Learning to Love Ireland Read Online Free PDF Page A

time. I’ve no idea how you achieved it. But I can’t allow you extra time. You’ll finish along with everyone else.’
    I considered my options. There were only two. I could burst into tears and leave the room. Or I could pull myself together and make the most of the time I had left.
    My hands were shaking violently. I muttered a quick prayer for calm and clarity, and went for it. This time I was determined not to panic. I managed to insert the image of the footballer into the document at the correct place.
    I was still shaking when I handed Peter my paper, having completed all but the final two questions. I was the last person in the room. Everyone else had finished before the allotted time.
    I had always known that Peter regarded me as one of his slower and woollier students. But now he smiled at me. ‘I didn’t think you’d make it,’ he said. ‘Well done.’

    When, a month before, I had received the letter from FÁS offering me a place on the ECDL course in Gorey, I could hardly believe my luck.
    Not only was I being offered free tuition, but I would actually be paid to study. The FÁS allowance was more generous than my job-seeker’s payment, and I could continue to prepare my own lectures for the library in the evenings.
    The ECDL course was held in a large house that had been converted into business premises. Each person was allocated his or her own computer. Behind our desks a jungle of cables snaked their way into electrical sockets. Peter had to struggle through this dense undergrowth whenever someone’s computer went on strike.
    Our class was an interesting cross-section of ages and personalities. About half were young men and women in their late teens and early twenties, and the rest were mostly in their forties or fifties.
    I was seated next to Evelyn, a friendly girl in her twenties, the only person I had spoken to while we were waiting outside on the first day. On my left was Jonathan, a tall, slim young man with spectacular tattoos. I was in the middle of the young crowd, while the older group had positioned itself at the far end of the room.
    Both Evelyn and Jonathan were from Dublin. Their accents were less difficult to follow than Joy’s or Ray’s or Angela’s. I didn’t have a clue what Ray was saying until he had repeated a comment at least twice. He usually arrived ten minutes late for class and then, for the rest of the morning, draped himself across his desk hung-over and half asleep. Jonathan spent much of his time searching for information on Manchester United. When he wasn’t immersed in football statistics, he was looking for sexy females to use as wallpaper or screen savers. Joy was an attractive, slim blonde with huge blue eyes and flawless skin (which was surprising, since she sucked lollipops all day long). Angela was freckled, plump and dark, a quiet girl, who kept to herself much of the time. Elizabeth lived in a different world from the rest of the class. She made Ray look lively. Occasionally, she’d summon the energy to play a game or two of patience and then, exhausted, she’d lean back in her chair and stare at her blank screen. Susan, sitting on the other side of Jonathan, fizzed with energy and enthusiasm in spite of being short of sleep. She worked part-time at Tesco’s.
    At the far end of the room, the mature group lived different lives. Their conversation was about children and grandchildren, the availability of jobs and where next to go on holiday.
    Much to my surprise, I enjoyed being with the young crowd. They didn’t pull any punches. If they felt bored, they leaned back in their chairs and yawned loudly. If they felt like a cigarette, they went outside and had one.
    Peter had the difficult task of deciding where to pitch his lessons. All the young people were familiar with computers to a greater or lesser extent, having used them at school. There were two or three members of the older group