still Dad isn’t home. Mam says it’s a long way to the cement factory even  if  he’s  a  fast  walker. She  says  that  but  her  eyes  are  watery  and she’s  not  singing  anymore. She’s  sitting  by  the  fire  smoking  a Wild Woodbine she got on credit from Kathleen O’Connell.The fag is the only luxury she has and she’ll never forget Kathleen for her goodness. She doesn’t know how long she can keep the water boiling in this ket- tle.There’s no use making the tea till Dad gets home because it will be stewed, coddled, boiled and unfit to drink. Malachy says he’s hungry and she gives him a piece of bread and cheese to keep him going. She says,This job could be the saving of us. ’Tis hard enough for him to get a job with his northern accent and if he loses this one I don’t know what we’re going to do. The darkness is in the lane and we have to light a candle. She has to give us our tea and bread and cheese because we’re so hungry we can’t wait another minute. She sits at the table, eats a bit of bread and cheese, smokes her Wild Woodbine. She goes to the door to see if Dad is com- ing down the lane and she talks about the paydays when we searched for  him  all  over  Brooklyn. She  says, Some  day  we’ll  all  go  back  to America and we’ll have a nice warm place to live and a lavatory down the hall like the one in Classon Avenue and not this filthy thing outside our door. The women are coming home from the cinemas, laughing, and the men, singing, from the pubs. Mam says there’s no use waiting up any longer. If Dad stays in the pubs till closing time there will be nothing left from his wages and we might as well go to bed. She lies in her bed with Michael in her arms. It’s quiet in the lane and I can hear her cry- ing even though she pulls an old coat over her face and I can hear in the distance, my father. I know it’s my father because he’s the only one in Limerick who sings that song from the North, Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today. He comes round the corner at the top of the lane and starts Kevin Barry. He sings a verse, stops, holds on to a wall, cries over Kevin Barry.People stick their heads out windows and doors and tell him, For Jasus’ sake, put a sock in it. Some of us have to get up in the morn- ing for work. Go home and sing your feckin’ patriotic songs. He stands in the middle of the lane and tells the world to step out- side, he’s  ready  to  fight, ready  to  fight  and  die  for  Ireland, which  is more than he can say for the men of Limerick, who are known the 110