I have heard a cry like that from the Arab women of a desert town, but nowhere else on earth, and I doubt if any other people possess one of such concentrated, desolate sorrow as this,—a sound which almost makes the heart stand still.
Why should these people mourn the advent of peace? Surely it is better for them to sleep than to wake; better to die than to live.
Through the open doorway of this hut as we pass we catch but a glimpse of an old woman bowed in sorrow and a sheeted, silent form on the bed in the corner.
Photo by W. Leonard
Slievemore and Dugort, Achill