My Da was born on the old Head of Kinsale back in 1922. He used to lie on his belly and look at the waves crashing against the rocks. His mother was terrified it would crumble away and he;d go the way of many a sheep. He even then could hear her voice calling his name with that curious mixture of love and terror in her calling. Then he would run down to old Mrs. Fitz and she would give him hot scones and wind up the big gramophone and play "Over the waves" for him which in time would acquire words and transform itself into The Loveliest Night of the Year. He would sit me on his lap and sing it to me when I was his own little boy or play it on his accordion. All these times of different peoples would meld and merge into this one moment and come together in the simple action of stroking a back to soothe the pain...we are all there in that one touch.