Strand of Dreams [antikvár]

Ask Mary Angelina O'Dowd which was the best day of the week and without hesitation she would tell you it was Sunday since on a Sunday, for a precious couple of hours, she had her daddy all to herself.Depending on whether they were to take Holy Communion or not, in which case Mammy, Daddy and her brothers would fast from the evening before, the day would begin for the O'Dowds with what Mammy called a proper breakfast. None of the hastily gobbled bread and dripping, or the bacon sandwiches her two sons crammed into their mouths first thing of a morning from Monday to Saturday as they galloped about the kitchen of the small terraced house in Sidney Street in which the family lived."Wisht, Mammy, 'ave tha' seen me boots?" Liam would cry in that strange mixture of soft Irish brogue and the harsh broadness of Lancashire which had been passed down through the generations of the O'Dowd and Todd families since the first of their forebears had come from Ireland over seventy years ago. His mouth would be full of fresh bread, his dark, curling hair standing on end, his eyes not yet clear of the deep, dreamless sleep which is the privilege of the young.