The Hogans of Glenart

I was about eight years old when my school friends, Renee and Sheila, and I approached our respective parents with the outrageous suggestion that we would be allowed go on a picnic on our own on St. Patrick's Day. Much to our surprise, we obtained permission. However, there were rules. We weren't to set out before a quarter past ten and preferably not even before half ten. We had to be home by three at the latest. The venue was Mount Merrion Woods in south Co. Dublin, not far from our homes in Blackrock. We had to promise to stay close to the start of the woods and not venture in too far. We weren't to talk to strangers and we weren't to sit on damp ground and thus cause irreparable damage to our kidneys. We willingly agreed to everything.

To understand this story you have to know how my father was about Christmas trees. Most people go to a garage, pick a tree, pay for it, go home -- case closed, done deal. Not Dad, for him buying the Christmas tree was nothing short of an expedition.