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Munchin's Temperance hall, in a room half-filled with potatoes and eggs and milk, women who were to care for the exiles during their temporary banishment, were working. A few of the workers' red-badged guards came to herald the approach of the workers, and then sat down on a settle outside the hall. St. Munchin's chapel bell struck the Angelus. The red-badged guards rose and blessed themselves.
When I spoke of the Russian soviet, and stated that I heard that the Roman Catholic church had spread in eight dioceses under the new government, the bishop nodded his head. The Church, he said, had nothing to fear from the soviet. "Certainly not from the Limerick soviet," I suggested. "It was there that I saw a red-badged guard rise to say the Angelus."
At the door of a river street house, I mounted gritty stone steps. A red-badged man opened the door part way. As soon as I told him I was an American journalist, the suspicious look on his face vanished. With much cordiality he invited me to come upstairs. While he knocked on a consultation door, he bade me wait. In the wavering hall light, the knots in the worn wooden floor threw blots of shadow.
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