Aigneis is a diminutive lady in her 80s, still sharp of mind, though frail of limb. She moved to Birmingham from rural Ireland in the late 1950s to support her married and pregnant older sister… the destiny of many younger female siblings in those days. Subsequently finding work as a clippie on the buses at the age of 19, she admits to only looking about 15. Her eyes shine when she recalls how older Brummies would chide her to get back to school, and offer mints to keep her warm on cold winter mornings.

She told me of a day when her bus was full, and she had to refuse entry to a number of would-be passengers. One disgruntled man shouted, “F…king Irish! Go back to Paddy Land,” and barged passed her. Fortunately, several people rushed to her defence, and berated the abuser for making such a remark, and one burly saviour manhandled him off the bus and left him sprawled on the pavement.

She recently asked if I could re-pot and save a sorry-looking plant that her sister had given her 40 years previously. After examination, we both agreed it was beyond saving, and destined for the compost heap. I offered to take cuttings to try to ensure the plant’s progeny lived on. These were successful, and I managed to produce five new plants, four of which she gifted to friends.

“Their proper name is Crassula, and they are also known as Jade,” I told her, “but we tend to call them money trees because the leaves are shaped like coins. According to legend, if you own a money tree, you will always be wealthy. Has that been true for you?”

“Well,” she replied with quintessential Irish charm, “I’ve never been short of a bob or two.”