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Nuns on the run by Yvonne Martin
The Press September 14, 2002
A woman who says she was tortured by the Sisters of Nazareth at a Christchurch
orphanage wants them to pay for her alleged suffering. Defenders of Nazareth
House say she is driven by greed, not grief.
Ann Thompson is the latest in the swelling ranks queuing for compensation from
the Catholic Church.
Thompson's target is Christchurch's
Sisters of Nazareth, whose charity work in the city dates back nearly 100
years.
The 61-year-old grandmother, from Whangarei, last week appeared on prime-time
television alleging she had been tortured by sadistic nuns as a girl at
Nazareth House in Sydenham in the 1950s.
As well as regular thrashings, the nameless sisters would use her as a human
toilet brush, flushing the loo while her head was shoved down the bowl.
Punishments were allegedly meted out, not because she was a bad girl, but
because she was born out of wedlock.
"As they'd thrash you, they'd say, `We'll get the Devil out of you'. I was
the Devil's child," Thompson said breathlessly.
While nothing could alleviate her painful childhood, the compensation she now
seeks from the Catholic Church -- a cool $500,000 plus -- could make life
"a little better". "I think I deserve it with what I've been
through," she said.
Coming off the back of a global wave of allegations against priests and
brothers, the serious claims against the Nazareth
sisters barely raised an eyebrow.
Coincidentally, the senior nun at the centre of an escalating storm over child
abuse allegations at a Sisters of Nazareth orphanage in Australia was last week discovered to be living
in Christchurch as head of the order in New Zealand.
One of five women seeking compensation for alleged abuse at Nazareth House in Brisbane in the '50s and
'60s has accused Sister Bernard Mary and another nun of frequent physical
assaults. Seventeen other former residents of Brisbane's
Nazareth House in a separate action have already received settlements from the
order in Brisbane.
As leader of the sisters in New
Zealand, Sister Bernard would have been
involved in negotiations with alleged victims such as Thompson and others.
While Thompson was detailing her ordeal at Nazareth House, Sister Bernard's
attempts to keep a low profile were foiled when an Australian 60 Minutes
television crew ambushed her visiting her ill sister in Wellington.
Until that moment, Sister Bernard had refused to front up to the media this
week -- her minders citing a bad cold when The Press tried several times to
meet her. In a statement, she denies all personal allegations made against her.
Investigations by The Press raise curious anomalies in some of the wilder
claims swirling around Nazareth House in Christchurch.
Take Ann Thompson for example.
Despite her claims of being traumatised by sadistic nuns, Thompson stayed on at
Nazareth House until she was 19. She worked for the Nazareth nuns in a boys' home for several
years after that and continued to visit them long after she left their care.
In 1965, her wedding was held at Nazareth House, the very place where she says
she was regularly abused. The wedding was paid for by the nuns.
Five months before Thompson began pursuing compensation from the Nazareth sisters, she
landed a significant payout from another order of nuns after alleging physical
cruelty in their orphanage.
Thompson, who did not return calls to The Press, is adamant the abuse at Nazareth happened, and her
lawyer, Stuart Henderson, met last week with the order.
But staunch supporters of Nazareth House, some who shared a dormitory and
giggled in Mass with Thompson, are questioning elements of her story.
They say that while their upbringing was strict and orderly, the nuns were
benevolent dictators who took in hundreds of kids from broken families and
single mums -- and looked after them as best they could.
How can girls from the same era in the same orphanage have hugely contradictory
memories of their childhoods? Could both versions be right? Are reported
settlements within the Catholic Church, worth tens of thousands of dollars,
tempting convent kids to try to cash in on their pasts? How is the Church,
buffeted by abuse allegations dating back 40 and 50 years, going to be able to
distinguish between a true victim and a Judas after his or her pieces of
silver?
The Order of the Sisters of Nazareth, founded in London
more than 150 years ago, came to Christchurch
in 1905 at the invitation of Bishop John Joseph Grimes to set up a home for
needy children and the elderly. The nuns soon outgrew their first home in Ferry Road and
bought six hectares in Brougham
Street.
At the time Thompson lived there the nuns had about 100 "orphans"
from separated or solo parents before the days of the domestic purposes
benefit, as well as elderly residents. Now it is a retirement home with 81
residents, still run by the sisters.
Early last week about 50 supporters gathered at Nazareth House in Brougham Street in
protest at allegations made against the nuns by Thompson and others.
Thompson alleges she was beaten for any misdemeanour or for no reason at all.
Nuns would strip her at night, tie her to a bed and thrash her, she claims.
So frightened was she of abuse, she would wet her bed, which would bring more
grief -- the human toilet brush treatment.
But that is not how fellow "Naz" girl, Elizabeth Rose, who shared the
same crammed dormitory, remembers it.
"At no time did I see any kind of physical abuse from the nuns," she
says. "If she (Thompson) was hit, we would have heard it in the dorm. We
were so close together. If you put your arm out, you could have almost touched
the next bed. You could hear the kids coughing or sneezing."
She remembers uncontrollable giggling sessions with Thompson in the church
pews, when some of the elderly residents broke wind, and getting poked in the
back by tut- tutting sisters.
Rose was also born out of wedlock, like many of the other girls, but says it
was never an issue. To the contrary, nuns would comfort girls like her, who had
no family to visit them on Sundays, with extra love and lollies.
Rose remembers sports events, picnics at Waikuku Beach,
and one sporty nun who would kick off her shoes and chase a ball with the
girls, her habit flying.
Theresa Campbell, who was also at Nazareth House with Thompson, says her claim
that she was stripped and thrashed does not tally with the nuns' extreme
modesty.
They were never seen leaving the bathroom, for instance. For years, Campbell saw the nuns as
mythical, heavenly creatures, who did not need to use the toilet.
"We had to wear slips like operating gowns while lining up for a bath, and
wear them in the bath, because we weren't allowed to look at another person
naked," says Campbell.
Fellow supporter Barbara Mills says cleanliness of body and soul was next to
Godliness.
"Sister was so modest she couldn't even watch Bing Crosby look lovingly at
Ingrid Bergman in The Bells of St Mary's. She would put her hand over her face
-- and looking away, come over all peculiar," says Mills.
Three nuns looked after about 100 girls, each doing a morning, afternoon or
night shift. While they did resort to the cane and strap to curb rebellious
natures, in a highly disciplined era, they were never heavy-handed or
malicious, says Mills. "If those stories were true," she says,
"we would have known what was going on."
She remembers live singing sessions at 3YA radio station, playing basketball at
Hagley Park on Thursdays, and being treated to
blackballs and "stick jaw" toffee at Candy Kitchen in Colombo Street on
the way home.
Campbell says
some senior girls did thrash the younger ones and put them in cold baths for
bed wetting, but it was done without the nuns' knowledge. "They said that
if we told the nuns what was going on, we'd get a double dose the next
day."
The nuns were held in such esteem, Campbell
says, that as a bride she called into Nazareth House, with her official party in
tow, to show off what she looked like. Mills left her bridal bouquet behind for
the nuns. In Thompson's case, the sisters, whom she would later claim abused
her, hosted her wedding and reception.
Thompson was initially raised by the Sisters of the Good Shepherd at St Joseph's orphanage in Christchurch, where she was sent as a baby in
1941. She transferred with 36 other girls to Nazareth House in 1951 when St Joseph's was taken over
for a boys' home.
She would subsequently pursue a payout from the Good Shepherd Sisters for
cruelty she alleges happened under their roof.
Thompson spent nine years at Nazareth House, leaving in March 1960 to a job as
a housemaid. She returned to work for the Nazareth Sisters at the St Joseph's boys home in
Halswell in 1962 and was still there when she got engaged two years on.
A 1966 note in her Nazareth
records said Thompson "visits frequently" and "seems
happy". Despite moving to the North
Island, Thompson returned
to Nazareth House for a 1985 reunion and visited the sisters last December when
she was in town.
In 1999 she asked the sisters for a copy of her records.
The first the sisters heard of Thompson's legal action was this year in May,
five months after she had landed a significant settlement from the Good Shepherd
Sisters for alleged cruelties during her time at the St Joseph's girls home.
Thompson was one of 14 former St
Joseph's girls who negotiated a settlement through her
Whangarei lawyer, Stuart Henderson. When the time came to share the spoils of
the mediation, Thompson received the lion's share.
Both parties agreed the settlement was to be kept confidential, but simmering
tensions over how the money was split caused fall-out among the women,
prompting some to break ranks.
One woman told The Press that she received about $20,000, while another
complainant received more than $50,000.
Thompson has joined four other former Nazareth
girls in a group action against the nuns. More women have tried to join them
since the action has been publicised, and met with Henderson when he visited last week.
Several of the women in the group action also received payouts from the Good
Shepherd Sisters for their time at St
Joseph's. However, one disapproving St Joseph's recipient has told The Press the
new round of allegations is based on spurious grounds. Spurred by outrage, she
rang the Catholic hierarchy offering to testify against the five women, if need
be.
"The Nazareth
nuns were strict, but they were good to us. You didn't get locked in the boot
room or anything like we did at St
Joseph's. They were a different sort of nun
altogether. This is all about money, money, money."
Wellington psychologist Sue O'Shea, who has
studied institutional abuse in her role as an IHC advocate, says it is possible
both groups of Nazareth
women are telling the truth.
The Nazareth
experience could have been horrific for some, while a vast improvement on home
life for some less fortunate girls.
"Some kids are more vulnerable and would be subject to a lot more of the
punitive stuff than some others," she says.
Associate Professor Jeremy Finn, who lectures in criminal law at the University of Canterbury, says in complex situations
such as Nazareth House a percentage of cases will probably be bogus. Others
will be part- truth, part-confabulation through years of mulling and
grievances.
"There is also very possibly a significant proportion of them which are
absolutely true. The problem is knowing which is which," he says.
The Nazareth Sisters are deciding, with legal representatives for both parties,
what process they will use to deal with the allegations. Their solicitor, Lee
Robinson, is still waiting to hear the full extent of the claims. At issue will
be whether and how these complaints can be investigated given the lapse of
time.
It is unlikely Sister Bernard will play a role in the negotiations. The first Brisbane allegations against her surfaced about six years
ago when she was understood to have been based at the order's headquarters in
Hammersmith, London.
Seventeen people have received settlements, reportedly ranging from $46,000 to
$86,000 after accusing nuns at Nazareth House in Brisbane of a range of physical and sexual
offences in the 1950s and 1960s. No wrongdoing was found among the sisters.
A document filed in a Queensland court last
year, a statement of defence against the outstanding abuse allegations in Brisbane, claimed Sister
Bernard was dead.
Investigating journalists discovered she was very much alive, a sprightly 69
years old, and leading the New Zealand
order in Christchurch.
Sister Bernard has now spoken exclusively in a deal with 60 Minutes, and the
Catholic Church has warned all other media to stop invading her privacy
"forthwith". And, ironically, despite Thompson's cameo appearance in
living rooms throughout the nation, her lawyer is requesting confidentiality
for his clients.