The late Sir William Gregory. In his autobiography I find this passage. He is speaking of the sale of some portions of his ancestral estates in the county of Galway:— I may here mention that the result of this sale had a very strong influence afterwards in my political career, and rendered me a very advanced politician on the tenants’ side, on the landlord and tenant question.
Shortly after my father’s death, I visited every holding on the estate, and was struck with the results of the unflagging industry of the tenants who occupied the light stony land about Kinvara. They had by their labour, and with no allowance from the landlord, cleared large portions of their farms, and the great monuments, as they called them, of stones attested their industry. From these clear patches they had excellent barley crops, and were in prosperity. My great-uncle and father were both just men, and allowed them to enjoy the fruits of their toil for many years without raising the rent. On the occasion of my visit, when I was about to drive away, I said to these tenants, who had assembled to greet me, that I was surprised to see so much good land, and that I thought it was capable of bearing a higher rent. Of course, this called forth a general protestation, and very sad were their faces; but they soon cleared up when I said to them, ‘Were I to take one shilling out of your pockets on account of the additional value you had given to my property by your industry, I should be a robber and ashamed to look you in the face. You can go on in good heart with your work, and be assured that while I own this property, your rent shall never be raised on account of your improvement.’
Such were my intentions, and such was the confidence of those tenants that they never asked for a lease, or I should have gladly given it to them. When the sale came on I was so occupied with other matters that I quite forgot their danger. Indeed, it never crossed my mind, for I had then heard of no particular instances of rapacity on the part of new purchasers; but I very soon had a terrible account of my remissness in not securing these poor folk.
Mr.——, to whom I have referred, as soon as he was placed in possession of the lots he had purchased, on which those tenants dwelt, lost no time in dealing with them in the most remorseless fashion. The rents were raised so as to pay £5 per cent. on the borrowed capital, and a large income besides for himself. They were almost invariably doubled, and in some cases £5 was charged where £2 had been the rate of the former rent. But he killed the goose for the golden egg, the town of Kinvara was all but ruined, and the best tenants ran away. I met one in Australia, at Ballarat, and he assured me he was well off when I was his landlord, but a pauper three years after, when he emigrated. It is things of that kind that have sent thousands and tens of thousands of Irish across the sea, not only to Australia, but still more to the United States, with hatred in their hearts for the system which exposed them to these abominable cruelties, and for the Government and this Parliament which allowed such wrongs. I am all the more glad to have read that passage, because Sir William Gregory and his ancestors had none of this harsh spirit, and it shows that there were some exceptions, at all events, to Mr. Justice Keogh’s violent description of the Irish lairds as “the most heartless, thriftless, and indefensible landocracy in the world.”
View of Sydney Cove from Dawes Point Source An Historical account of the Colony of New South Wales Author Lycett, Joseph, ca. 1775-1828
Last month was witnessed in Sydney the inauguration of a branch of the Cumann na mBan. The meeting, held for the purpose in the rooms of the I.N.A., Station House, was a very enthusiastic and successful one. After the aims and objects of the association were explained, it was decided by the ladies to place themselves under the patronage of Ethna Carberry, and that the branch be known as An Craob Ethna Carberry (the Ethna Carberry branch). The following ladies were elected office-bearers;
President – Miss B. O’Grady
Vice-Presidents – Miss M. Ryan and Miss Sheehan
Secretary – Miss Amy Ryan
Treasurer – Miss May Maloney
Committee; Mrs Cheetham, Miss Madeline Sheehy, Miss Mary Organ and Miss Kathleen Weber.
The names of Mrs. J. Murphy and Miss Darcy have since been added to the committee.
When the ban has been lifted from the holding of meetings, the Cumann na mBan will meet in the I.N.A. rooms (sixth floor), Station House, at 8 p.m. sharp on Wednesdays and special attention will be given the Irish language, industry, literature, &c. Information as to membership can be had from the secretary Miss A. Ryan, I.N.A., sixth floor, Station House.
Daniel O’Connell in Galway (abridged)
From an early hour the streets were densely thronged by the country people, who continued to pour into the town in countless thousands, exhibiting in their persons all the wild and picturesque costumes of the west. The women’s short dark-red flannel petticoats were surmounted by the deep blue or brilliant scarlet cloaks. The majority of the younger portion were barefooted, and had their heads uncovered, their hair hanging loosely over their shoulders. Nearby were the dark frieze coats and corduroy breeches of the men from the interior of the country and the light sky blue dress of the Connemara men, who had prepared themselves to come in thousands in boats. Owing to the lightness of the wind, only a comparatively small portion were able to enter the harbour in sufficient time for the meeting.
