Like a different part of the town, she said, The Faythe, William Street, where the fishing people lived.
October to January was herring season, sixpence a dozen when the season was good.
Brought in at night they shone like coloured glass, a fresh herring is stiff, a limp fish is a stale one.
Sometimes lorries came and always hawkers carts to take them round the town Rosslares! Rosslares! Fresh Rosslares!
Mary O’Brien (from Dicing With the Tide, The Works, Wexford)
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