Forty-Eight – The Irish LassI've never told it.
I am English. Born in London – in the East End; as English as tuppence. A proud, penniless subject of Her Majesty. My mother, the drunken w***e, was an immigrant. Mind, coming from Ireland, she was as much a subject of the Queen as the stable muck at the Royal Mews in Buck-place. But she was a foreigner (to the English). Following her early (far too late for my tastes) demise…
No I shant go into the whole thing. I'll make it simple.
Orphaned, it doesn't matter how, I was several weeks in a workhouse hell, in London, before being sent to my auntie's in Limerick. I've already said my mother was a loose woman who imbibed to her detriment and to mine. My auntie was, believe it or not, worse; a much younger, prettier, twisted slag, who derided