The dark blue of the Claddagh fishermen, the Aran Islanders in their hairy shoes of untanned calf-skin, and the Iar Connaughtmen, mounted on their untrained and unshod mountain ponies – all mingled together in the old streets, talking Irish in loud accents as they went along.
When twelve o’clock, the hour at which the procession was to set forth, approached, the throng in the neighbourhood of the Square and Market-place became extremely dense, while the excitement was increased by the arrival of the tradesmen, all ornamented with sashes and bands and carrying long white rods surmounted with ribbons, to take their places in the procession, and by the merry strains of the temperance bands, that were each carried in boats placed in carts, and profusely ornamented with flags and green boughs.
At length the loud shouts of that peculiar and most interesting body of men – the Claddagh fishermen – was heard as they approached to take their ascribed place at the head of the procession. They mustered nearly a thousand strong, and a large portion of them wore large white flannel jackets, ornamented with ribbons and pieces of various coloured silk, while their hats were quite concealed with ribbons, flower-knots, and ostrich feathers.
The tailors were allowed to take their position second in the procession, and the remainder of the trades, twenty-four in number, were placed by lot, as arranged at a preliminary meeting held on the preceding day, in the following order;
Millers, Wheelwrights, Hatters, Tobacconists, Bakers, Stonecutters, Ropemakers, Broguemakers, Printers (having a printing press mounted on a richly decorated chariot), Butchers, Plasterers, Shoemakers, Coachmakers, Shipcarpenters, Coopers, Chandlers, Cabinetmakers, Nailers, Sawers, Housecarpenters, Stonemasons, Painters, Smiths, and Slaters.
JOANIE
Lemon trees, now that’s another thing. Don’t they pee all over them down in Australia? The people that is, probably the dogs too. I got that straight from the horse’s mouth, from Joan Maher. My namesake, Joan. She always calls me Joanie and I call her Joan, it saves confusion. The whole town sets the pair of us apart the same way. She was down visiting her son and his wife and the new baby in Australia. Adelaide. Everyone has lemon trees in their back yard. Imagine. And orange trees too. And peaches. Her lad Fintan took her to barbecues all over the place. ‘Twas very nice, the food was delicious – but the heat! That’s another story. It would fry you alive. She says that going out the back yard is like walking into an oven. Hard to imagine that. And the spiders! Awful entirely! I wouldn’t be so keen to admire spiderwebs if I lived there, and that’s for sure.
“Mother of God! “I’ve never seen the like,” she said.
“The house spiders are the size of mice with legs, and they’re not the bad ones. ‘Tis the tiny ones that get you. They have the poison”.
She couldn’t remember what they were called for a while, but then it came to her.
“Redbacks!” she says. Redback“Redback spiders that’s what they are. Fintan showed me one down by his shed. He took me down the first morning I was over. ‘Twas all I was able for, with the jet lag. The excitement of seeing himself and Ellen and the baby was the only thing that kept me going the first week. I swear to God, I’d have been in a coma otherwise. Lovely house. It’s a fixer upper but you can tell it has potential. Four good size bedrooms and two bathrooms. A little bit of work and it’ll be a palace. Ellen says he’s at it every weekend and most nights after work as well, inside and out.
He has pavers bought for the new path to the clothesline and he has them stacked by the side of the shed. Would you believe they weren’t in it a week before those feckin’ Redbacks started building in them.
“Isn’t that terrible!” says I. I must get her to show me some pictures of Fintan’s new pavers. She’s sure to have some.
“I know, and what’s worse, they aren’t easy to spot. He had to point one out to me, a Redback. There it was, sitting on the edge of one of the bricks, happy as Larry in the sunshine”.
“O for heaven’s sake”, says I.
“‘Twas a lot smaller than I was expecting says Joan.
“You know yourself, when you hear of something dangerous you kind of expect it to be big and impressive.”
“I know, I know,” says I.
“Go on”.
“It was a very pretty. No. Pretty wouldn’t be the right word for it. What would you call it?” says Joan.
“Attractive,” says I. I was only throwing the word out there, having had no personal experience with Redback spiders.
