Billy Keane: Farewell to Uncle Teddy, the emigrant who was lonesome for his home place
The call came through late on that Saturday night, just over a month ago. I was working in the bar. We were busy. The Brownes were singing and could be heard lilting over the chat like bird song above bee buzz.
Life is good, I was saying to myself. This is how pubs should be and I'm thinking the worst of the recession is lifting a little, at last.
The bar phone rang, the landline. We were in the middle of the busiest hour of the week. I left it a while. But the phone kept ringing. I answered. It was my cousin Conor.