St Stephen’s Green. Probably near the lake, there is a row of chairs with their backs to the audience; some are deck chairs and some the upright green twopenny type.1 Most of them are occupied. Dusk is falling (and pretty fast too). The bells of the keepers summoning the visitors to leave are heard in the distance. A few small children rush across the foreground shouting and playing with a ball; they run out again. A bell is heard being banged very loud off. Enter a comic KEEPER carrying the bell. He looks from behind at the row of inert seated figures, his back to the audience. His stance and silence suggest patient disgust. Suddenly he gives a savage ear-splitting clang of the bell, startling everybody, including the audience.
KEEPER Do yez know the time or have yez no home to go to?2
A very mixed group get up hastily, glare at the KEEPER and move off. A fat lady calls to her children, two old men shamble off muttering, a student and some others leave in the manner that fits them. A very pronounced bulge in the back of one of the deck-chairs at the right-hand side of the row remains, however. The KEEPER eyes it and approaches stealthily. He then gives a really ferocious clang on the bell.
KEEPER Will yeh get up to hell ou’ a that and clear out of this pairk, d’yeh hear me!
An irate fat well-dressed figure has jumped up out of the chair. His accent is very ‘cultured’.
VISITOR What the devil do you mean?
KEEPER (Sarcastic in a steely way) I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR How dare you talk to me like that — how dare you ring your bell like that in my ear?
KEEPER Now luckit here, don’t give me anny trouble. This pairk is closed down be the regulations from sunset. And all the visitors has to be cleared out, d’yeh understhand me. All has to go off an’ leave the premises. It’s just like a public house. Come on now, sir, yeh’ll have to pack up, yeh’ll have all day to-morra to be lying down there snoozin’!
VISITOR (Flabbergasted at all this familiarity) Well upon my word! Who the devil do you think you’re speaking to? Of all the … infernal … nerve!
KEEPER I don’t want anny trouble now, DON’T GIVE ME ANNY TROUBLE. Out yeh’ll have to go and that’s all about it. It’s a very seryus thing to be in the pairk after dairk.
VISITOR How dare you address members of the public in that impertinent fashion! How dare you set out to injure people’s hearing with that bell of yours! HOW DARE YOU SIR!
KEEPER (With fake resignation) Well, of course … I dunno. I don’t know what I’ll do with this man at all. I don’t know what I’ll do with this man at all.
VISITOR Permit me to remark that it is rather a question of what will be done with you, my man.
KEEPER (Mechanical reply to any ‘difficult’ speech) I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR Do you know who I am?
KEEPER (Brushing aside a very old story with his flat hand) Now listen. Luckit here. I don’t want to know yer name, yer address, or who yer mother was. Are yeh gettin’ out or are yeh not? Now don’t tell me I’ll have to call a Gaird.3
VISITOR (Getting ready to leave) From your offensive behaviour it’s rather obvious you don’t know who I am but you may learn sooner than you expect.
KEEPER I don’t give a damn if yer de Valera … or one of them lads out of the Kildare Street Club4 … or (tremendous effort) the Bishop … of … Bangalore—OUT—OF—THIS—PAIRK—YOU’LL—HAVE—TO GO—AND THAT’S ALL.
VISITOR Indeed? Perhaps I should tell you who I am.
KEEPER (Putting up the hand again to ward off unwanted information) Now I don’t want to hear anny more — I don’t want to hear anny more talk or chat at all. This pairk is owned an’ run by the Boord of Works,5 d’yeh understand. And the Boord of Works is a very sthrict crowd … a very … sthrict … crowd.
VISITOR (Interested) Really.
KEEPER D’yeh undhersthand me now. The Boord has very sthrict regulations for clearin’ out the pairk after dairk. I don’t care who y’are — all has to pack up and mairch out of the pairk when it gets dairk. It’s the Boord’s regulations, yeh’ll see them pasted up there be the gate.
VISITOR All this is extremely interesting.
KEEPER Are yeh gettin’ out? Yes or no now.
VISITOR Extremely interesting.
KEEPER Because if yer goin’ to stop here, I’ll go and get a Gaird and it’s above in the ‘joy6 yeh’ll spend the night, me good man.