“D’you know – that’s a good word for it. Attractive rather than pretty, like a man can be attractive rather than handsome”, and she gives me the wink. I rolled my eyes.
“Mind you,” says the bauld Joan
“Aren’t they all the same in the dark with the lights off!”
“God forgive you, you dirty article. Will you behave yourself”. I hit her a clout with the teatowel, but only in jest. Joan was mighty crack, even on a bad day.
“Jesus, we’ll never get to the end of the story with a mind like yours. All that shagging sunshine and still a mind like a sewer. And the age of you!”
“You’re never too old for some things a girleen” she swatted back at me with a laugh.
“You bloody well are”, says I.
“At our age you could crack a hip? Or you could lose your teeth in the heat of the moment. And where would you be then? Down on your hands and knees with your arse in the air searching for them under the bed.”You could lose your teeth in the heat of the moment and where would you be then?
“Ara it might be well worth it…if they could get past the cobwebs and dust – and ‘tisn’t the floor by the bed I’m talking about!”
“Oh Jesus you’ll burn for that”. I gave her another swat of the tea towel, for emphasis.
“I hope they didn’t let you next nor near a beach in Australia, you’d have all those young lads terrorised.”
“They might have loved it. You know yourself there’s no substitute for experience”, says Joan. She had a comeback for everything. You couldn’t be up to her.
“Next you’ll be telling me you had a toy boy over there”. I laughed.
“I did not indeed. More’s the pity. Australia missed out badly this time round. Mind you, I might have let the side down. My God, it’s been more than a decade since I saw a willy. At this stage I’d hardly know what to do with one. I’d need a map and a manual – and a compass. Might well even have to stop and ask for directions!”
I’d need a map and a manual – and a compass.
“Will you get back to the story and don’t be talking filth”.
“’Alright. Alright. You could call the Redback, or at least the one I saw, an..attractive creature” she nods with a smile.
“Jet black all over with a stroke of brilliant red down the back, like someone took a bit of nail varnish to it. You’d nearly pick it up; thinking someone had lost a ring or an earring. ‘Twas the perfect size for either. But by gum you’d get a rude awakening if you did!”
Joan leaned at me over the table as she tapped its surface, for emphasis.
“They’re deadly,” says she.
“Really?” says I.
“Full of poison,” she tapped every word.
“Fintan says they have two sharp little fangs on them and that one bite from the dirty feckers would make a grown man sick for days. And..” she paused to make sure she had my undivided attention. She needn’t have bothered. Joan was impossible to ignore, but I let her off with it.
“If it was a small child, he’d be dead”. She hit the table a smack with the palm of her hand, exterminating the Redback spider before it had a chance to get next or near her.
“Jesus!” I said.
“Yes!” Joan agreed, pursing her lips and fixing her cardigan, as she always does when she’s delivered a meaty bit of information.
“Well, I told Fintan straight away that he’d want to gut that garden of his and make damn sure there isn’t a spider alive in it before that baby starts crawling. Especially as they look so nice. If I thought it bright enough to be an earring, couldn’t a child think it was a sweet or something, and put it in their mouth? Where would we be then? Going back for a funeral, God forbid! It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Aren’t we lucky here really”, I said.
“They’re only a nuisance with their webs. They’re not out to kill you”.
“You’re too right”, agreed Joan.
“I’m telling you I’ve lost sleep since I came home, worrying”.
“Oh look now,” says I.
“That young lad of yours has a fine head on his shoulders. He’s no fool. I’ll guarantee you he won’t let a spider within an asses’ roar of that child. Those pavers will be laid faster than you could spit. You know that. Always a hard worker is your Fintan. And sur’ look at Ellen. I’ve yet to meet a girl with more sense and you know her far better than I do. And won’t the child be spending most of his time in the house, what with the heat and all. You couldn’t let a child out in that heat. You’ve nothing to worry about. That child is as safe as houses”.
That seemed to cheer Joan a little.
“He’s a good lad, our Fintan. Feckers those spiders are. Absolute feckers! There’s no call for that sort of creature in this world. Could they not just be normal? It’s that feckin’ heat for you!”
She still had the pinch in her brow from thinking about it, but despite herself she had to agree with me. Her new grandchild would be well minded indeed.
“And what about the other spiders – the house ones? They’re not too bad are they?” says I.
“Oh Lord, Joanie”, she said.
