A beautiful morning for Good Friday, rather unsuitable however for such a sorrowful feast; but the latter seemed to throw a note of sadness of the glory of the sun. We saw the whole of the ceremonies, which were very beautiful. The Turba was wonderful, it was so full of vigour and clarity. Fr. Mahony of the north has a terrible voice, and equally bad Latin, and it was really funny to see the saintly boys smiling up their sleeves. To-day is Mammies’s birthday, good luck to her! Perhaps that is why the weather is so gay. We have postponed everything till Easter Sunday, so my lovely pudding is gone west. Went to Horgan’s ((John J. Horgan, solicitor and city coroner, one of the oldest friends of the Fleischmanns, who stood by Fleischmann senior when he was threatened with internment in 1914, and managed to keep him out for two years. John J.’s father was Parnell’s agent; his wife Mary was the daughter of UCC’s President Sir Bertram Windle; she studied the piano with Tilly Fleischmann.)) after dinner, and broke the ice of our first meeting. They were very nice. However, was late for Tenebrae, and had to kneel in the Big Gallery. The choir sounded lovely up there, and though the Cathedral is pretty poor looking from below, it is much improved when seen from the big gallery, and in the darkness you could almost imagine it was beautiful. (On Sat I wrote this – that is why it seems too jolly.)
