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Molly Malone

In Dublin’s fair city,
Where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”
“Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh,”
Crying “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh”.
She was a fishmonger,
But sure ’twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they wheeled their barrows,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”

(chorus)

She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
But her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”

The call

It happened just after breakfast. The phone of the study rang at 7 am, despite being a peaceful rainy Sunday with no worries and no appointments for the photographer. Something must have happened. Something indeed had. It was her who took the call on the persistent red phone.

Strange news. They had to leave the house as it was, with the breakfast half eaten on the kitchen table. All their belongings remained behind, even the studio equipment, the cameras and the films, all their clothes hung on the wardrobe and their books scattered around the house.

Photos taken at The Hardmans’ House in Liverpool.


Ocurrió justo después del desayuno. El teléfono del estudio sonó a las 7 de la mañana, a pesar de ser un tranquilo y lluvioso domingo, sin preocupaciones ni citas para el fotógrafo. Algo debía de haber pasado. Algo de hecho ocurrió. Fue ella la que cogió la llamada del persistente teléfono rojo.

Extrañas noticias. Tuvieron que dejar la casa tal cual estaba, con el desayuno a medio comer en la mesa de la cocina. Dejaron todas sus pertenencias, incluso el equipo del estudio, las cámaras y las películas, toda su ropa colgada en el armario y los libros esparcidos por la estancia.

Fotos tomadas en The Hardmans’ House en Liverpool.