It seems crazy now with all the inherent dangers of modern life, cars and endless traffic and fear of strangers, and so on; but one of my earliest memories is of being sent to the local shop for 10 Wills’ Wild Woodbine cigarettes by my mother.
I was not yet four.
I took the piece of paper on which was written the note for the shopkeeper and for some unfathomable reason walked the not inconsiderable distance to our Convent school, entered at the Brown Street door and handed the note to the first nun I met, who I later learned was called Sr. Rose.
