Yes, Miss Barry. Take the last word, Mackey.Take it, take it, take it. I will, Miss Barry. Toby Mackey is a temporary telegram boy like me. He saw a film called The Front Page and now he wants to go to America some day and be a tough newspaper reporter with a hat and a cigarette. He keeps a notebook in his pocket because a good reporter has to write down what happens. Facts. He has to write down facts not a lot of bloody poetry, which is all you hear in Limerick with men in pubs going on about our great sufferings under the English. Facts, Frankie. He writes down the number of telegrams he delivers and how far he travels.We sit on the bench making sure we don’t laugh and he tells me that if we deliver forty telegrams a day that’s two hundred a week and that’s ten thousand a year and twenty thousand in our two years at the job. If we cycle one hundred and twenty-five miles in a week that’s thirteen thousand miles in two years and that’s halfway around the world, Frankie, and no won- der there isn’t a scrap of flesh on our arses. Toby says nobody knows Limerick like the telegram boy.We know every  avenue, road, street, terrace, mews, place, close, lane. Jasus, says Toby, there isn’t a door in Limerick we don’t know.We knock on all kinds of doors, iron, oak, plywood.Twenty thousand doors, Frankie.We rap, kick, push.We ring and buzz bells.We shout and whistle,Telegram boy, telegram boy.We drop telegrams in letter boxes, shove them under doors, throw them over the transom.We climb in windows where peo- ple are bedridden.We fight off every dog who wants to turn us into din- ner.You never know what’s going to happen when you hand people their telegrams.They laugh and sing and dance and cry and scream and fall down in a weakness and you wonder if they’ll wake up at all and give you the tip.It’s not a bit like delivering telegrams in America where Mickey Rooney rides around in a film called The Human Comedy and people are pleasant and falling over themselves to give you a tip, invit- ing you in, giving you a cup of tea and a bun. Toby Mackey says he has facts galore in his notebook and he doesn’t give  a  fiddler’s  fart  about  anything  and  that’s  the  way  I’d  like  to  be myself. Mrs. O’Connell knows I like the country telegrams and if a day is sunny she gives me a batch of ten that will keep me away all morning and I don’t have to return till after the dinner hour at noon.There are fine autumn days when the Shannon sparkles and the fields are green 321