When things got really bad and everyone looked to her like an enemy, we could still come together to belt out Fields of Athenry in the garden. So I went home from Paris to her, trying to share the burden of care before it became too much.Įurostar became my best friend and I travelled so often in one year they promoted me to Carte Blanche with access to the posh lounge – a tiny moment of care and calm either side of the channel. A mad, too late dash to fulfil her dream to see Santiago de Compostela almost ended in disaster when she wanted out in the middle of a motorway. On the sad trip back, we’d attack the home-made soda bread before we lost sight of Dún Laoghaire.Įverything changed when dementia turned up. One constant was the trips back home squashed into her ramshackle mini up to Fishguard to cross on the ferry. The marriage failed and exploring her freedom meant she learned to drive and joined the Coventry Irish Players. Still, they put their heads down and worked and worked – him as an engineer, her as a nurse. My ma told me she had once been stopped and clucked at sympathetically for adopting so many brown babies. I grew up with Go Home Paki scrawled on walls and yelled across the playground.
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