Dinner at the White House

The reason we had come to Armagh in the first place was so that Mom could see the town and area where long ago her ancestors had once lived: Finleys from the early 1700’s. Not finding anything in Dublin, her continuing quest was to find any information about them here. With Sylvia’s assurance that town was a short walk away, we struck off.

Gino, Mom, and Dad

Since Northern Ireland does not use the Euro, we stopped at an ATM to extract English pounds for our short stay. It was Sunday and nothing was open — even dinner was beginning to seem an unlikely prospect.



We drank our dinner at the White House

After a cursory tour of the deserted streets of downtown, we found a pub that appeared to be inhabited.

Gratefully out of the cold wind, we slid behind a polished wooden pub table and ordered chips (French fries) and Guinness (what better dinner fare?). Across the room, a tableful of local men drank beer and amused themselves with gossip and friendly bantering. Without them seeing, Gino trained the video camera towards them to record their Irish-accented conversation.

Sated and warmed, we made our way back to Desart House, passing through the still-deserted streets.

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