Slinking around my new neighbourhood in Clontarf the main impression was of refined poverty. Houses in various states of disrepair. Bars heaving with noisy drinkers spilling out onto dimly lit streets. Then came Sunday. Graveyards were more joyful. Bells summoning the faithful to prayer started early and a slow gathering of people in drab suits and dresses made their way to churches dishing out crackers and absolution.
The master and his women seemed happy. He penned love poems and was able to concentrate on his work thanks to the harmonious ménage à trois. The food wasn’t quite what I was used to, but the fish was fresh and the mice just as easy to catch.
Irish neutrality was more a reaction to British militarism than any fellow feeling with Nazis. Having gained their freedom from the British only twenty years previously, there was a fear that alliance could stoke the old divisions that brouht about civil war in Ireland post partition.
The local cats were wary, but eventually welcomed me onto their patch once they found out that my master is a Catholic.
odespinner 