It was a Saturday morning and she was strolling along the pavement in Nelson Street, kicking at the scatter of leaves which had been blown along from the trees which lined Great George Square and half-heartedly watching the passing traffic, whilst from the main road ahead of her she could hear the occasional rumble as a tram passed by. She was wondering how she would ever get used to what had happened to them. Her daddy was still in hospital and Polly, her mammy and Ivan were uncomfortably squeezed into the spare room of Martin’s little house, whilst Bevin had stayed in the country with his pal. Because Peader’s stroke had proved to be a serious matter which would probably affect him for the rest of his life, they had had to agree to the railway company’s insistence that they move out of their cottage so that another railwayman could take over the job of crossing keeper. ‘I’m sure your married son will take you in until you can find a place of your own, and you’ll want to be nearer the hospital,’ the official who had come to discuss matters with them had said.
