at her tresses, then seeing the long mane of auburn hair lying on the floor at her feet, and the unaccustomed lightness she felt, suddenly made her realize that her life truly was now changed forever. She was no longer Brigid Dunne, with dreams of love, marriage and children, no longer daughter, sister, friend. She was female, but no longer a woman. Her family were no longer her focal point. Her parents no longer her protectors. She’d a new family now and a new identity to show the world. Owned by God.

Mother Agnes handed her a white cotton cap, secured by a bandeau, to cover her head and neck with. Brigid’s fingers trembled as she buttoned the bandeau, then she bowed her head as the nun placed the wimple that would hold the small grey veil on her head. Brigid knew that the yoke was now upon her.

She was given two cream calico chemises for nightwear, two slips and two cream calico shifts for daywear, over which she would wear a grey tunic. Two pairs of black woollen stockings and two corsets completed her ensemble. Mother Agnes instructed her to change into her new attire, in her brisk, no-nonsense tone. She would then be shown to her dormitory, which she would share with five other postulants, Mother Agnes informed her, before leaving the room with her hands tucked under her tunic, like a frozen statue on rollers.

Brigid sat back down on the hard chair for a moment to absorb the enormity of what was happening to her. At least she would hold on to something of her former identity: her name. Sister Laurence was the name the Order had chosen for her, but she’d pleaded her case successfully, saying that Saint Brigid was one of Ireland’s patron saints, and she’d a great devotion to her. Not having to bear the name of a male saint was a small triumph, Brigid had thought with relief, gazing at her new uniform and realizing that she would never wear fashionable clothes again. That was something she hadn’t considered in her haste to become a nun.