I will never forget that day when my brother and I got our stagecoach company off the ground.
We had worked so hard, spend hours in the stables, working on the coach, building it with our own two hands. (we were both amputees at the time).
And then, finally, after so much struggle and putting all of our hearts into it, we hitched our first team to the coach, and made the trip to London.
It was there that I had this photo taken, just before I showed up at the Post Office to put in our bid to carry the mail back to town.
Just before I ran into Jim Donnelly.
That night, our stagecoach was burnt to the ground, and our horses were stolen. Rustled, even.
My brother and I knew we had to get out of Clandeboye, and we left the next day, never to return.
I never smiled with such pride again, but I never stopped wearing that suit until the day I died.