My mother, a flinty northerner transplanted to Cork, was not given to sentimentality or hero worshipping of any kind. But she had one hero in Cork. That hero, for this account, we shall call Granny O’Neill.It was the early 60s. and a beautiful young woman in our middle class neighbourhood had got “in trouble.” The father of her baby was a member of a minor Merchant Prince family. In other words his family was approximately half a rung of the social ladder above hers. He refused to take responsibility.Her parents were highly respected locally. But in the dark watches of…

Want to continue reading?

Introductory offer: Sign up today and pay €200 for an annual membership, a saving of €100.

Subscribe

Cancel anytime.

Are you already a member? .