The river bounded the other side of the field where our house was located at Drumbally.  It was about 20 feet across and about five feet deep between steep sides six feet above the level of the water. Two sturdy planks spanned the gap. The whole was about a yard wide with no side rails or rope support.

November 22nd of 1938 dawned cold and foggy with a ground frost and light to moderate northwest winds.  There were cloudy periods with occasional showers and some sleet on the high ground. 

It isn’t easy to believe that Peter still could not allow things to settle before chancing his arm again. He determined to return the very next Thursday.

Foster’s Coffee Shop was not the sort of place where one raised one’s voice. 

A manager suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Boy, was that place overgrown? But where was the bridge? It had to be there somewhere.

It was many years before I discovered how Peter could remain cool in the face of such splendid female beauty. 

There may have been clues at the time but I didn’t have an inkling then that not all men are attracted to females!

When Peter and I were finally ensconced at a table in Foster’s Coffee Shop we would count our pennies to make sure that we had enough for a cup of coffee each. I could not comprehend the bare cheek of the establishment in charging the prices it did.