Just a few lines to let you know that
I'm still alive. I'm writing this letter
slowly because I know that you cannot
read fast. You won't know the house when
you come home. . . we've moved.
About your father. . . He has a lovely
new job. He has 500 men under him. He is
cutting the grass at the cemetery.
There was a washing machine in the new
house when we moved in, but it wasn't
working too good. Last week I put 14
shirts into it, pulled the chain, and I
haven't seen the shirts since.
Your sister Mary had a baby this
morning. I haven't found out whether it
is a boy or girl, so I don't know
whether you're an aunt or uncle.
Your Uncle Dick drowned last week in a
vat of whiskey in a Dublin brewery. Some
of his workmates dived in to save him,
but he fought them off bravely. We
cremated his body, and it took three
days to put out the fire.
Your father didn't have much to drink at
Christmas. I put a bottle of castor oil
in his pint of beer. That kept him going
till New Years day.
I went to the doctor on Thursday and
your father came with me. The doctor put
a small tube into my mouth and told me
not to open it for ten minutes. Your
father offered to buy it from him.
It only rained twice last week. First
for 3 days, and then for 4 days. Monday
it was so windy that one of our chickens
laid the same egg four times.
We had a letter yesterday from the
undertaker. He said if the last
installment wasn't paid on your
grandmother within 7 days; up she comes.
Your Loving Mother,
P. S. I was going to send you $10.00 but
I had already sealed the envelope.