Máirtín Ó Cadhain - Graveyard Clay - Cré na Cille

— Some of them well. Some of them unwell …

— A fine bringer of news you are! Who’s well and who’s unwell?

— It’s a wise man could say, Caitríona. It’s a wise man could say, Caitríona. It’s a wise man could say who’s well and who’s unwell. It’s a wise man, faith …

— Since you lived in the next village, don’t you know whether our Pádraig and his wife and Jack the Scológ are well or unwell? …

— Faith then, I was in the next village, Caitríona. In the next village, sure enough. Not a word of a lie but I was in the next village, indeed …

— Have a bit of gumption, I tell you. You don’t have to be shy here, any more than you were above ground. Who’s well and who’s unwell? …

— Little Cáit and Bid Shorcha are often ill. Faith then, they could even be bad enough …

— A fine story you have! I don’t remember a time they weren’t ill, except when there were corpses to be laid out or keened. It’s high time for them to be unwell at this stage. Are they at death’s door? … Do you hear? Are Bid Shorcha and Little Cáit at death’s door? …

— Some people say they’ll pull through. Others say they won’t. It’s a wise man could say …

— And Jack the Scológ? … Jack the Scológ, I said? How is he? … Have you got rheumatism in your tongue? …

— Jack the Scológ. Jack the Scológ, now. Yes indeed, Jack the Scológ. Some say he’s unwell. Some say he’s unwell, for certain. He could be. He could indeed … But many a thing is said that hasn’t a grain of truth in it. Many a thing, faith. He’s probably not unwell at all …

— Will you not quit your tomfoolery and tell me if Jack the Scológ is confined to bed …

— I don’t know, Caitríona. I don’t know, faith. Unless I tell you a lie …

—“Unless you tell me a lie!” As if it would be your first lie! How fares Nell? … How fares the pussface Nell?

— Nell. Yes indeed. Nell, Nell indeed. Nell and Jack the Scológ. Nell Pháidín …

— Yes, yes. Nell Pháidín. I asked you how she’s faring …

— Some say she’s unwell. Some say she’s unwell, for certain …

— But is she? Or is it more of her tricks? …

— Some say she is. They do, definitely. She could be, faith. She could be, without a doubt. But many a thing is said …

— Confound your toothless gob! You must have heard if Nell is able to go in and out of the house, or if she’s confined to bed …

— Confined to bed. She could be, faith. Faith then, she could be …

— Suffering Jesus! … Listen to me, Red-haired Tom. How is our Baba who’s in America?

— Your Baba who’s in America. Baba Pháidín. She’s in America, sure enough. Baba Pháidín is in America, so she is …

— But how is she?

— I don’t know. Faith then, I don’t, Caitríona …

— It’s the devil’s own business if you didn’t hear something about her. That she was unwell, maybe …

— Some say she’s unwell. They do, for sure. She could be …

— Who says it? …

— Faith, unless I tell you a lie, Caitríona, I don’t know. I don’t indeed. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with her …

— Who’ll get her money? … Who’ll get Baba’s money?

— Baba Pháidín’s money? …

— Yes, what else? Baba’s money … Who’ll get Baba’s money? …

— The devil do I know, Caitríona …

— Did she make a will? Did our Baba make a will yet? Aren’t you damned heedless! …

— Musha, I don’t know that, Caitríona. It’s a wise man could say …

— But what do the people of our village say about it, or the people of your own village? … Did they say Pádraig will get it? Or that Nell will get it?

— Some say Nell will get it. Some say Pádraig will get it. Many a thing is said without a grain of truth in it. Many a thing, indeed. I don’t know myself which of them will get it. It’s a wise man could say …

— You wordless toothless booby! Everybody so far made some sense, till you arrived! How fares Tomás Inside? … Tomás Inside. Do you hear me?

— I do, Caitríona. I hear that, for sure. Tomás Inside. Faith then, there is such a person, so there is, for sure. Not a word of a lie but Tomás Inside exists …

— Where is he now?

— In your village, Caitríona. Where else? In your village, definitely. I thought you knew well where he was, Caitríona. He was in your village all his life, I think, or am I right?

— Warbles on your stupid grin! What I asked you is where is he now? … Where’s Tomás Inside now?

— Devil do I know, unless I tell you a lie, where he is now, Caitríona. If I knew what time of day it was, but I don’t. I don’t, indeed. He could be …

— But before you died where was he?

— In your village, Caitríona. He used to be in your village for certain. In your village, indeed.

— But which house? …

— Faith then, I don’t know that, Caitríona …

— But you know if he left his own house on account of the leaking roof or something …

— Some say he’s in Nell’s house. Some say he’s in Pádraig’s house. Many a thing is said that …

— But he’s not in his own house? … Do you hear? Tomás Inside is not in his own house? …

— Tomás Inside in his own house? In his own house … Tomás Inside in his own house. Faith then, he could well be, indeed. He could indeed. Only a wise person would say …

— You silly blabberer, for that’s what you are, Red-haired Tom! Who has Tomás Inside’s land?

— Tomás Inside’s land? Faith then, he has land. Tomás Inside has land, definitely. Tomás Inside indeed has land. He has land …

— But who has his land now? Does Tomás himself still have it, or does our Pádraig have it, or does Nell have it? …

— Pádraig, Nell, Tomás Inside? Yes now, Pádraig, Nell …

— On the devil’s tracks to hell with you, and tell me who has Tomás Inside’s land! …

— Some say Pádraig has it. Some say Nell has it. Many a thing is said without a grain …

— But you are sure that Tomás Inside himself doesn’t have the land? … You are sure, Red-haired Tom, that Tomás Inside himself doesn’t have the land? …

— Tomás Inside himself, if he has the land? Faith then, he could have, so he could. It’s a wise man could say who has Tomás Inside’s land …

— You useless shit! What a present I got: Red-haired Tom! A heap of disease! It was the epidemic brought you here. Only for that you wouldn’t come till you’d rot. Indeed, nobody would murder you on account of your tongue, anyhow! What an asset to the graveyard, you red-haired rubbish! Be off! Ugh! …

3

— … I fell off a stack of oats …

— … A white-faced mare …

— … May the devil take yourself and your useless verses!

Can’t you see I have enough on my mind, not knowing if my old lady at home might give the holding to the eldest son …

— … I had a patch of ground at the top of the village …

— … “Mártan Sheáin Mhóir had a daughter,

And she was as broad as any man …”

— … Monsieur Churchill a dit qu’il retournerait pour libérer la France, la terre sacrée. Mon ami, the French Gaullistes and les Américains and les Anglais will capture la France . That is promis by Messieurs Churchill et Roosevelt … That is a prophétie … Prophétie … Prophecy, je crois en Irlandais …

—“Foretelling” is what we call it on the fair plains of East Galway. That is the correct Old Irish …

— Oh! Listen to her again! …

— It was prophesied that the glen would be as high as the hill. 4I remember the time when the people were afraid not to touch their hat to the Earl’s bailiffs and stewards, not to mention the Earl himself. Nowadays, it’s the people who expect the Earl to touch his hat to them. Upon my soul, I myself saw him one day bowing to Nell Pháidín.