THE BROTHER is making a great job of the landlady.
I beg your pardon?
Says he’ll have her on her feet in another week.
I do not understand.
She was laid up, you know.
Is that a fact?
Ah, yes, she got a very bad attack on New Year’s Day. The rheumatism was at her for a long time. The brother ordered her to bed, but bedamn but she’d fight it on her feet. The brother took a very poor view and said she’d be a sorry woman. And, sure enough, so she was. On New Year’s Day she got an attack that was something fierce, all classes of stabbing pains down the back. Couldn’t move a hand to help herself. Couldn’t walk, sit or stand.
I see.
Of course, the brother took command as quick as you’d order a pint. Ordered the whole lot out of the digs for the night, sent for the married sister and had the landlady put to bed. A very strict man for doing things the right way, you know, although he’s not a married man himself. O, very strict.
That is satisfactory.
Well, the next day she was worse. She was in a fierce condition. All classes of pains in the knees, knuckles swollen out and all this class of thing. Couldn’t get her breath right, either, wheezing and moaning there inside in the bed. O, a desperate breakdown altogether.
No doubt a doctor was sent for?
Sure that’s what I’m coming to man. The unfortunate woman was all on for calling in Doctor Dan. A son of the father, you know, round the corner, a nice young fellow with all classes of degrees after his name. Well, I believe the brother kicked up a fierce row. Wouldn’t hear of it at any price. Of course, the brother was always inclined to take a poor view of the doctors, never had any time for them at all.
I see.
If you want to hear the pay given out in right style, get the brother on to the doctors. Fierce language he uses sometimes. Says half of those lads never wash their hands. Now say there’s some ould one down the road laid up with a bad knee. Right. She sends for the doctor. Right. But where are you in the meantime? You’re laid up, too. You’re inside in your bed with a bad cold. Right. You send for the doctor, too. Right. In he comes and takes your pulse and gives you some class of a powder. Next morning you’re feeling grand. The cold is gone. Fair enough. You think you’ll get up. You hop out of bed like a young one. The next minute you’re on your back on the floor roaring out of you with all classes of pains. What’s happened?
I fear I have no idea what’s happened.
The knee is gone, of course. Your man has cured the cold, but given you a knee that’s worse than the knee the ould one had. Be your own doctor, that’s what the brother says, or get a good layman that understands first principles. That ’flu that was going round at the Christmas, the brother blames the doctors for that, too.
What happened the landlady?
O the brother started treatment right away. Stuck above in the bedroom half the day working away at her. Running up and down stairs with big basins of scalding water. Of course the brother believes that the whole secret is in the circulation. It’s the blood all the time. Well do you know, the third day the landlady was very much improved.
That is remarkable.
Very … much … improved. But did the brother let her up?
I should not imagine so.
Not on your life man. O no. He still keeps working away at her and puts her on a special diet, milk and nuts and all this class of thing. And now she’s nearly cured. The brother is going to let her up for a while on Sunday.
That is very satisfactory.
Of course the married sister was under the roof all the time, if you know what I mean.
I understand.
Ah yes, the brother has fixed up harder cases than that. Weren’t you telling me that you had some class of a stiffness in one of your fingers?
I had.
Would you like to show it to the brother?
Thank you very much but the trouble has since cleared up.
I see. Well, any time you think you’re not feeling right, you’ve only to say the word. No trouble at all. Begob, here’s me ’bus.
Cheers now.
HELLO. Yes.
Ah, yes. Certainly.
Who? WHO?
Ah, not at all. No. No.
Begob he’d touch a man in a shroud for a tanner.
Cork? Yes. What?
WHAT?
I can’t hear you.
I CAN’T HEAR YOU.
Yes, the wife is a Cork girl, a right flighty article. Yes. Let me know the whole story. Yes. See you at the smoker Saturday. Goodbye. Cheers. WHAT? No, I said Goodbye. GOODBYE!
