The people of this district firmly believe that anybody who is born on Whit Sunday will either kill someone or be kill[ed] by someone.
My Father knew a woman named Bill Gallagher, who lived in the townland of Carrick, about a mile from my school. She was born on Whit Sunday and her whole life was spent in fear of being killed.
When she was about seventy years of age lying on her death bed, after being visited by the Parish Priest, a neighbour who lost his reason, came in with a hatchet and killed her. The man was arrested and he is still in the Mental Hospital. This happened in the year nineteen hundred and twenty two.