Like all convents, my school smelled of furniture polish, writes Colette Bowe. On Fridays it also smelled of fish, or sometimes the hated cheese pie. Notre Dame Mount Pleasant was an all-girls’ school in central Liverpool. We had to hang our coats on the correct peg in the cloakroom, and at the end of the school day a nun waited by the front door to make sure we had our berets on before we went outside.Within a disciplined, traditional framework, we were offered an education that gave us opportunities our mothers had never dreamed of. We were the fortunate children of the immediate post-Second World War years, growing up in Liverpool in the early 1960s when it was the centre of the musical universe. Or the bit of it we were interested in.The teaching staff was a mix of sisters of No