|Cathedral of Good Shepherd|
Many years ago, I had the good fortune to listen to Angela's Ashes read by the author, Frank McCourt - I was in the car with young Sean and Sara who enjoyed the story telling (and the gentle humour) very much. Recently, I decided to re-read the book and bought a second hand copy from a Bras Basah bookstore. Here's an excerpt:
"From October to March the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried; tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetation. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odour of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages
The rain drove us into the church – our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest drone, while steam rose from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles.
Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain."