Published DateTo the editor,
I would like to first thank the editor of The Daily Sun for printing my stories, and also thank Cynthia Lepre of Laconia for the reply to my last story. I have another story that you may enjoy. I have been told by some people I should write a book but I'm getting on in years, so I can only write short stories.
My Pa was born in Abendeen, Scottland, from Irish parents, and he worked in the Edinburgh Castle as one of the landscape gardeners. My mom was born in London, England from Irish parents, and she learned to cook. When she got older she traveled to Scottland, where she learned to be a line cook. Then Ma and Pa fell in love and were married. They came to America on a large ship of immigrants and settled in Brockton, MA., at 928 Montello St., across from St. Margaret's Rectory. It wasn't long before we came to know Father Hamilton. Us kids attended mass on Sunday mornings, and Father Hamiliton would ask "Who has been putting pennies in the collection box?" At that, my brother Joe and I glanced at each other and smiled. When we were to noisy, Father Hamilton would call out the window to tell us to quiet down, so we tried but to no avail.
Saturday nights we had kitchen parties. My father played the fiddle he had. Two of his friends played music too, one played the banjo and the other played the guitar. I used to do the Irish step dance to the music they played. A couple of my brothers who enjoyed singing sang the Irish songs, we couldn't leave mom out. She baked homemade bread and biscuits in the oven of the old black stove.
It was on St.Patrick's Day when I grew up. I will never forget the young lady who sang on St. Patrick's. She sang. . . May the road rise to meet you. . . may the wind be always at your back. . . and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand. If I'm not mistaken the young ladies name was Chirs Minnoc. I doubt there is anyone to verify her name, so may God hold you in the palm of his hand.