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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile


01.15.22


Last night the town had a vigil for Ashling Murphy. There were vigils across the country for Ashling, who was killed while out jogging around 4pm on Wednesday in Tullamore, on a stretch of a canal called Fiona's Way, named after a woman who had disappeared. Ashling was 23, a primary school teacher, a trad musician, and camogie player. The husband and I joined the procession, bearing our tea lights in yogurt jars and it slowly wound its way down the streets, up towards the castle grounds, stewarded by the volunteer fire brigade. The whole town must have come out. At the castle grounds, a woman discussed Ashling's life, and then the priest said a prayer. Nothing was said about violence against women, which disappointed me. After the prayer, two songs were played: a trad song played by Ashling and her sister, and "When You Were Sweet Sixteen", her favorite song, to which some of us sang along.





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