Britain's school for tradwives... who are married to GOD: JORDANA SEAL goes undercover at secretive Catholic 'sect' Opus Dei where young women give up their careers to cook and clean for men they never see, take a vow of celibacy and punish themselves

To crowds strolling along Maresfield Gardens, nestled in the heart of leafy Hampstead, there is nothing noteworthy about Lakefield Hospitality Training College.

The ugliest building on a street flanked by £1.5million redbrick townhouses and imposing mansions, you could quite easily ignore it altogether on your way to pick up a pastry at one of the many artisan bakeries a short stroll away.

But Lakefield isn't just a cookery school, in fact, it's a multi-million-pound gated complex run by one of the world's most notorious Christian sects – Opus Dei.

Referred to as a 'cult' by former female members, Opus Dei has recently been at the centre of high-profile slavery, sexual misconduct and financial fraud allegations in Catholic countries including Italy, Ireland and Argentina.

However, in the UK they operate in the shadows, owning multiple properties in Glasgow, Manchester, Oxford and London, alongside women-only university halls of residence in the heart of London and Manchester.

As part of a five-month investigation, a Daily Mail journalist posed as a university graduate, seeking guidance from a female member of the sect living inside the Hampstead property, that has a fingerprint scanner on its front door.

In echoes of Margaret Atwood's dystopian novel The Handmaid's Tale, we found that a group of young women live inside, spending long days cooking and cleaning for more than 40 male university students and priests - but are banned from speaking to them.

The female devotees live a life of celibacy and are encouraged to wear a painful spiked metal garter around their legs as a form of penance and commitment to God.

Their leisure time is also controlled, and while they are permitted to drink alcohol at social events, they are only allowed to watch U-rated Disney films on television.

During our investigation we found:

• Opus Dei uses university halls of residence in London and Manchester to recruit young female members
• In halls, students are forbidden from talking in groups or having private male visitors
• After university young women are encouraged to join Opus Dei as 'numeraries'
• Numeraries in the UK live in Opus Dei's gated residence in Hampstead, London 
• Numeraries spend their days serving male students but cannot speak to them
• Members of Opus Dei are encouraged to wear a spikey garter around their legs
• Female numeraries are only allowed to watch U-rated films in the residence

Our reporter was offered mentoring by Erin* a bespectacled girl, on the cusp of 30 who had given up a successful career in lab research to join Opus Dei. 

She explained that women living inside the home are consumed by their duties to male students, working six days a week, with just one day off, while living in adjoining halls of residence called Netherhall House.

Inside the pristine residence, there are stacks of freshly starched shirts, boxer shorts and trousers draped across the second floor.

But despite this dedication to male residents, who live just yards away, Erin admitted she had never met them in person.  

Wearing a modest engagement ring to symbolise her 'spiritual calling', Erin compared herself to a mother who would selflessly care for her family.

The key difference being that Erin, who met our reporter every week for a month, had taken a vow of celibacy as soon as she joined Opus Dei. 

'I'm not going to get married, because as an organisation we always need people who can give their lives to actually run the things,' she explained.

'Within the Opus Dei centres, there are some people who choose to give up their professional job and work in the home like the work of a mother, so we look after all the catering and the management of the house itself.

'That becomes our profession. We don't live together but it's the same complex, we don't see them, it's separate. They have their own dining room, we have ours.'

She said some women choose to also work outside the accommodation, which has been operating since 1962, but as a result have to pay Opus Dei 'residence fees', meanwhile she lives there for free and is paid 'not very much but enough'. 

The women typically spend all their downtime together in a shared living room watching U-rated films deemed acceptable by senior members of the sect.  

Throughout the mentorship our reporter was encouraged to lie to her family, partake in self-harm rituals and hounded about the importance of connecting to God through menial house work.

'We're all sinners and we have to make up for it,' Erin preached in one session. 'And the people who live celibate lives can use traditional means [self-harm] to do so.'

She went on to describe 'corporal mortification', whipping yourself and wearing a spiky garter known as a cilice as 'normal in the church', and explained that it's an act decided between the member and their 'spiritual director'. 

Most women in the house are 'numeraries' - celibate members who are banned from interacting with men, inferior to them are their less-educated celibate counterparts - assistant numeraries.

'The assistant numeraries are the only ones who ever see the boys,' the numerary said. 'When they're in the dining hall they [the boys] have a bell in case they need something, if they ring the bell the assistant numeraries go in like waitresses.'

Their routine consists of serving strangers through a shared door that opens onto a huge dining room.

Multiple times a day the women set dozens of round tables and lay out homemade food, before locking themselves away.

