The other day I walked across Gortaree and over to Legolagh. It was crisp and bright although the day was Halloween. I stood on the forestry, on a spot where Frank often stood. And I thought of how we used to watch Frank stand there and gaze for hours on a pleasant day and I wondered at the lovely view and how deep the valley really was. The house is gone now; that lovely little cosy thatched house set in the centre of the vale. There is a hayshed there now and a cattle pen and crush. I can remember going over with the skim milk late of a harvest day when we were so busy working at hay, that even us children had not the time to deliver the ass and tanks the whole distance. When we got as far as Frank’s well and saw a wee square of light in Aunt Lizzie’s room we knew she was in bed, for she retired very early and got up with the lark. Then we went down all the way, because one night the poor ass stood till morning with the load of milk on his back.

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