“The house spiders. The Huntsman Spider. There’s a tale in itself. Didn’t Fintan tell me about them and I hardly listened. I let it go in one ear and out the other because it was the Redbacks that were bothering me. But one night, weren’t be coming back from Ellen’s sisters house, after another barbecue. I don’t think I’ll be eating meat for the rest of the year I had so much of it. ‘Twas all lovely though. Anyway, one night we were coming back from Eileen’s, must have been around ten or eleven, ‘twas dark and Fintan led the way to the front door on account I might not see the step. He wanted to be in first to put on the porch light. I was coming along behind with Ellen, the child asleep in her arms. The poor little creature had a busy day indeed, and as good as gold every step of the way.” Joan beamed at me and nodded in agreement with herself.
“Where would he leave it?” said I.
“Sure I remember little Fintan, a pure angel of a child. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”.
“Ah, you’re right there, but let me finish.” Joan put down her cup, carefully. The way you knew something good was coming up.
“Go on”, I said.
“Well, doesn’t Fintan put the key in the door to open it, and I behind him, when I spotted something out of the corner of my eye ‘Twas only a glance and I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. You know yourself what it’s like trying to see in the dark at our age”.
I nodded. “Feck!” I thought, the story sounded worthy of another pot of tea. Too late now – Joan was building up to something.
Should I brew another pot?“But, at a glance didn’t it look kind of like he’d grown a spare hand. It was right beside the hand opening the door, right on the wall beside it”. Joan gave a wave in the direction of my fridge. So that would have been Fintan’s left hand, I reckoned. I didn’t ask for fear I’d interrupt her flow.
“Ah sur’ I thought it must be my imagination so I let it go. I thought it must be a shadow or something. ‘Twas late, I was tired, the day was long”.
“Indeed”, I agreed.
“Well, in he goes and turns on the light for us and, Sweet Mother of Jesus! ‘Tisn’t a shadow at all! It’s a spider the size of his hand! I kid you not”.
“Ah go on!” says I.
“Not a word of a lie. May I die on this spot if I’m lying to you.”
“Christ almighty”, says I.
“Sure that’s not natural”.
“I’m telling you, ‘tis the heat Joanie. There’s no other excuse for it. It brings the poison out in them or makes them grow like weeds. You can’t win either way. The feckin’ thing was the size of our Fintan’s hand. You could even see its eyes. It’s eyes Joanie! All eight of them and the hair parted around them. Jesus! I nearly died on the spot!”
“What did you do?”
“What else did I do but let a roar out of me that would shatter glass. I woke the poor child. And did I care I ask you? I didn’t give a shite because then do you know what happened? As soon as I opened my mouth I must have frightened it as much as it did me. The curse of hell on it didn’t that scutterin’ spider jump. Jesus! Who knew spiders could jump? I didn’t for one. The shaggin’ thing was like something out of the Exorcist, I’ll tell you. It didn’t just jump, it feckin’ levitated! Clean across the doorway, right in front of my face and landed on the glass at the other side of the door. ‘Twas that close I felt its dirty, hairy arse across my cheek as it went past, I’m not kidding! We were that closely acquainted I should have given the gobshite my phone number entirely. I’m expecting flowers and a card from it at the very least some time soon. I’m lucky I didn’t swallow the damn thing entirely and choke to death”.
“Thank God you’ve a strong heart!” I really tried not to laugh, but there wasn’t a hope in hell.
“Strong heart? Strong heart? Not any more Joanie. That spider took ten years off my life, I’m telling you. I’ll never be right. The second I kissed its arse, against my will I might add, that was it entirely for me”. I let another roar out of me that you could have heard here, if you had your window open, and I took off down the driveway.” Joan started to smile and then to chuckle.There isn’t a camera invented that could capture the speed of me.
“I hadn’t a clue where I was going, or which way was up. I didn’t know a soul in Adelaide other than Fintan and Ellen, but I didn’t give a curse in hell. I was damned if I was going to share a porch with a spider that could eat a small child. ‘Twas every man for himself. I was gone like a bat out of hell, roaring like a banshee down the road. The new shoes got a serious workout let me tell you. Heels or no heels, there were sparks flyin’ out of them at the speed I made. I’d have left tracks on the shaggin’ roadrunner’s head! Jesus! Wiley Coyote would have retired in despair. And you can forget Usain Bolt. I’d have left him scratching his arse at the starting line! I broke every record there was, and then some. If you could have taken a feckin’ photo I’d have only been a blur. There isn’t a camera invented that could capture the speed of me. Sweet Jesus!” Joan wiped a tear of laughter.
