I know it’s macabre but I’ve always had an interest in graveyards and there is something breathtakingly beautiful in the simplicity of the Quaker graveyard in Limerick. Large yew trees stand like sentinels in the corners, while bright daffodils dip their heads between rows of neat, uniform headstones. Surnames I’ve never seen before like Bennis and Unthank are inscribed on stone. Outside the high grey walls, I can sense people getting up and putting the kettle on for Sunday breakfast, unaware that inside these walls people are living and worshipping in a neatly carved oasis on the city’s edge.

Most Irish people associate the Quakers with famine soup kitchens