On the drive down to her childhood home in Fuerty, Co Roscommon, my mother always joked with my father that once they crossed the Shannon in Athlone, she could let her hair down. She could totally be herself and perhaps behave in a manner as she might have done as an uninhibited young lady, completely free from the shackles of convention.

This thought came to me as we were gathering up bales in the Moyrath bottoms. These attractive but wet grass fields are tucked away at the bottom of the farm, far from prying eyes. They’re set deep in the heart of the Meath countryside where high hedgerows abound and away from the sounds of the public road, perhaps a mile off in any direction.