There was no hope for me at that stage. I couldn’t speak.
“Christ, if I could run like that every day of the week I’d be famous. I’d have medals up the yacksee, but that was the least of my worries. Not only was I screeching like a banshee, I’m damn sure I looked like one too. The hair was standing on the back of my neck like a peacock’s tail and I was clattering myself round the head as I ran for fear it had latched on. How did I know that the fecker didn’t taken another leap at me as I hit off down the road? Sur’ weren’t we already intimately acquainted? He might have loved the feel of me and wanted another go. I might be a kinky spider’s ultimate fantasy. The damn thing was big enough to have a brain, and a perverted on at that. The arse wipe! And it had the legs to reach me for a repeat performance if it wanted. Jesus! The size of those legs, tree trunks they were. I’m telling you ‘tis only by the grace of God I’m sitting before you now.”
“Stop Joan, my pelvic floor!” says I. I was doubled over at this stage in fear of either wetting myself of having a heart attack or both simultaneously. If I was pushed for choice I’d rather wet my knickers any day of the week, and that has nothing to do with health and safety. It’s all about planning. Wet knickers are a lot easier do deal with than a heart attack. You can strategise for one, but not the other.Handbag – embroidered silk taffeta – black glass pearls from a late Victorian mourning dress. Flickr – Wilhelm Storm
If you’re going out and you’re prone to leakage you can plan for the odd surprise in your undergarments. A spare knickers in your handbag covers all eventualities, and quite nicely too. But a heart attack is a different ball game entirely. No organisation is involved. It just happens. When and where it happens is just a matter of pure chance. I find that element of uncertainty highly unpleasant because it leaves knickers completely out of the equation. Now I’d rather not have a heart attack at all, but left to choice, if it had to happen, I’d hope it might hit me when I was out shopping. God forbid it should happen, but live or die, that would be my personal preference, because I’d most definitely be wearing my best knickers.
In my day you never went out unless you were properly groomed, and that included decent underwear. Mother drilled that rule into us since the day we said goodbye to nappies in our house. I’ve followed her guidance in that matter religiously. To this day once I’m abroad in the street I couldn’t give a rat’s arse if a hurricane hit and blew the skirt clean off me. While there might be a measure of embarrassment involved I’d still rest happy in the knowledge that my infrastructure was well upholstered, and with taste. I could handle a heart attack in public view, consoled in the knowledge that I wouldn’t give the ambulance lads reason to gossip about my unmentionables as they resuscitated me.
There’s lovely knickers to be had today too, much nicer than the shapeless Gandhi pants we were stuck in as children. You’re spoiled for choice. I got a new set in Penney’s not long ago and they’re gorgeous. Black, naturally, with a fancy little bow at the front, only a tiny one though, so it doesn’t show through your clothes. And there’s good coverage in them too, over the front, round the back and up the waist. I got five pairs that came together in a little plastic bag, all rolled up nice and neat, for only a couple of Euro.
And they have thousands of knickers, Penneys do. For all shapes and sizes. Some of them look like doilies with all the lace on them. Others are see through. I can’t see the attraction in that. Wouldn’t it be like looking at a ferret in a fishing net?
Mind you, they have a few and you’d swear to God they forgot the knickers entirely and just packaged the elastic! Jesus! Where’s the warmth in those? All they have is a little line of thread that goes right up your crack without a ‘by your leave’. For all the good they are you might as well just tie on a tea bag with a bit of dental floss and be done with it. Then at the very least you could make yourself a hot drink and clean your teeth after. They’d serve some purpose.
I’m told those little stringeens are the fashion. Well, if they are ‘tis no wonder half the young ones walk around with a grimace on them like a dead fish. How could they be comfortable in them? Wouldn’t you give yourself a hysterectomy just walking? If you had to run for a bus or something the heat of your arse cheeks rubbing together could well set fire to the little stringeen that’s stuck to your nether regions and burn the giblets clean off you. There’s great coverage in them too.Give me the auld reliables any day. Especially for a heart attack and especially out around town.
