It was a fairly warm summer evening - actually balmy if you can believe it. We were staying at the Ardilaun Hotel in Galway, and were about a week into the coach tour. I had a big group of Canadians with me. I was sleeping in the buff because it was too warm for anything else. Like that, I went to the loo some time in the very early morning, maybe it was around 2:00 a.m. I was on the other side of the door and it closed behind me. Only I hadn't walked into the loo - I had walked out of my hotel room into the hallway! You see, during the busy tourist season, you wouldn't know where you are from one day to the next. Every hotel room starts to look the same. So I was wondering how I was going to manage this and hoping to see a porter somewhere. But it was very late at night. I started hearing voices - people were coming up the stairs. I think there was a wedding going on. I started looking down the hallway, this way and that. I spotted a door ajar. It turned out to be some sort of utility room or something, and would you believe, there was a big bunch of keys on the desk with a skeleton key amongst them. Luckily, I was able to run back into my room before being spotted.

Back when I was a hackney driver, I got this call to pick up a lady at St. Vincent's Hospital. She came out wearing these slippers and seemed a bit upset. I brought her home to Bray. Coincidentally, about a week later I was in the same area and got a call to take her home again. Like before, she was wearing those slippers but dressed normally besides. I had to ask why she was wearing them. She told me she wore the slippers for comfort because she was in the hospital the entire day, every day visiting her sick husband. This broke the ice and she then proceeded to tell me their story. She was British, her husband was of Irish descent, and they used to live in the UK. A while back, he had wanted to discover his roots and made some progress - a minister helped him research his baptism and he made a trip over here to gather more information. He had what he called his "Irish box" with a few precious keepsakes. One item was a photograph of him on the shoulders of his grandfather walking outside the Gresham Hotel on O'Connell Street. The granddad had worked for Guinness as a cooper making those wooden barrels. His father had died very young in London. Anyway, they came to the end of the line and couldn't get any more information. However, they bought a place in Ireland and eventually settled here. When I heard about how the granddad was a cooper, it struck me because I know there weren't too many with that skill. So I told her, "Bear with me now. Don't say a thing 'til I ask you a few questions." First I asked her, "Is it possible your husband's father was killed while fighting a fire during the blitz in London?" Then I asked, "Is it possible your husband's name is Campbell?" Well, that stunned her. It turns out, her husband was my first cousin - the son of my mother's only brother. The very next day, I contacted all my brothers and sisters. Every single one of them, all four brothers and three sisters, and their children went up to St. Vincent's Hospital - it was like rent-a-crowd. We had a big visit with him, we told her husband all kinds of stories and he showed us everything in his "Irish box". He died three days later and was buried surrounded by family.