They'll then proceed to clean up, sift through huge bags of washing carelessly left for them. They do all this while wearing a cilice. 

Comparing intermittent fasting and trendy cold plunging to punishing herself with cold showers and depriving herself of sugar, the numerary justified 'sacrifice' for spiritual means. 

'It's normal for people to make sacrifices for an aim,' she said. 

Erin told our reporter she had her 'mini conversion' from standard Catholicism to Opus Dei at university after living in private halls of residence owned by the sect.

Discussing the central London halls called Ashwell House she said: 'They started the university residence with the aim of helping people that age, so when you live there you get all the things that they offer.

'I went to Imperial College London and even though it's a good university, the only thing they [students] did after [classes] was drink, so I didn't get to do anything.

'But I had really good friends in Ashwell, it's a place where I feel safe.'

Under the guise of providing female students with an alternative to UK university party culture, teenage girls are encouraged to move into the sect's central London accommodation in bustling Shoreditch and live by an ultra-strict set of rules.

This includes restrictions on speaking to male students and rarely leaving the accommodation alone, enforced by members of staff who live inside the halls. 

And as Opus Dei's grip on the girls intensifies through therapy sessions known as 'spiritual accompaniment' the rules escalate into mortification rituals, or penances - with the women whipping themselves, taking ice-cold showers and wearing spikey garters.

Eventually, they are encouraged to abandon career aspirations and dedicate themselves to a vocation centred around the sect, for women the options are limited to caring for male contemporaries or raising a family.

'I worked for two years after I graduated to get experience of the real world,' Erin said. 'Now I'm grateful that I have seen the world so I can help more people.' 

Dogged by high-profile allegations internationally, Opus Dei has also had a troubled recent relationship with the Vatican. 

The late Pope Francis scrapped its privileged status in 2023 following claims of abuse in Chile and reduced its control over basilica headquarters in Aragon.

But how Pope Leo chooses to address the sect remains unanswered and any form of regulation in the UK seems far from becoming a reality.

Opus Dei is notoriously secretive and hard to infiltrate. Recently multiple women from Argentina and Ireland claimed they were exploited as children by the religious offshoot and made to become domestic slaves for elite male members between 1972 and 2015.

During their testimonies they accused the organisation of promising their poor families it would provide the girls with an education but instead made them work gruelling 12-hour days with no pay inside Opus Dei centres.

Teena Fogarty, who grew up in Ballyroan, a small village in Laois, Ireland, was recruited at just 16 years old in a boys' residence in Ireland, cooking and cleaning for at times up to 150 people.

Growing up in poverty with strict Irish Catholic parents she was offered a place on a two-year catering course with the promise of a job afterwards.

However, decades later when she finally escaped their grasp she had no qualifications and barely any money.

She told the Daily Mail: 'It was a repeated indoctrination and a lot of the time it was done through fun. And then they make a big thing about being part of the family.

'But it's this continuous coercion. That doesn't appear to be dangerous on the surface, but it is.'

Founded in 1928 by a Spanish Roman Catholic priest called Josemaría Escrivá, Opus Dei aimed to promote 'holiness in ordinary life'.

The sect has since been established in 66 countries and has around 90,000 members who, in accordance with Escrivá's teachings, must commit to a life of intense work, prayer and asceticism.

It acts as an institution within the Catholic Church, offering theologically conservative spiritual guidance to its members.

Opus Dei literally translates to the 'Work of God' because it aims to focus on the idea that members can find holiness through mundane everyday life. 

In the UK, there are centres in London, Manchester, Oxford and Glasgow, where celibate members either live or work.

But joining Opus Dei is not easy.

The six-year process begins with a letter of admission to the prelate in Rome, this is followed by a ceremony six months later called The Admission. A year later The Oblation occurs, where members formally commit themselves, which is renewed yearly on March 19.

After six and a half years the recruit will then take part in The Fidelity, a small ceremony where they dedicate themselves to a vocation and Opus Dei for the rest of their lives.

The organisation is known to provide 'spiritual direction' to school children through youth clubs via charities set up by members.

But as of 1982 when it received Vatican-approved status anyone under the age of 18 was banned from formally joining.

However, children aged 14 and a half can still become 'junior candidates' if they write a letter to the head of the sect requesting admission - a process referred to as 'whistling'.

And for 18-year-olds enrolling in university there are two women-only Opus Dei affiliated accommodations - Ashwell House in London and Coniston Halls in Manchester.