These telephones are indistinct occasionally.
Yes, that was the brother. There’s a new Guard moved into the station near the digs and the brother is having inquiries made. Who, where and what, you know. Show me your companions and I’ll tell you what you are. He likes to know who he’s living in the same street with. Believes in keeping his weather-eye on the Guards. Necessitas compellibus, you know. He’s just had an inquiry put through to Cork.
I see.
He got a Guard transferred in 1924. Was lifting the little finger too much for the brother’s taste.
I see. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes and so on.
The very thing. Do you know what I heard the brother once called?
What?
‘An Iron Disciplinarian.’ It’s a good job somebody’s keeping the Guards right. Because, do you know what I’m going to tell you, they take a bit of watching. Of course there’s a white and black sheep in every fold.
An acute and penetrating observation.
Yes. BEGOB HERE’S THE ’BUS. Cheers!
THE BROTHER had them all in stitches above in the digs the other night.
Is that a fact?
Gob he was in right form. Sits down to his tea and has a go at the jam. Then he gives the old man a nudge and says he: Do you know, says he, it’s well for that crowd Williams and Woods.
I see.
The old man, of course, only that the eyes do be movin’ in his head you’d think he was a corpse. A desperate man for readin books and all that class of thing. Takes no notice of the brother at all. Then the teacher asks why. The landlady begins to laugh out of her, too well she knows the brother. Then the lad from the bank asks why. Begob in two ticks they were all laughing and waiting for the word from the brother. Of course, he goes on chawing and takes no notice.
I understand.
After a while he looks up. WHY IS IT WELL FOR WILLIAMS AND WOODS? BECAUSE, says he (and begob there wasn’t a bit being touched or swallyed be this time) BECAUSE, says he, THEY GET MONEY FOR JAM! Well lookit. The roarin and laughin was something fierce. The old man begins to choke and the landlady laughs so much she takes her left hand away from her chest where she keeps it when she’s drinkin tea. Not a smile out of your man the brother, of course. A face on him as long as a hare’s back leg.
Most amusing. Your relative would do well to take up one or other of the music hall avocations or even consider writing humorous matter for the newspapers.
Ah yes, he is great sport when he is in form. And the great thing is this, that every joke is RIGHT if you know what I mean. The brother is very strict about that class of thing. The youngest baby in all Ireland could be there and no danger of anything that isn’t right coming out in front of it. Yes. Well, here’s where I lave yeh.
Bye bye.
PRAY CAST your eye across the street. Our mutual friend with the cap. Going down there for a quick one unless I’m very much mistaken. I have frequently observed you in converse with him. And I’ll bet you a shilling that he talks to you about his brother because damn the thing else he can ever talk about to man or layman. Is he a personal friend?
I should classify him as an acquaintance.
Well I am glad to hear it because if you would take a tip you will make it your business to be on the other side of the street accidentally on purpose when you observe him on the distant horizon. Because do you know what I am going to tell you, he’s not the simple man that he lets on to be, faith he isn’t, he was down in a certain public house one night last week with some hop-off-my-thumb from the County Wicklow on a rogue’s errant with two softies that have a quarry out on the south side, the pair of them being bested out of their property by the two boyos with the kind assistance of General Whiskey and Major Porter, IOU’s passing to and fro like a snowstorm, make me your partner, and you’ll get five pounds a week for life and here, sign this, thanks very much. The Lord knows what the unfortunate men signed away, crooked drunk inside in the back snug and a certain detective that you know and that I know standing at the bar winking the other eye, waiting for his twenty-five per cent as usual, fresh and good-looking from getting five motor-cars across the border for a certain man in Phibsborough that I know and that you know. Faith now I would play cagey-cannon while that gentleman is in the offing because he would take the shirt off your back and put a cheaper one in its place and you would notice sweet nothing. Himself and his brother. I would not be surprised to hear that he has no brother at all.
