Disappearing Ireland

Bantry Boy looked around the room and in a low voice whispered, cottages like these won’t be around much longer. It’s true. Looking at the scene it already looks like it could come straight out of a museum, a living museum.

The old lady spends many a while with the stove door open, staring at the dancing flames of yellow, orange and red, as one briquette after another is devoured. It heats the water, the house, acts as a cooker and is always ready to make the tea. Β A loyal servant indeed.

Already I look at the images with fondness, as if they no longer exist in reality.

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