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My Father had been begging me for years to come home and say good-bye to him; so, in 1901, I made the journey. I hadn't been in the old home long before the alley was filled with neighbours, curious to have a look at "ould Jamie's son who was a clargymaan." I went to the door and shook hands with everybody in the hope that after a while they would go away and leave me with my own.
But nobody moved. They stood and stared for several hours. "'Deed I mind ye fine when ye weren't th' height av a creepie!" said one woman, who was astounded that I couldn't call her by name. "Aye," said another, "'deed ye were i' fond o' th' Bible, an' no wundther yer a clargymaan!" A dozen old women "minded" as many different things of my childhood.
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