Those were hard times for you, Maurice. What were you? Eighteen? Nineteen?
It was after we moved to the new flat. College Road. By St. Fin Barre’s. He wasn’t right in himself. He’d sit in a deckchair out at the front door and play Hank Williams records. The Hank was never a good sign. It was summer and it’d be nearly bright at eleven o’clock still. He’s in his deckchair. The mother bringing him out cups of strong tea. Hank is going for it on the Sanyo Music Centre. The mother operated on the principle that strong tea was your only man for nerves. The father was done from the job by that stage. He was gone from the port of Cork.
When the work is done for? Charlie says. Throw a stick at it.
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