VISITOR If you knew who you are speaking to, you uncouth impudent …
KEEPER (Almost roaring) Luckit here, if you were wan of the head buck-cats out of the Boord of Works itself, a big offeecial from the place beyant there (He points), if you were the head-man in chairge of pairks an’ gairdens, I’d mairch you out just the same in double quick time, me bucko!
VISITOR (Angry but gloating) As a matter of fact that’s exactly who I am. (He begins to move off)
KEEPER I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR That’s exactly who I am.
KEEPER (Dumfounded) I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR That’s exactly who I am.
KEEPER (Exit out after the visitor, making desperate efforts to retrieve the damage) But I beg yer pardin kindly sir, SHURE I DIDN’T MEAN ANNY HARM, Sir. Didn’t I know yeh well an’ me only tryin’ to take a rise out of yeh, I’d no more think of givin’ guff to yer honour than I would of givin’ it to Mister Connolly,7 yer honour …
They pass out, the VISITOR very haughty. The light sinks somewhat. Loud buzzing as if of aeroplanes is heard. The TRAMP, who is emaciated (naturally enough) is concealed in one of the other deck-chairs, making little or no bulge to betray his presence. The buzzing noise gets louder. The audience hears the maudlin voice of the hidden TRAMP. His accent is a richer Dublin job than the KEEPER; indeed, the latter might be better with a rich southern New-York-cop intonation.
TRAMP Away wid yez now! Away wid yez! Keep offa me now. (More buzzing, much nearer).
TRAMP Do yez hear me! Get away to hell ou’ a that!
He starts thrashing about with his arms, which betray his location to the audience. He starts incoherent drunken roaring and falls out of the chair into full view.
TRAMP One sting from one of them lads and begob yeh could be screwed down in yer coffin in two days.
He swipes at invisible bees but carefully preserving his bottle; he pauses to take a good swig.
TRAMP The bee … Do you know what I’m goin’ to tell yeh. The bee … is one of the worst jobs out. Them little lads has a bagful of stuff inside them … and they do spend all their time lookin’ for some poor unfortunate omadaun8 like meself for to pump it into. Ah yes, a very bad job — the bee. I don’t fancy the bees atchall.
He swipes madly again and then has a swig. He resumes his monologue in a very high-pitched confidential voice.
TRAMP (To audience) I’ll tell yez a good wan. I seen a man — a perrsonal friend of me own — stung be a bee and him lying on his death-bed. A man that was given up be the clergy, the docthors, the nurses, and begob even be the parties that was to benefit under the will. That’s a quare one! Yer man is breathin’ his last gasp when the bee flies in and given him pfffff——, a dart in the neck. And do you know what happens? (He pauses impressively and takes another long suck) Do you know what happens? Now you won’t believe this, as sure as God you’ll tell me I’m a liar … (Again he pauses for effect and takes another drink) I’ll tell you what happens. Your man … sits up … in bed … and says he; Will one of youz hand me me trousers there … plee-ez. Ah? That’s … a quare wan for yez. Would yeh believe that? (He drinks again, somewhat astonished at the anecdote himself) An’ from that good day to this, yer man never looked back and never ever a day’s sickness in the bed. D’yeh undhersthand what I’m tellin’ yeh? D’yeh undhersthand me now? A very ferocious … baste, the bee. A very … contentious … intimidatin’ … exacerbatin’ animal, the bee. But a great man for suckin’ honey an’ workin’ away inside in the nest. Very hard-workin’ industrious men, the bees. (He looks round. There is loud buzzing.) And d’yeh know what I’m goin’ to tell yeh, there’s a bloody nest of the buggers around here somewhere. (He swipes.) Gou-a-that! Gou’athat to hell away from me, yez black an’ yalla own-shucks!9 (He takes a long drink.) Begob d’yeh know what it is, yeh can’t bate d’ould bottle! I declare to me God I’d be a dead man only for this little drop o’ malt,10 because I have a very heavy cold on me and that’s the God’s truth. I’m not in me right health. What a man like me wants is … family allowances, yeh know … family allowances … and plenty of free insurance, d’yeh undhersthand me. (He is becoming more and more maudlin.) An’ house-buildin’ facilities for gettin’ married, d’yeh know. An’ … wan more cow … wan more sow … an’ wan … more … acre … undher th’plough.11 D’yeh undhersthand me now? D’yeh undhershand what I’m sayin’? Ah yes. Certaintly. Certaintly … Certaintly.
