There's a thing there's no noise about now, and when we were young, our hearts would be up in our mouths if we heard there was one of them coming.It would be well publicised beforehand, you may say, and it would be a very dull man living in a very out-of-the-way place that wouldn't hear of it.Then, when the time had come, the roads would be black with people going there, men, women and children, although some people would say it was no place at all for children.Children, you think now I'm talking about the circus? I am nothing but about the mission.Once every five years the mission had come here, and my neighbours had been talking about it for three years before and two years after.For no word of a lie, it did make an impression, and an impression that was needed in certain quarters.Well, the vows that had been made and the pledges that had been taken, line after line of hard work,and old campaigners facing the altar rails the final Sunday.Everyone would be so changed, you'd swear that from that out judges would have to hang up their wigs and publicans would have to go selling short buttons.Two holy fathers that used to come here, and even though of saintly appearance, well versed, you may say, in every description of villainy.They'd light the chapel with language, bringing their vows.Their voices away down very low, and then making a tremendous shout that would frighten the living dearlights out of everyone.People used to be afraid to go up near the altar, and we'll say no, a shy man sitting there near the altar,if the holy father fixed his eye on him, and he in a rage, the poor man would nearly pass out.Even down near the door where we used to be, you'd be shivering in your shoes, for every night they'd go from one evil doing to another.From the sins of life to death, from death to judgment, and from judgment as was only natural to the place below.Oh glory, the fires of hell it be described down to the very last detail, the smoke and the steam and the gnashing of teeth.Poor old women sitting there in the chapel, no more sin in them than on the child in the cradle, only trying to make ends meet,and the tears rolling down their cheeks at the thought of death.The heart of all those people suffering in the hubs of hell for all eternity.And I'll never forget one night, there was this woman, she was from out the bower, a hat on her,and there she was as unconcerned as if she was at a football match.Of course the holy father couldn't help but notice her.It was the big man that was on the same night.And when she was going out the gate after, you see, to the small man, said Benediction,the big man approached her and he said,How is it, he said, my good woman,that you were so unmoved by all the suffering in hell's flames?You're a father, says she, I'm not from this parish at all.And they used to travel from parish to parish after the missioners.Some people can take an awful hammering.One night the sermon had been given over to drink, another night to company keeping and so on.And there had been some sins mentioned, and if the people were given a free hand,they wouldn't know how to go about committing them.But coming into the second week, we'd all be coming closer to grace.And the final night would be glorious.Our lads there would no more note, no more crow, and they're trying to sing,never will we sin again.And a great blaze of light when all the candles were lit for the renouncing of the devil.I can tell you if that bucko put in an appearance that night,he'd get a belt of a fist as quick as lightning.Oh, such fervour.Monday morning, we'd all returned to normal life.And I'll never forget, one Monday morning I was over here at the forge putting slippers in the mare.There was a big crowd there, and the only topic of conversation was the mission.And some people held that after all that was said,we were given a very poor inkling as to what heaven was like.Well, they admitted heaven was mentioned earlier on.But at that time, very little hope was held out for the people.But now that they all expected to go to heaven,they were wondering what sort of a place it was.Would they have to work in heaven?And what would the weather be like?And we'll say now, for instance, the man that was married twice here,which one of them would he be walking out with in heaven?He couldn't be walking out with the two of them.Or maybe it was all right in heaven to have two.We didn't know.The blacksmith was wondering would there be a public house there,whether they could go in and sit down, he said, and talk to the neighbours.Well, there was one fellow there, he was a good footballer in his day,until the wind broke on him and he wound up carrying the Ganses.Heaven wouldn't be much of a place in his eyes unless they had an occasional football match.Maybe, you see, we'd get up a team and travel out.Another man there used to scrape a bit in the fiddle.He wasn't much good.He wanted to be a place where he'd meet all these musicians and they'd be exchanging tunes.I have a bonnet trimmed with blue, why don't you wear it, sure I do.Why don't you wear it when you can, going to the dance with your young men.Dance! That was it.All the young people said heaven wouldn't be much to write home about if there was no dancing.Now, there was this old lad sitting up on the hob, never opened his mouth during all this conversation,only making cuddly cues in the ashes with his walking cane.Sha dances he.With a smile, from what we heard about heaven and the chapel during the past two weeks,there won't be enough there from this parish to make up a half-set.