A chara, – At this time of year, in the remote fastnesses of east Down, my mother would suddenly announce, “This is Blaeberry Sunday”. The community ritual had by then passed away, but we needed no special dispensation to head for the uplands.
How could Frank McNally (An Irishman’s Diary, July 27th) fail to mention blaeberries while acknowledging bilberries, etc, and him an Ulsterman?
The blaeberries seldom made it home for tarts, either.
The local supermarket ones come from the Netherlands. – Is mise,
MÁIRE NIC MHAOLAIN,