It was a tearful farewell. Some of the neighbours waved us off and we went to David and Ruth’s for lunch. Then time came to leave. Ronan came with me. As I turned on to the New Line I took a glance up Main Street. Sentiment got the better of me and I drove up by the church. Ronan cottoned on to what I was doing. His voice came from the back street, ‘a last look at the beautiful world of Richhill.’ It totally summed up what I was thinking.
Of course he was less profound as we drove in to Hamiltonsbawn. ‘I am glad we are going to Limerick, it won’t be smelly like Richhill—the farmers won’t be spraying things.’
As we entered the suburbs of Limerick he was back to being profound. ‘Which is more beautiful,’ he asked, ‘Richhill or Limerick?’ My loyalties were divided. I love Richhill but Limerick is now our new home. He answered his own question. ‘I reckon Richhill is more beautiful, but soon we will forget Richhill and think that Limerick is.’
A friendly kid called Callum took the initiative to play with our guys. Caroline overheard Ronan ask if he knew where Brentwood Park is. Pity the world isn’t that small.