The Grim Good Cheer of the Irish
In an early memory of mine, if it is a real memory, I was taken one smoky winter afternoon by my Uncle Tom to Rosslare Harbor, some 10 miles from our hometown of Wexford in the southeast corner of Ireland. It was the early 1950s, and I would have been 6 or 7 years old. At the harbor’s pier, the ferry to Britain was preparing to depart. Memory magnifies, and the vessel I recall is the size of an ocean liner, its sheer flank beetling over the dock, its mighty smokestacks puffing out great gray cumuli and its hooter shaking the air with its deep-throated bellowings.… Seguir leyendo »