Bridget, 62, Waterford
Skipping down the garden path, I had a big, beaming smile on my face.
It was summer 1964 and, aged 7, I’d just had my confirmation at church, meaning I could receive Holy Communion for the first time.
My parents were devoutly Catholic and usually I found church boring – but this was my special day.
Mum had bought me a beautiful new dress and I loved swishing around in it.
It was a world away from my usual, tatty jumpers and skirts.
After the service, Mum took me home, while Dad headed to the pub as usual.
He spent most of his time there, but that’s the way we liked it. You see, Dad had a temper.
He’d often take it out on Mum, or me,…