He sits down, drinks, sighs, and yawns and drinks. His fading senses are reflected in the sinking light. He lies down finally and is asleep by the time the light is nearly gone.
CURTAIN
1 twopenny type: chairs rentable for twopence.
2 no home to go to: a phrase much used at closing time by Dublin barmen.
3 Guard: a policeman, in Irish Garda Síochána.
4 de Valera … Bangalore: Eamon de Valera (1882–1975), President of the Executive Council (Prime Minister) from March 1932 until February 1948, and also June 1951-June 1954 and March 1957-June 1959; after December 1937 his title was Taoiseach. The Kildare Street Club, now extinct, was Dublin’s most exclusive men’s club. The Keeper presumably refers to the Bishop of Bangalore for alliterative reasons.
5 Boord of Works: a government department charged with maintaining parks, public buildings, and other public properties.
6 the ‘joy: Mountjoy Prison near the Royal Canal in Phibsboro, North Dublin.
7 Mister Connolly: Joseph Connolly, then Chairman of the Board of Works. In September 1939 he was appointed Controller of Censorship. R.M. Smyllie, Myles’s editor at The Irish Times, described Connolly as ‘a bitter Anglophobe.’ See Bernard Share, The Emergency; Neutral Ireland, 1939–1945 (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1978), 32. Smyllie claimed that ‘in practice … the censorship … worked almost exclusively against the Allies,’ and called it ‘ludicrous He was not allowed to mention that many Irishmen had joined the British forces nor could obituaries speak of death in battle. The Irish births of Generals Montgomery and Alexander ‘had to be kept dark’. When a Dubliner serving in the British Navy was rescued from his sinking ship, this could only be mentioned by stating ‘in the Social and Personal column that the young man … had completely recovered from the effect of his recent boating accident!’ See R.M. Smyllie, Unneutral Eire,’ Foreign Affairs 24: 2 (January 1946), 322–3. Myles’s ‘Cruiskeen Lawn’ column was apparently censored (Cronin, No Laughing Matter, 119).
8 omadaun: Irish amadán, fool, simpleton, idiot.
9 own-shucks: óinseach is the female form of amadán.
10 drop o’malt: malt is whiskey.
11 family allowances … undher th’plough: The Fine Gael leader, James Dillon, suggested government subsidies to assist poor families in March 1939. Myles, in his Civil Service capacity as Brian O Nualláin, was appointed Secretary to the Local Government Committee set up in July 1939 to study the question. The Committee first met in April 1940, and eventually recommended the appointment of a second, interdepartmental committee. The second Committee was even more desultory, reporting finally in October 1942, and recommending the establishment of Family or Children’s Allowances. The proposal was strongly opposed, on both political and religious grounds, by J.J. McElligott, Secretary to the Department of Finance, and by Sean MacEntee, Minister of Local Government (August 1941–February 1948), Myles’s/O Nualláin’s direct superior, MacEntee’s hostile memoranda, presumably drafted by Myles, then his private secretary, were particularly numerous, lengthy, and hysterical in February–March 1943. McElligott’s and MacEntee’s conviction that rural poverty was morally bracing, and quintessentially Irish, echoes — presumably unconsciously — similar ideas which Myles had parodied in An Béal Bocht (1941). Their insistence that the child allowance would weaken the family and so subvert Catholic values anticipated arguments used successfully against the ‘Mother and Child’ plan of Dr Noel Browne (Minister of Health, February 1948–11 April 1951), which proposed free pre- and post-natal care for mothers and children, irrespective of means. See J.J. Lee, Ireland 1912–1985 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 277–86.
The slogan ‘One more cow, and one more sow, and one more acre under the plow,’ was coined by Patrick J. Hogan (1891–1936), Minister of Agriculture 1922–32.