I grew up on my mother’s stories. Although an Irish woman of small stature and imaginative mind, stories didn’t come any ‘taller’ than those tales told by my mother. They would stretch the bounds of one’s credulity beyond the realms of possibility, and yet, she always made me ‘want to believe them’. I have taken the germ of her fact and added a bit of my fiction with a dash of author licence. ‘The Priest’s Calling Card’ is about a Portlaw Priest who leaves his walking stick outside any house he visits as a sign of his presence there and with the clear understanding he is never to be interrupted during his home visits by any other callers to the house where he is.
I grew up on my mother’s stories. Although an Irish woman of small stature and imaginative mind, stories didn’t come any ‘taller’ than those tales told by my mother. They would stretch the bounds of one’s credulity beyond the realms of possibility, and yet, she always made me ‘want to believe them’. I have taken the germ of her fact and added a bit of my fiction with a dash of author licence. ‘The Priest’s Calling Card’ is about a Portlaw Priest who leaves his walking stick outside any house he visits as a sign of his presence there and with the clear understanding he is never to be interrupted during his home visits by any other callers to the house where he is.