Máirtín Ó Cadhain - Graveyard Clay - Cré na Cille

— Devil a burst, then, Billyboy! That’s the God’s honest truth. I drank two score pints and two …

— Do you think an Antichrist will come soon, Billyboy? …

— Don’t worry, neighbour. I don’t figure it will. I don’t think it will. To make a long story short, I wouldn’t say it will …

— Faith then I think, Billyboy, it won’t be long now …

— That will all be fine, neighbour. You may be sure it will …

— Do many people need spiritual assistance, Billyboy, or do they say the Family Rosary?

— I’ve told you often enough, Big Colm’s daughter, to leave matters of heresy to me …

— Would you think, Billyboy, the prophecy is coming true? …

— I would indeed, neighbour. That will all be …

— Would Seán Chite in Donagh’s Village think it’s coming true? …

— On my last trip to Donagh’s Village, the village people — those who weren’t in England — were gathered round Seán Chite in the shade of a clump of nettles in the middle of the houses, and him prophesying …

— Did he say that England would disappear into the air in a ball of fire and ashes?

— In a ball of fire and ashes! In a ball of fire and ashes! He said the clergy would be as hungry as the lay people. Hold on now … He said no distinction would be made between woman and man. Hold on now … Hold on now … He said the pint would cost tuppence again …

— To hell with your women! Did he say that England would disappear in a ball of fire? …

— He wasn’t that far into it, neighbour. He had only reached where Knotted Bottom was woken up in the cellar and grabbed his sword to free Ireland. At that stage, I produced income tax notices about their legacies …

— Seán Chite is right. Every single word of it is coming true …

— … You say, Billyboy, that Éamon de Valera is winning …

— That’s a damned lie! Billyboy said Dick Mulcahy 8is winning …

—Éamon de Valera and Dick Mulcahy were at the chapel after Mass, a month ago. A Joint Meeting …

— A Joint Meeting?

— A Joint Meeting?

— By Dad! A Joint Meeting? …

— Crikies! A Joint Meeting? …

— A Joint Meeting about the emergency services …

—Éamon de Valera spoke about the Republic? …

— Dick Mulcahy spoke about the Treaty? …

— They didn’t speak about the Republic or the Treaty … To make a long story short, they both made the same speech: thanking the people …

— Ah! I understand now, Billyboy! That was a trick of de Valera’s to hoodwink the other crowd …

— That’s a damned lie! Of course, every old stopped clock in this graveyard knows it was a plan of Dick Mulcahy’s to make de Valera take the wrong turn. Wouldn’t you agree with me, Billyboy? …

— Be careful, Billyboy! You’ve reached the age of sense and reason, and remember that it was our crowd gave you the pay rise and promotion. Remember you were only an “Assistant Rural Postman” …

— My Fellow-Irish People! I’m here today! …

— If you’d been here at the time of the Election …

— No more than myself, Billyboy has nothing to do with politics …

— You coward! Get back under the bed….

— You spineless yoke!

— … Where are you, Pól? Your old friend was around here again this year …

— The Irish Language Enthusiast! You’re not serious! …

— … He didn’t go near Peadar the Pub’s at all … He won’t be hoodwinked there again, neighbour. Peadar the Pub’s daughter isn’t likely to hoodwink anybody any more, neighbour! Oh! There are plenty of reasons, neighbour! The Red-haired Policeman caught her one Sunday recently during second Mass. There wasn’t one of that Woody Hillside, Sive’s Rocks and Donagh’s Village lot home from England who wasn’t in there drinking. People say it was the Irish Language Enthusiast told the police to go in. Your man has a very high-ranking job in the Government …

— She won’t play the parlour trick any more …

— She robbed me …

— And me, too …

— Faith then, I wasn’t thankful to her. I was not, dear. After the second half-glass of whiskey she charged me four fourpenny bits, and from the sixth one eighteen pence. By the docks, it was true for the doctor from Brightcity: it only suited the small intestine, while porter suited the large intestine. Too much whiskey caused the small intestine to burst and the large one shrivelled up with spleen. I had no pain …

— … She’s lucky, neighbour, if the Sunday opening is all that’ll be against her, but people say she watered the whiskey bottles …

— She’ll lose the pub? …

— She might, neighbour, she might. But I wouldn’t say so …

— What’s the bloody use, so?

— Siúán the Shop’s daughter will lose her trading licence for certain. She’ll be tried in the Military Court … Black market tea. It was the sergeant caught her …

— The sergeant, then, even though she used to give him tea and cigarettes for nothing! …

— You were the cause of my death, my ugly Siúán! …

— … The One-Ear Breed, is it, neighbour? That youngest one of the tailor’s was arrested in England …

— Well done, Billyboy! Well done! …

— He stabbed the Redman’s son from Donagh’s Village …

— Oh! The same ancestral kidney trick another One-Ear played on myself! He’ll be hanged …

— They say he’ll go to prison …

— He’ll be hanged …

— They say, neighbour, that it’s easy to hang a person in England right enough. But I don’t think he’ll be hanged, all the same. He’ll get a few years in prison, maybe …

— A few years in prison! Arrah, to hell with yourself and your prison! If he’s not hanged …

— They say the Postmistress’s daughter will get a year and a half or a couple of years in prison too … Letters containing money, neighbour, but it was the Irish Language Enthusiast’s letters that put the bloodhounds from Head Office onto her scent …

— My goodness me! After me spending twenty years teaching her …

— Faith then, Postmistress, believe you me, neighbour, I wouldn’t like to see anything happen to your daughter … Take it easy, Master dear, calm down! … By the holy little finger, Master, I never opened a letter of yours! … Oh! She could have, Master, but I didn’t help her! …

— That oldest son of mine, Billyboy, is he still keeping company with Road-End’s daughter? …

— I’d say so, neighbour. Himself and Road-End’s daughter will be at the next court. It’s reported that your other son …

— Tom …

— Yes, Tom. It’s reported that himself and Tomáisín’s son caught them in your turf stack before daybreak …

— The second son and Tomáisín’s son caught the oldest son stealing his own turf for that soot-stinking breed of Road-End’s!

— All I know, neighbour, is that he’s summoned to appear in court …

— Oh! May the devil pierce him with his front teeth! The nimble-fingered chimney-sweeps of Road-End are in a right sooty mess so!

— Your wife has served them with another summons, for putting their cattle on your land …

— Now, indeed! At the dead of night! Well done herself! She’ll win too, you’ll see! I wish the oldest one was cleared to hell out under the elements, and some excuse of a wife brought in on the big holding for the second son! I wonder, Billyboy, did Tomáisín’s family ever return the spade they borrowed to dig their first meal of early potatoes? …

— I don’t know that, neighbour … To make a long story short, neighbour, the Road-End crowd are getting a trouncing from the law at the moment. The other Sunday, the priest was like a man bitten by his lap dog. He got up before daybreak and caught some crowd stealing his turf. They say it’s the Road-End crowd …