On our journey down the Ship Canal that Spring day in 1949 we next encountered, or rather passed on the road to our right, a herring man. Soon either in Omeath or Carlingford he would be singing out the praises of his wares :
“A yard long and a pound weight! Hurry up! I’m laving the town.”
And doling them out …
“There’s two more again .. and two more again … makes six more again …
and wan fore the chile.”
A crowd of tinkers were heading for the border. They looked as if none of them ever had to answer an examination paper or fill out an income-tax form in their lives .. but did not appear to be unduly downcast at being deprived of these inestimable privileges of our alleged civilisation. As a matter of fact, they were singing … which, despite my relaxation, I do not feel like doing this minute.
We had reached the Victoria Lock gates, which, with a whistle and a wave from the lock-keeper, were soon opened for us, though it took several able-bodied men to turn those massive wheels which pulled the chains that worked the gates …
… Journey concluded later ….