I love it when then Irishman talks about this particular period in his childhood. His early life was not all sunshine and roses, but the years when he lived on a farm in Staffordshire strike me as the happiest part of his life when he was growing up and the one to which he refers back to most often when regaling me with stories about his childhood years.
This was the first page:
I was a farm boy, Dicken with ragged trousers and muddy knees. I had a menagerie of animal accomplices my favourite being Stink the ferret, he could be relied on to bite my uncles, attaching himself to assorted fingers as if to delight me with his prowess in that field of endeavor. Clack the crow could shit on my friends whenever the fancy took him and my two homing pigeons flew home never to be seen again. Stink 2 was the runt of the litter and survived long enough to sink his teeth into the priests wellies along with the fleshy part of his leg, not recommended when pig heaven was only a few months away. I often set off from home to make my way in the world with my motley crew only to be returned by Sergeant Rolfe an exasperated policeman…
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