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Title: McMahon Glynn, Patrick to Glynn, Mary Agnes, 1885
CollectionPatrick McMahon Glynn: Letters to his family (1874-1927) [Gerald Glynn O'Collins]
SenderMcMahon Glynn, Patrick
Sender Gendermale
Sender Occupationlawyer
Sender Religionunknown
OriginKapunda, South Australia, Australia
DestinationGort, Co. Galway, Ireland
RecipientGlynn, Mary Agnes
Recipient Genderfemale
Doc. No.
Partial Date
Doc. Type
Word Count733
Genrecorrespondence, weather, decease, family, description of landscape
January 23rd 1885

My dear Mary Agnes
They say that women are more thoughtful than men, and I
have no doubt about it, as I never think of sending Xmas cards until
a few days before Xmas, as if it was only a couple of days sail
from here to Ireland. Yours, with the Shamrock, was the prettiest
one I have seen, as was the opinion of every one who saw it. The
photograph which Mama enclosed in her letter of you, Eugene,
Joseph, and, I suppose, Rollo the third, seems very good. Joseph
has changed so much, that, if he had been taken by himself, I would
scarcely have known him. All the boys deserve great credit for
having passed their examinations so well. Tell Bob and Joe to
remember me to my old friends at Blackrock. By the way, I see
on looking at your letter, that the name of the four legged individual
in the photo is Gip, not Rollo.
We are in the midst of the summer here now, though really
the place is exceptionally cool this year. It is hot enough, but
nothing to last year, when on some days bottles flew to pieces,
candles bent in all shapes and styles, and Kettles almost boiled
(dry) without being put on the fire. Sometimes, in the very dry
weather, the little birds, timid as they are, go to people's houses
and help themselves to water. What would [you] say on seeing a
magpie flying after Regsheen for a drink? They have been known here to alight upon the billies, or cans, of bushmen, when they had
them in their hands.
You might mention that Mrs. O'Neil, Elly Glynn, that was,
lost her eldest son — a very promising boy. It was a great blow
to her. Of course, I never see her, as she lives over a thousand
miles from here in Sydney, but she writes sometimes. She is very
much to be pitied.
I am glad the Tuam News takes notice of our work here,
trying to make the state — that is, the whole people, own the land
and not a few landlords. It may do some good to know that we
are working for that here.
Johnny Wallsh had a nice situation in a large furnishing place
in Adelaide as bookkeeper, but the house was recently burned
down, so he has been out of a billet since. Tell Tommy that I
had a letter this week from a young fellow named William Reams,
who lived next door to Brannon's at Merrion Row when Tommy
was there. He is, he says, son of Daniel Kearns of Peterswell.
He wrote to me to know could I get him a Government appointment,
which, of course, I can't.
There is not much fun to be got out of doors here. We have
no rivers nor lakes. The Murray, about 50 miles from here, is a
mud colored, sluggish, river about 200 yards wide, running between
dreary flats, lined or rather covered with sickly gums, and cliffs of
clay and fossils. In parts of it you can get codfish, which the
blackfellows catch in a funny way. The trees are nearly always
hollow at the stump, after a certain age, spreading out like a goul
ogue [? ghoul ogre]. The blackfellows dive and get up into the
hollows of the sunken stumps where the cod fish are fond of
camping, & generally come up with one. But the other rivers are
merely chains of water holes, with no fish in them except crayfish,
a little smaller than Dublin prawns, which Johnny knows something
about, or three times the size of shrimps & some, pinkuns. In the
interior the rivers often get completely soaked up by the thirsty
earth, having no mouths. I would give a good deal for a day's
trout fishing now. If Ireland had a little of the Australian sun,
or Australia some of the Irish water, either would be a fine place.
Remember me to Paddy Madden when you see him. Tell him
I don't forget the trips to dear Island. I see James has been recording
the beauties of New Quay and its surroundings for the Hotel Mail. I have written to him today also, so have got through
any news I had. I must now close, with love to you all.

Your affectionate brother
P. McM. Glynn