Dear Editor:

I enjoyed Pól Ó Congaile's article regarding bookmaking and betting in Ireland and also the poem on Fairyhouse by Martin Russell (January, 2001). Growing up in Dublin, Fairyhouse was a big part of my life. 

My father, Michael Quinn, was a bookmaker, or as he called it, a "turf accountant." We lived our lives according to the Racing Results. On days with the results were good, we ate well, and maybe, got the much needed new pair of shoes. But, on the days that the "favorites" romped home, it was a sad one and my Da would come with "not a tosser." So, we would do without.

Fairyhouse, however, was a different story. The very name suggests magic! Without fail, the bookies always won; and won a lot! Maybe it had to do with the large field of entrants -- I'm not sure. I remember Fairyhouse with love. "Wait 'til Fairyhouse!" was the cry in our house when we needed things -- clothes, food and, yes, even the rent. It was our "goldmine."
Years later, when I had the good fortune to perform regularly on TV in New York, my sister, Betty in Dublin, remarked, "Carmel has brought Fairyhouse to America."

I enjoy The Post very much and thank you.

— Carmel Quinn