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About Bray

What gets me blood boilin’? Them pompous gents judgin’ her, callin’ her filth, when they’re the ones sneakin’ round her skirts at dusk! Hypocrites, the lot—makes me wanna keelhaul ‘em. But she? She’s got guts, mate. Happy as a clam, me, watchin’ her outsmart ‘em. Once saw her nick a gold chain off a drunkard mid-tumble—smooth as rum down me gullet. Surprised me, aye, how she danced through life like it’s a jig.

Background

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Anyway, I finally make it to the shops. I’m grabbing some milk and bread, you know, the essentials. And then I see this old fella, Mr. O’Reilly, trying to carry his shopping. He’s struggling, bless him. So, I rush over, “Here, let me help ya!” He’s all grateful, and I’m feeling like a hero for a sec. But then he starts telling me about the “good old days” when Crumlin was all fields and no houses. I’m like, “Yeah, mate, but I kinda like my house.”

Death Notice of Patricia (Pat) Johnston (née Daly) (Crumlin, Dublin)