Last night I dreamed I was in Mrs. O’Shea’s Irish class again. I was eight years old and she had called on me to recite the poem we had learned. Every single word of the Irish language I had ever learned in my life immediately vanished from my mind and I stood there, face burning, eyes down, praying for the blue tiled floor to open up and swallow me whole.

I woke myself in a hurry. It took several minutes for my heart to stop racing. I haven’t dreamed about school in ages. I used to get dreams about school exams when I was worried about university deadlines, but with those behind me the dreams had faded. What had brought Mrs. O’Shea back into my mind? Ah yes, there’s an easy answer to that one.

All this week our library has been participating in Seachtain na G...

Please subscribe to keep reading.