That is a shocking thing to say.
That is my honest opinion, take it for what it is worth. I passed smarter boyos than that through my fingers, they get away with little with yours truly, I can smell them a mile off. ‘That letter about the rates that you wrote to the papers was very well done, it was the best thing I read for a long time, could you lend me half a crown.’ This class of thing. O faith many’s a time he has tried it on. But I’m ready for him and ready for them all.
He never asked me for money.
Ah but give him time, give him time. When it comes you will find it will be a real knock. A five pound note if you please, the mother was taken bad and had to be brought off to Jervis Street, you’ll have your money back on Thursday next at half-past two. Nolly may tango is the motto. ‘I am unwilling to be touched.’ Follow?
I understand.
And talking of hospitals, tell me this much. The good lady. Is she …?
O very well, thanks very much.
Was it …?
Yes, but it is all right now, she is feeling grand.
Well do you know, I am very glad to hear it because these things can be very awkward. Very awkward. Yes. And now let me put a question to you. What is your private opinion about this war or is it going to end at all in our time and generation?
I fear it is a world-wide upheaval the end of which no man can foresee.
Well I am with you there, truer word than that was never said. And do you know, it is a judgment from heaven on the world. There is a very bad class of young person going now, no time for anything but the dance halls and the pictures and the Lord knows what devilment. And they are all destroyed with this dole, they wouldn’t work if you paid them. Well here we are. Would you join me in a small Redbreast to keep the life in us this cold day?
Thank you, I never drink before six.
And a wise rule for those that have their health. Goodbye to you and please remember me to the good lady.
I will indeed. Goodbye!
THE BROTHER has it all worked out.
What?
The war. How we can get through the war here in the Free State. I mean the rationing and brown bread and all that class of thing. The brother has a plan. Begob you’ll be surprised when you hear it. A very high view was taken when it was explained in the digs the other night.
What is the nature of this plan?
It’s like this. I’ll tell you. We all go to bed for a week every month. Every single man, woman and child in the country. Cripples, drunks, policemen, watchmen—everybody. Nobody is allowed to be up. No newspapers, ’buses, pictures or any other class of amusement allowed at all. And no matter who you are you must be stuck inside in the bed there. Readin’ a book, of course, if you like. But no getting up stakes.
That strikes me as a curious solution to difficulties in this dynamic iron age.
D’ye see, when nobody is up you save clothes, shoes, rubber, petrol, coal, turf, timber and everything we’re short of. And food, too, remember. Because tell me this—what makes you hungry? It’s work that makes you hungry. Work and walking around and swallying pints and chawin’ the rag at the street corner. Stop in bed an’ all you’ll ask for is an odd slice of bread. Or a slice of fried bread to make your hair curly, says you. If nobody’s up, there’s no need for anybody to do any work because everybody in the world does be workin’ for everybody else.
I see. In a year therefore you would effect a saving of twenty-five per cent in the consumption of essential commodities.
Well now I don’t know about that, but you’d save a quarter of everything, and that would be enough to see us right.
But why get up after a week?
The bakers, man. The bakers would have to get up to bake more bread, and if wan is up, all has to be up. Do you know why? Because damn the bit of bread your men the bakers would make for you if the rest of us were in bed. Your men couldn’t bear the idea of everybody else being in bed and them up working away in the bakery. The brother says we have to make allowances for poor old human nature. That’s what he called it. Poor old human nature. And begob he’s not far wrong.
Very interesting. He would do well to communicate this plan to the responsible Government department.
And you’re not far wrong there yourself. Bye-bye, here’s me bus!
I noticed an interesting reference to Handel in this newspaper recently. ‘He died,’ I read, ‘on the anniversary of the first performance of his greatest Oratorio, and is fitly buried in the Poets’ Corner of Westminster Abbey, for he is, indeed, the Milton of English musicians.’
That makes James Joyce the Don Bradman of English literature and Oscar Wilde the Constable of English music-hall.
