Máirtín Ó Cadhain - Graveyard Clay - Cré na Cille

— The people of Donagh’s Village had the persistence to travel to the very hunkers of the sun, to the boundary wall of hell itself, in search of legacies. If the wretches of your village left their hillocks, they’d be homesick for the fleas …

— What do you say to the man from our village who was buried with as little as a shilling! …

— A man from our village was buried with much more than a shilling, but it would have been a happy day for him if he hadn’t. He was a fine down-to-earth fellow till he got the big money. Neither God nor man has seen him since except standing around on every corner with his stupid face bashed in. Isn’t that so? I’ll bet you’ve never seen him without his face bashed in …

— Having your face bashed in is not too bad, but look at that young fellow from Sive’s Rocks — a relation of my own — who got a small fortune, and nothing would do him but to go and break his neck. That’s the only way to put it: the devil another thing in the world would please him but to go and break his neck …

— Oh, look at that greasy clown from Wood of the Lake! Some old hag in America left him a few thousand. Siúán the Shop’s tea-ration had barely settled in his paunch when he was up in Dublin buying a monster of a motor car. He met a flimsy little thing straying around up there, and didn’t he bring her home with him! She wasn’t long with him, though. The rattle of the car was upsetting her stomach. And she went back to straying around up there again. The motor car was nicknamed Knotted Bottom. May I not leave this spot if he could get it to move an inch without having to call out a gang of louts from the end of some boreen to push it!

— Didn’t I twist my ankle! …

— The gang would push it to the nearest pub. It would stay there till day-break, and then they’d push it back again. Its wheels and body finished up at Road-End. It had an almighty horn! …

— So has Nell Pháidín’s motor car …

— Going up and down past Caitríona’s house …

— Ababúna! …

— Faith then, for a legacy car, it trundles along fairly merrily …

— Maybe, with the help of God, Hitler will be here soon …

— Not a glint of the Woody Hillside legacy ever came out of Mannion the Counsellor’s Office. He told me so, the day I was in with him to bring the law on Road-End Man about my little lump-hammer …

— … “The bottom will fall out of Wall Street, as happened before,” he said, with his eye sneaking over to the hatchet. “It will fall out of its groove and I’ll lose another legacy as I did before …”

“The devil would I care, Tomáisín,” says Caitríona who was present, “if it fell like mud out of it, as long as it fell like thunder out of Nell’s legacy too …”

— Road-End’s old woman got a dodgy legacy …

— That’s what left her with the fancy house …

— Oh no, it was not; it was my turf …

— I brought off a great insurance coup there at the time. Road-End Man himself and his eldest daughter …

— I sold a full set of The Complete Carpenter and Mechanic to his son …

— Faith then, as you say …

— Your man over here had got a legacy the time Peadar the Pub’s daughter brought him into the parlour …

— The Big Master got a legacy …

— Billyboy won’t be short of doctors so …

— Oh, the thief! The tufted prickle-stick! 2…

— … You’re a liar! It wasn’t over a legacy that the One-Ear meat-carver stabbed me …

— … That fellow couldn’t afford to pay for forty-two pints! A man who had so little land that only the hind legs of his donkey could fit on it! The two front legs had to be on Curraoin’s land beside it … That was him! Pushing the motor car for the Wood of the Lake eejit is how he got it …

— Curraoin too, it was a legacy left him the big holding, where his eldest son wants to bring in Road-End’s daughter …

— Oh! The devil pierce her! I swear to God, if the old woman at home lets her in! …

— Road-End’s daughter is insured …

— … If that’s how things are, Caitríona was lucky she didn’t get the legacy. If she had …

— She’d build two slate-roofed houses …

— She’d buy two motor cars …

— She’d put two crosses over herself …

— And two hats …

— You’d never know but she might even wear trousers …

— Bloody tear and ’ounds , didn’t Big Brian say, when his own daughter’s son went to college to be a priest: “If that ruminating bess back there were alive,” he said, “she wouldn’t stop till she’d make her Pádraig put aside his wife and become a priest himself …”

— If you tell me, Caitríona, how much money there was in the legacy, I’ll tot up the interest for you:

Isn’t that right, Master? …

— It would be enough anyway to repay Cite’s pound …

— And Road-End Man for the chimney …

— And Nóra Sheáinín for the silver spoons and knives …

— Oh, Holy Mother of God! Silver spoons in Mangy Field! Silver spoons! Oh, Jack! Jack the Scológ! Silver spoons in Mangy Field! I’ll explode! I’ll explode! …

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— … She said that, Master? …

— She did, Máirtín Pockface. She told me …

— … “The flaw is up above,” says I …

— … “By the devil,” said Caitríona, “it’s a fine pig for scalding …”

— … “Mártan Sheáin Mhóir had a daughter …”

— When will she marry again, do you think? …

— Musha, Cite, neighbour, I don’t know …

— She can easily get a man, of course, if she intends to get married again. She’s a strong, active woman, God bless her! …

— That’s true for you, Muraed, neighbour! …

— If she didn’t say anything about it when she saw you were dying …

— She didn’t, Bríd …

— Maybe the Small Master would marry her …

— Or the Wood of the Lake Master, since the priest’s sister has jilted him …

— You’re a dote , Billyboy. Honest! Tell us if the Schoolmistress had any talk of getting married again …

— Oh! Is that really him, the blackguard, the ruffian, the lustful little letter-bag? Oh! Where is the ruffian? …

— This is a fine welcome into graveyard clay …

— By the docks, Master, don’t you remember I told you? Didn’t he die! …

— Ha! Where is he? …

— Now, Master, neighbour, calm down! Calm down! We were good neighbours above ground. Did I ever open a letter of yours? … Oh, Master dear, don’t lie! … Oh, Master, if that is so, I didn’t do it … The Postmistress could do whatever she pleased, but don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do, Master … Oh, that’s definitely a lie, Master! I didn’t give a letter of yours to anybody, I went straight to your house and handed it piping hot out of the bag into the palm of your hand. I’ll have you know, Master, it’s not every postman would do that! …

Oh, Master, Master, may God forgive you! It was not to see your wife that I came so promptly with the post. Oh, God forbid, Master, that such a thought would enter my mind! … Oh, Master, neighbour, don’t say that! Don’t tell a lie about her. She’s on the dark road of lies, and you’re on the bright road of truth …

Believe you me, Master, neighbour, I was very sorry about your death. You were a decent man to call in to. And you were worth listening to, Master. You had a fine flow of words about the affairs of life … Oh, Master, don’t say things like that! … Oh, Master! …