A letter from an Irish mother

Dear Son,

Just a few lines to let you know that I’m still alive. I’m writing this letter slowly because I know you can’t read fast. You won’t know the house when you get home – we have moved.

About your father – he has a lovely new job. He has close to 5000 men and women under him – he cuts the grass at the cemetery. There was a washing machine at the new house when we moved in but it hasn’t been working good. Last week I put  in 14 shirts, pulled the chain, and haven’t seen the shirts since.

Your sister Mary had a baby this morning but I haven’t found out whether it’s a boy or a girl, so I don’t know if you’re an aunt or an uncle.

Your uncle Patrick drowned last week in a tub of whiskey in the Dublin Brewery. Some of his workmates tried to save him but he fought them off bravely. They cremated him and it took them three days to put out the fire.

I went to the doctor on Thursday and your father went with me. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to talk for 10 minutes. Your father offered to buy it from him.

It only rained twice this week, first for three days, and then for four days in a row. Monday was so windy that the chickens laid the same egg four times. We also had a letter from the undertaker. He said that if the last payment on your Grandmother’s plot wasn’t paid in 7 days, up she comes.

(Signed,) Your loving mother

PS: I was going to send you ten pounds, but I had already sealed the envelope.