Frank McCourt’s world — as I experienced it

EVEN though we were poor at the lowest economic level — even below the lowest economic level — we were always excited because we were rich in the sense that we had a lot to look up to, to look forward to, a lot to aspire to, a lot to dream about.

But in purely economic terms, things were desperate. It was Calcutta with rain. At least they’re warm in Calcutta.

Things were really desperate because of certain things — like my father being an alcoholic, my mother having too many babies in too short a time, no work available in Ireland, and even when my father did get a job he drank the wages.

Then there was the harsh kind of schooling we had with schoolmasters who ruled with a stick and the overwhelming presence of the Catholic Church which imbued us with fear all the time.

So it was fear, dampness, poverty, alcoholism — fear of the church, fear of the schoolmaster, fear in general.

A writer like Frank McCourt appears on this planet once in a blue moon. His books, Angela’s Ashes, Tis and Teacher Man, were a joy to read.

Thank you, Frank, for enriching my stay in this world.

Paul Barry

Cardup Siding Road

Cardup

Western Australia 6122