WHO IS going to win beyond? Which of the pair would you back?
I do not know.
The brother says your man is going to win. But begob I don’t know. It’ll be a long time before your other man hands in his gun.
That is true.
Your man is smart, I’ll agree with the brother there. And he doesn’t take a jar, that’s another thing that stands to him. And of course he bars the fags as well. But does that mean that your other man is a buff?
Scarcely.
Oh indeed begob it doesn’t. It certainly does not. Because your other man gets up very early too. It wasn’t yesterday or the day before your other man came up.
He has undoubtedly certain qualities of adroitness.
Of course the brother looks at it the other way. He is all for your man and never had any time for your other man. Says no good could ever come out of the class of carry-on your other man has been at for the last ten years. There’s a lot in that, of course. The brother certainly put his finger on it there. But it’s not all on the wan side. Your man was up to some hooky work in his time too.
No doubt.
There’s a pair of crows in it. And I think your other man is six to four on. Do you know why?
I do not.
Because he knows the place backwards, every lane and backyard in it. Lived there all his life, why wouldn’t he. And of course your man doesn’t know where the hell he is. And do you know why I wouldn’t be sorry to see your other man coming in first?
No.
Because it would be great gas to prove the brother wrong for once. And you’ll live to see it too. Because do you know what I’m going to tell you?
What?
Your man is using the whip. Do you know that? YOUR MAN IS USING THE WHIP.
Is that a fact?
I’m telling you now. Begob here’s me ’bus. Cheers!
Bye bye.
The brother is having terrible trouble with the corns.
Is that a fact?
Ah yes. Sure the corns has nearly finished him with the ball-dancin.
Is that the way?
Not that he complains, of course. Word of complaint is a thing that never passed his lips. Never was KNOWN to pass his lips. A great man for sufferin in silence, the brother. Do you know what I’m going to tell you?
No.
A greater MARTYR than the brother never lived. Do you know that? Talk about PAINS! He’s a great example to all of us.
How is that?
Number one, the eyes isn’t right. Can’t see where he’s goin or who’s shoutin at him half the time. Number two, he does have all classes of shakes in his hands of a mornin. Number three, he does have a very bad class of a neuralgia down the left side of his jaw and a fierce backache in the back as well. And of course the bag does be out of order half the time. But do you know a game he does be at?
I do not.
He does spend half the day eatin pills. He does have feeds of pills above in the digs.
I see.
And you do know why? Because he bars the doctors. He’d die roarin before he’d let them boys put a finger on him.
That is a singular prejudice.
And of course half the pills he does be swallyin is poison. POISON, man. Anybody else takin so many pills as the brother would be gone to the wall years ago. But the brother’s health stands up to it. Because do you know he’s a man with an iron constitution.
Is that a fact?
He’s a man that would take pills all his life and not be killed by them. In wan night I seen him takin’ three red pills, four white pills and a blue one. All on top of one another. Well of course a man that could do that could have a feed of arsenic for his breakfast and damn the feather it’d take out of him.
No doubt.
Cheers now.
I’VE A QUARE bit of news for you. The brother’s nose is out of order.
What?
A fact. Some class of a leak somewhere.
I do not understand.
Well do you see it’s like this. Listen till I tell you. Here’s the way he’s fixed. He starts suckin the wind in be the mouth. That’s OK, there’s no damper there. But now he comes along and shuts the mouth. That leaves him the nose to work with or he’s a dead man. Fair enough. He starts suckin in through the nose. AND THEN DO YOU KNOW WHAT?
What?
THE—WIND GOES ASTRAY SOMEWHERE. Wherever it goes it doesn’t go down below. Do you understand me? There’s some class of a leak above in the head somewhere. There’s what they call a valve there. The brother’s valve is banjaxed.
I see.
