My father-in-law’s memoirs continues with this story from 1939 about his home in Woodstown, Waterford.
When I lived in Woodstown in the 1930s our house was on the edge of a sandy beach which stretched for half a mile in either direction and our landlord, James, lived in the cottage next door.
James was a lean, old, guy in his late eighties. He had a full head of curly hair, a square foxy beard and spent a lot of his days chopping firewood from a huge stock of logs in his front yard. In his young days James had been a stone mason and his wife had been the cook in the “big house” which now stood deserted on the wooded estate nearby.
There was an eight foot high storm wall which ran the length of our house – and the cottage next door. This protected both properties from the…
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