Discussing how students enroll there, Erin said: 'Because it is Ashwell, it starts with an A so it comes quite early in the list of accommodation [on university websites]. Only half the people there went there on purpose.'

The halls of residence are purposely ambiguous about their association with Opus Dei with most students enrolling 'by chance'.

It mentions Opus Dei on their website sparingly, disclosing that it has a role in Ashwell House's 'pastoral care' and that the 'family atmosphere' is inspired by the sects founder Escrivá - claiming participating in Ashwell's 'Christian formation offered' is 'optional'. 

In a promotional video uploaded to YouTube nine years ago beaming students describe the accommodation as 'a family away from family', failing to mention any connection to the cult-like organisation. 

The only hints that the accommodation has any sort of religious affiliation is one clip showing a girl praying and a gold-framed image of a priest propped in between a group of girls sipping tea on the sofa.

Students praise the staff who they 'have regular catchups' with and reveal they take part in community projects, which includes mentoring young girls.

'If you are a woman with ambitions and open to the bigger questions in life then Ashwell is the place where you will flourish,' they claim. 

Vulnerability and innocence are textbook qualities that Opus Dei look for in new recruits Teena explained.  

'If you're a young woman, maybe away from home for the first time, there's already a vulnerability there,' Teena said.

'Everything is new. Your studies are new, you're getting to know a peer group, trying to fit in and then you have this residence that appears to be super friendly and supportive, you're targeted.

'It seems okay on the surface but there begins the process of grooming and it's relentless. They don't give up.'

Girls living in the discounted halls are charged £242 a week in central London, a bargain compared to nearby Unite Halls, which charge £460 a week, excluding meals, cleaning services and facilities. 

It is advertised on social media as a 'home away from home' and has its own Instagram account where it shares curated group pictures of neat university students giggling over brunch and gingerbread houses.  

When our reporter visited Ashwell House, posing as a prospective student, a female member of staff, called a 'domestic services manager', explained that the price includes two hot meals a day and laundry is done for the students by workers. 

Students living in Ashwell are promised a 'new' family in a city where they know no one and are given small roles tying themselves to the group - including brunch committee. 

She said: 'We all do everything and every girl has a job in the house.

'We eat together, you don't dribble in and dribble out, you come, sit down, talk to one another. No set places and as people begin to group together we split you up, so that everyone gets to know everyone. 

'That means you have a big group of people who become friends.'

But as their dedication towards the 'family' intensifies so do the religious expectations.

Daily mass, baring their souls to the numeraries that work there and learning how to clean priest's garments become as integrated into their lifestyle as Saturday night pyjama parties.

The religion centres around rigid hierarchical structures, which sees male and female members living separate celibate lives - unless they are married, in which case they must focus on the 'sanctification of their family duties'. 

Teena explained that Opus Dei pre-assign the category each new recruit falls into, steering them in a specific direction accordingly. 

Speaking from a quiet town in Spain, where she moved to after escaping the sect, Teena said: 'As soon as they interact with you, you have a label over your head.

'They make this big kind of sort of a thing about making you feel like, "Oh, you're part of the family now, you're in the know."

'You feel a little bit part of the club, so they kind of closed ranks around me. And separated me a little bit from everybody else.

'They were also telling me that they thought that I should be in an assistant numerary.'

Teena was told by a senior member of Opus Dei: 'Anyone can get married and have kids. That's not terribly noble.'  

Erin told our reporter that Opus Dei is split into regions, the UK is grouped with Sweden, Ireland and the Netherlands. Each region is dictated by a group of nine men or women (depending on gender) called The Advisory, they control where each member lives and works.

Education and power is essential for members of The Advisory, who will typically have PHDs, while married members known as supernumeraries are expected to have high-power jobs with large earning potential to donate to the organisation.

As the hierarchy trickles down, so do the education expectations of each member. Priests and numeraries must have a degree while assistant numeraries can remain uneducated.

Both men and women can become numeraries, with the male numeraries using their time to pursue the studies required for priesthood. 

Teena escaped nearly 30 years ago after enduring years of emotional trauma from the age of just 16, and even brought civil claims against the sect for personal injury in the UK and Ireland. 

She has since created a life for herself in Spain where she lives with her partner and dog and is even considering enrolling in university to gain the degree and education Opus Dei deprived her of. 

Reflecting on her time in the sect as a teen, Teena warned: 'When your spirit is broken and your health is not good, you kind of don't know how to resist or fight.'

A spokesman for Opus Dei said: 'Opus Dei deny these allegations as false or taken out of context, and are open for the Daily Mail to speak directly to residents in Lakefield or Ashwell House to verify the truth of the matter.'