AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
47
Again there was something approaching the romantic to hear, on a misty November evening, the tinkle of the
bell of the muffin man.
Another relic of old times persisted in the recurring period when we built a grotto in the curb. This was made of
coloured paper, a lighted candle and small stones and
oyster shells. We had no idea that this was perpetuating a memory of pilgrimages, or that the oyster shells had any
connection with St. James. After building the grotto a boy would take an oyster shell, and keeping pace with a
passer by, would chant: