L J Sexton

I LOVE to hear of fierce, strong women, especially ones who can multitask like a superhero—women with a good few strings to their bow. Well, I can tell you something with great certainty, that in finding Margaret Skinnider, (Ní Scineadóra, Máighréad, 1893-1971) I found one hell of a woman.

I HAVE a great pal, Mick Doc, who regularly makes reference to his Catholic pals—including myself—as ‘Good Romans,’obviously coming from the fuller term ‘Roman Catholics.’ But I’m not sure Mick knows, because I didn’t, that this term originated in the 16th century and was initially used by Protestants to differentiate the Church they had separated from.

WHEN someone says: “I’m going home,” or “I’m heading over by,” I think there’s a universal understanding of what that means. It means going to a place where open arms and open fires await; with a heat that never fails to send you into a soft slumber. Where you head out on a beach walk and are warned: “The wind’ll blow the head aff ye.” A place where even a stroll across the fields, 40 shades of green, cut or wild, welcome you back with familiarity and knowing.