We would speak in hushed tones whenever a Rolls-Royce pulled in across from the house where I grew up. It could only mean one thing. Tony O’Reilly, one of Ireland’s richest men, was visiting his aunt, who ran the local post office. To the best of my recollection, the vehicle was pale green. I was too young to understand that O’Reilly had amassed a fortune from newspapers and baked beans. But the stir created by his arrival made me feel I was in close proximity to greatness.
This story is part of New Europe's Premium content.
|To Read the Full Story, Subscribe or Sign In from the ↑ Top of the Page ↑|