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Have you ever been to an Irish wedding? I have just returned from one. It is a quarter to five in the morning: the sun has already climbed above the horizon; the birds are busy celebrating the new day and have eagerly been in search of food. But some of the guests have not yet left. They are still prolonging the night: dancing, singing, gossiping, putting off the unfortunate necessity of undertaking a day’s work in the fields after a sleepless night.

Throughout most of her life, Bridget Mary, the bride, has been living in the small whitewashed thatched cottage I have just left. Twelve children have been brought up there but only two are still living at home. The eldest son, heir (继承人) to the small farm, is helping his father with the farm work (they employ no farm laborers); the youngest daughter is still at school. Two years ago, Bridget Mary went to England to take up domestic work in a hospital and it was while she was living there that she met her future husband, Terry. He himself is an Irishman who used to live in Dublin and now has a well paid job in a light engineering works in England. They got engaged and started saving. Now they are thinking of buying a small house near Terry’s factory.

The wedding ceremony was performed in the church in the nearest town at half past eight yesterday morning. Another couple were being married at the same time. Nobody worried about the cost of the celebrations: four luxurious cars brought the bride, bridegroom, family and friends home, and forty people were crowded into the tiled kitchen and the tiny living room, hung with framed school certificates and religious pictures. A big meal was given; the wedding cake was cut and toasts were drunk in whisky or wine. And while the remains of the feast were being cleared away and the rooms swept, the four cars set out again, taking the married couple and relations for a drive round the countryside.