Everything would be covered, and well covered, especially my backside. The whole drama surrounding a heart attack could be undertaken without a skerrick of embarrassment on anyone’s part, regardless of the outcome. I would happily twitch like a flounder on the footpath until the ambulance came. They could haul me off, dead or alive in my clean knickers as far away as they wanted to take me. As for the spare knickers in my handbag, if I came out of it alive I’d be sure to need them later. If not, they could bury me in them. I’m sure spare knickers are few and far between in a hospital or a morgue. They’d probably congratulate me or my dead corpse for my foresight and planning.
It would be an entirely different ballgame if I went belly up at home in my kitchen. And again, it’s down to the knickers. I have round the house knickers. I don’t know if I’m alone in that but let me tell you, my round the house knickers have seen better days. Some are so holey that you’d think I was wearing a windsock. The elastics are shot in a couple of others and it’s only for the Grace of God and my support stockings they’re holding on to my arse at all. Most days I scarcely leave the house so it doesn’t matter. They serve their purpose adequately enough for pottering around inside. I even make use out of them when they’ve gone past the point of no return and given up on any illusion of cover. I give the really old ones a good boil and use them for dusting. Might as well, holes or no holes there’s still enough cloth left in them to sail a ship. They make do as a hair net as well when you’re dusting cobwebs and you can wrap them around the broom handle and give those hard to reach corners a good wipe. I even cover the kitchen stool with one when I have to stand on it to change a bulb. It saves the cushion.
With a bit of imagination old knickers can be very versatile around the house. But not beyond it. Most definitely. I couldn’t countenance a heart attack indoors unless the Good Lord gave me enough energy to crawl up the stairs and change my smalls before the ambulance came.
If it hit me when I was dusting I’d be ruined entirely.
The poor feckers would be met with the sight of an auld one gasping her last in holy knickers, with another pair on her head and a third tied to the handle of the broom. Knowing my luck I’d have the good pair in my frozen hand with not enough life left in me to put them on. God Almighty, they’d either think I was crazy or playing some weird kind of sex game, home alone. If the heart attack didn’t kill me there and then I’d die of mortification.
But the state of my knickers meant nothing to Joan. Not that she’d know, as I don’t tend to advertise my undergarments. Who does that in company? Anyway, she was on a roll.
“Yourself and your pelvic floor!” she roars at me.
“Wasn’t I just assaulted by a spider the size of a dog. A bit of sympathy please. I was nearly ready for a pacemaker by the time Fintan caught me after my hundred-yard dash. He was completely out of breath and I was so busy roaring I didn’t have time to take one. And then d’you know what happened?”
“Stop!” I gasped. But she didn’t.
“I got such a fright when Fintan grabbed a hauld of me, didn’t I hit him a clatter that would have poleaxed a cow. Naturally he wasn’t expecting it. Down he went on knee, straight onto the hard road like he took an immediate and urgent notion to say a quick decade of the rosary. He even had his hand to his mouth like he was kissing the beads. In point of fact, the poor creature was checking to see if I had split his lip.He had an expression on him like a goose looking down the top of a bottle..
Jesus Christ above! I’m sure I gave the poor child concussions. There he was, the fruit of my loins and he trying to save me, and I damn near killed him. He had an expression on him like a goose looking down the top of a bottle for the next two days, God help the child. I can only pray the damage wasn’t permanent. I was afraid to suggest a trip to the doctor for fear he would let on his mother hit him a smack. Can you imagine that? It’d probably end up on the telly, with me behind bars in a prison suit, peering out at the camera through my bifocals, and a big hairy bastard of a spider sitting on top of my head! And when you think it couldn’t get any worse who comes along?”
“Ah Jesus!” I was laughing so hard I was missing half the drama.
“Not Jesus at all, a girleen, though Divine intervention would have helped greatly in the heat of the moment. Doesn’t the whole street come running because they think an aul’ one is being mugged down the road. And what do they find? I’ll tell you what, a hysterical old granny swearing like a fishwife, running rings around a young lad in the middle of the road who appears to be praying, and all over a spider. I’ll never forget it, and they won’t either!”
“No!” I squeaked.
“There isn’t an ounce of compassion in you Joanie Corbett, the curse of hell on you. I doubt they’ll ever let me back into Australia after that. You should have seen me. Oh I’ll never be right after that” laughed Joan. She loved to see me helpless.
“I’m sick. I’m sick now. The tea is above in my throat. Feck you”, says I.
When we finally managed to compose ourselves we made another pot of tea and she filled me in on the Australian barbecues. That’s how I learned about the lemons.
The Burren and Beyond 