Máirtín Ó Cadhain - Graveyard Clay - Cré na Cille

— Galway have a good football team this year, Billyboy? …

— A great team entirely, neighbour. Everybody says that even if they played on crutches they’d win the All-Ireland. Green Flag said it the other day …

— Concannon will make paste of backsides that day …

— Concannon is only a substitute!

— A substitute! A substitute! What are you talking about so? They won’t win! They won’t win! They won’t …

— They have great young players. The very best. They will win, neighbour. You’ll see they’ll win.

— Arrah, shut your mouth! What’s the use in talking rubbish? I’m telling you your young players aren’t worth a bullock’s slime 7without Concannon! I wouldn’t mind but for all this “They’ll win,” “They’ll win”! …

— Begging your pardon, neighbour, one would think you’d prefer them to be defeated with Concannon on the team than to win without him! A taste of revenge would be sweet, neighbour. Concannon was blamed by many in 1941. I never felt so cross as I did that day in Croke Park …

— That’s the truth, Billyboy …

— Billyboy was always very obliging …

— It gladdened his heart to bring you good news …

— And even if it was bad news his grin was like a safety-belt …

— Who laid out Tomás Inside, Billyboy? …

— Nell and Big Brian’s daughter and Tomáisín’s wife did, Cáit …

— And who keened him, Billyboy? …

— Nell and the village women did, Bid. But yourself and Little Cáit were greatly missed. Everybody was saying: “May the Lord have mercy on Little Cáit, the poor thing, and Bid Shorcha, the creature! Weren’t they great at stretching and keening a man! There won’t be the likes of them again …”

— May God spare your health, Billyboy! …

— Bloody tear and ’ounds , what does it matter who stretches or keens a person! …

— … Hitler is still knocking soft eggs out of them, God bless him! …

— He’s doing fairly well, neighbour, fairly well …

— What do you mean, fairly well! Shouldn’t he be into England by now! …

— Not at all, neighbour. But the British and the Yanks are back into French territory again …

— Arrah, what! You’re spouting lies, Billyboy the Post! We’re not making small-talk about sport now, you know …

— It’s nine months now, neighbour, since I’ve been able to read a newspaper, and I don’t know exactly how they’re faring. At that time, everybody was saying that the British and the Yanks wouldn’t be able to make a stand in France on D-Day …

— Arrah, Billyboy dear, why would they? And they were pitched to hell out into the sea again like a heap of dead blennies …

— Faith then, I suppose so, neighbour …

— And Hitler followed them this time — which he should have done at the time of Dunkirk — and he’s into England by now! Der Tag! I think there’s nothing left of England now …

— Non! Non, mon ami! C’est la libération qu’on a promise. La libération! Les Gaullistes et Monsieur Churchill avaient raison …

— Oh! You windbag, you stumbler, you blind fumbler …

— C’est la libération! Vive la France! Vive la République Française! Vive la patrie! La patrie sacrée! Vive de Gaulle! …

— Frenchman, my neighbour, did you hear about the newspaper report that you were awarded the Cross for your valour …

— Ce n’est rien, mon ami. C’est sans importance. Ce qui compte, c’est la libération. Vive la France! La France! La France! La patrie sacrée! …

— Oh, do you hear the racket the little scutterer is raising! He’s worse than the Big Master …

— Musha, Billyboy, you didn’t hear any talk of our getting the English market back? …

— Do you hear the gadfly again? …

— The English market will be fine, neighbour …

— Do you think it will, Billyboy? …

— It will, neighbour. Don’t worry. I’m telling you the English market will be fine …

— May God save you, Billyboy! You’ve plucked the bitter thorn from my heart with those words. You seriously think it will be fine? I’ve a patch of land at the top of the village …

— … It has indeed been published, your book of poetry …

— The Yellow Stars! Oh! Billyboy, my dearest friend, you’re not serious? …

— I didn’t see it myself, but the Postmistress’s daughter told me so … Don’t worry, neighbour. Your own book will soon be published too …

— Do you think it will, Billyboy? …

— I’m certain it will, neighbour …

— You have secret information so, Billyboy? …

— Musha, I used to hear a little tattle, neighbour. I used to be very friendly with people here and there. The Postmistress’s daughter … Oh! Master, calm down, calm down! …

— Have a bit more manners, Master! …

— There’s great money to be earned in England still, Billyboy? …

— It’s not as good as it was, neighbour. The food is awful. The Woody Hillside, Sive’s Rocks and Donagh’s Village crowd have come home …

— A holiday among the nobly bred nettles of Donagh’s Village will do them good …

— … Your son, his wife and their two children are home …

— Ah! You’re having me on, Billyboy! …

— God forbid, neighbour! By the holy little finger! …

— And the black wife is home with him? …

— She is, bedad, and the two children …

— Listen here to me, Billyboy. Tell me the honest truth. Are they as black as they say? As black as the Earl’s little black? …

— Don’t worry, neighbour. Far from it …

— Are they as black as Road-End Man after being up a sooty chimney? …

— By my soul, they are not, indeed …

— As black as the Big Tinker with the lumps on his face? …

— Don’t worry, neighbour. Not that black, either …

— As black as Baba Pháidín’s fur coat after Caitríona’s house? …

— Shut your mouth, you little brat! …

— As black as Big Brian in a hangover sweat? …

— But when Big Brian went before the judge after being in the geyser-room in Dublin, he was as shiny-faced as any of the little saints in the chapel window …

— Big Brian in a hangover sweat. About as black as that, now …

— Oh! If that’s the case, they’re not niggers at all …

— The children are not nearly as black as the mother …

— Did they have to call the priest for the old lady? …

— Sure enough, neighbour, she was in a bad way. She didn’t want to let them into the house at all. The people of the village gathered round, and some of them were more inclined to pelt them with stones and chase them off. But, to make a long story short, neighbour, they were brought to the priest and he sprinkled a dash of water from the font on them, and the old lady was happy then … She’s very proud of them now. She brings them to Mass every Sunday …

— If that’s the case, Billyboy, I don’t mind being dead. I thought she’d lose heart and go to bits …

— Musha, have you any news of that young fellow of mine, Billyboy?

— Seáinín Liam, that young fellow of yours has a firm grip of what’s good for him. He bought a colt the other day …

— That’s great news, Billyboy. If he had a sturdy little girl now …

— Don’t worry, Seáinín. From what I hear, he’ll have that soon. A woman from West Headland who was in England. With plenty of money, I’m told. The Postmistress’s daughter told me the Small Master is getting married one of these days … Yes. That one who’s in Barry’s Betting Office in Brightcity … The priest doesn’t mention her at all now, neighbour. She took the pledge a while ago … Don’t worry, neighbour. They still talk about that feat of yours. Some say you did it, and others say you’d have burst …