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There was nothing more loved than sitting in the hob of my granny's house listening to stories. I sat there enthralled. Every night I was filled anew with wonder and awe hat fuelled an inner glow of happiness. I listened to fantastic stories of feats of strength and endurance; of men so strong they pulled ploughs ... They talked of ghosts and omens, religion, the power of saints and the danger of going against the will of God.

Before the stories were all told, overcome by turf heat, sleep and romance, I often drifted off. Someone would take me up the stairs and tuck me in. There in dreamy fantasy on a feather bed I filled in the ending myself.