Traversing the country's high roads in these days, I notice few stronger contrasts to the habits of a couple of decades ago than the light-hearted manner in which villagers old and young set off on a journey to the market or country towns. Half a day's work may now be done before the traveller need bother about getting ready; he can leave after mid-day dinner, and be home "in time to milk the cows".
It was not ever thus. In the quite recent past preparations to make a twenty mile journey would be talked of a week ahead, and turn the household upside down at least three days beforehand. If it was intended to return directly, the full moon and fair weather were awaited that there might be light for the drive, a romantic experience for a novice, in the deep night.
Mostly return was postponed for a day or two, and months of business were allowed to accumulate, to be done economically in one journey. Our ancestors in some ways took a gloomy view of things, and it was by no means infrequent for the wouldbe week's traveller solemnly to make his will before departure, and for his spouse, together with the household to a man, to congregate upon the steps, and, after advising him to every precaution against calamity from men and microbe, to bid him a lachrymose farewell, as though never destined to look upon his face again.
Upon his return he was, of course, Sir Oracle. The man who left Clare for Dublin was wonder of wisdom; he who had dared the Irish Sea and trodden London's streets, was held to have mastered not only the secrets of the Fates, but also of politics.
The Irish Times, March 28th, 1931