Shuttered windows flung open revealed a fresh, sunlit kitchen. Flitting about the clean clutter of crockery, baskets of vegetables fruit freshly picked and utensils was Bridget. Mulligatawny was stewing on the wood fired stove whilst Bridget broke up the honeycomb and soaked rags in onion juice – for her great grand-children’s colds. Tullamore Dew competed with a proliferation of preserves,pickles and jams on the open shelving next to drying herbs; all neatly arrayed.
And beyond, displayed prominently, hand painted plates hung as loving testimony from grandchildren twenty years previous, to their own parenting. As a testament to their roots and hers – a cross-stitch embroidery sampler framed their Irish heritage in historic proof to their being. But pride of place overlooking her devoted protege stood the Virgin Mary fresh flowers at her feet.