When I was about ten my mother had to go into hospital
for a serious operation. She was gone for some time and when she came home she
needed to rest for some weeks to recover. This was a very anxious time for us
as we were afraid we would lose her.
On a later occasion I vividly recall my mother being
brought into the house after she had taken a spill off her bicycle on Legmoylin
Hill after a visit to her brother Felix, who lived at the top of the hill. I believe the carrier bag she was carrying got
caught in the front spokes and she was pitched over the handlebars. The road
had recently been tarred and was covered by sharp chippings. One side of her face was twice the size of the
other, a mix of red and blue from the blood and bruising, and cut, scratched
and pocked by the chippings. The other side was unmarked.
We used to walk round her to see the two different
people - the familiar Mammy and the grotesque stranger.
Luckily she had broken no bones and made a rapid and
complete recovery.
Reminiscence 
