letter from an irish mother to her son

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10, Limerick Street, CORK. Dear Son, I am writing this letter slowly because I know you can't read very fast. We are all very well here. You won't recognise the house when you get home because we've moved. It is quite nice and has got a washing machine. I put shirts in it last week, pulled the chain, and haven't seen them since. Your father's got a really good job now. He's got 500 men under him. He's cutting the grass at the cemetery. Your sister Mary has had her baby, but I don't know if it's a boy or girl, so I can't tell you whether you're an aunt or an uncle. Your cousin Pat died last week at the brewery. He fell into a vat of whiskey. A couple of his mates dived in to save him, but he fought them off bravely. He was cremated on Wednesday, and it took a week to put the fire out. It only rained twice last week; once for a day and once for three days. I've sent you a coat, but it was too heavy for the post, so I cut the buttons off and put them in the pockets. Your brother Tom is still in the army. He's only been there and they've already made him a court martial. Your loving mother, P.S. I was going to enclose £5 but I've already sealed the envelope.