Bog in Ballylongford, an old Christmas card and Listowel Printing Works is Relocating

Bringing peat turf to Ireland! Ireland’s version of ‘Bringing coals to Newcastle!’ Imagine telling that to the folks of our youth. My wise old Granny used to tell us in the 60s that the day would come when we would have to pay for a drink of water; nonsense, thought we, with all the lovely spring-wells around the place. She also said that people would go around with no clothes on. More nonsense thought we, sure the P.P. would be lepping mad! But even the P.P. couldn’t control decadent fashion – even in his church. My aunt, home for a break from ‘pagan’ England, was the first ‘hussey’ to wear jeans in the local church, a minor scandal at the time. Nowadays, the same church has practically none of the ‘jeans wearing age.’ The Priest is now a lovely mild-mannered gentleman from what used to be ‘Darkest Africa.’ He is in fact a Missionary to Old Ireland, in reverse of the old-time natural order of things – long overdue. My old mother is delighted with him when he visits on home-calls. Kindly and gentle; she loves the way he finishes up by singing a beautiful hymn. Even my wise old Granny could not have imagined these changes. One wonders what the future holds- nothing is guaranteed. Will the old folks, me included, be added to the culling of human beings already commenced? Rest easy, Granny, you are safely at rest.