Even before I turned in at the front gate I knew I was home from school when I heard the distant wave of song issuing from the kitchen window at the back of our house. Sometimes it was melancholy: For men must work and women must weep Though storms be sudden and waters be deep And the harbour bar be moa-oan-ing  Sometimes plangent with forbidden passion: You must go back to your life, I must go back to mine Back to the joyless duties Back to the fruitless tears Loving and yet divided All through the empty years How can I…