The air does leak up into the head, all up around the brother’s brains. How would you like that? Of course, his only man is to not use the nose at all and keep workin’ on the mouth. O be gob it’s no joke to have the valve misfirin’. And I’ll tell you a good one.
Yes?
The brother is a very strict man for not treatin himself. He does have crowds of people up inside in the digs every night lookin for all classes of cures off him, maternity cases and all the rest of it. But he wouldn’t treat himself. Isn’t that funny? HE WOULDN’T TREAT HIMSELF.
He is at one there with orthodox medical practice.
So he puts his hat on his head and talkes a walk down to Charley’s. Charley is a man like himself—not a doctor, of course, but a layman that understands first principles. Charley and the brother do have consultations when one or other has a tough case do you understand me. Well anyway the brother goes in and is stuck inside in Charley’s place for two hours. And listen till I tell you.
Yes?
When the brother leaves he has your man Charley in bed with strict orders not to make any attempt to leave it. Ordered to bed and told to stop there. The brother said he wouldn’t be responsible if Charley stayed on his feet. What do you think of that?
It is very odd to say the least of it.
Of course Charley was always very delicate and a man that never minded himself. The brother takes a very poor view of Charley’s kidneys. Between yourself, meself and Jack Mum, Charley is a little bit given to the glawsheen. Charley’s little finger is oftener in the air than annywhere else, shure wasn’t he in the hands of doctors for years man. They had him nearly destroyed when somebody put him on to the brother. And the brother’ll make a job of him yet, do you know that?
No doubt.
Ah yes. Everybody knows that it’s the brother that’s keepin Charley alive. But begob the brother’ll have to look out for himself now with the nose valve out of gear and your man Charley on his hands into the bargain.
Is there any other person to whom your relative could have recourse?
Ah, well, of course, at the latter end he’ll have to do a job on himself. HAVE TO, man, sure what else can he do? The landlady was telling me that he’s thinkin of openin himself some night.
What?
You’ll find he’ll take the razor to the nose before you’re much older. He’s a man that would understand valves, you know. He wouldn’t be long puttin it right if he could get his hands at it. Begob there’ll be blood in the bathroom anny night now.
He will probably kill himself.
The brother? O trust him to look after Number One. You’ll find he’ll live longer than you or me. Shure he opened Charley in 1934.
He did?
He gave Charley’s kidneys a thorough overhaul, and that’s a game none of your doctors would try their hand at. He had Charley in the bathroom for five hours. Nobody was let in, of course, but the water was goin all the time and all classes of cutthroats been sharpened, you could hear your man workin at the strap. O a great night’s work. Begob here’s me ’bus!
Bye bye.
HALF THE CROWD above in the digs are off to Arklow for a week Tursda. On their holliers, you know.
I see. Is your relative travelling also?
The brother? Not at all man. Yerrah not at all. Shure the brother can’t leave town.
Is that a fact? Why not?
The brother has to stop in town for the duration of the emergency. The Government does be callin the brother in for consultations. Of course that’s between you and me and Jack Mum. The brother gave a promise to a certain party not to leave town during the emergency. He has to stand by. Because if something happened that could only be fixed up be the brother, how could your men be chasin after him on the telephone down to Strand Street, Skerries, where he goes every year to the married sister’s?
Admittedly it would be awkward.
Sure you couldn’t have that, man. You can’t run a country that way.
I agree.
You couldn’t have that at all. And do you know what I’m going to tell you, if ould Ireland isn’t kept out of this business that’s goin on, it won’t be the brother’s fault. And all the time he’ll keep the Guards right, too. The ould weather-eye never leaves them boyos, no matter what consultations he’s called in on. They needn’t think they can take it easy because he’s busy. He has the eye at the present time on a certain boyo in plain clothes.
I see.
I was thinking of takin a week myself in August. Down as far as Bettystown with Charlie. Would you say that’d be all right?
I think the nation would be reasonably safe, especially since your relative has undertaken to remain in the capital.
Begob I think you’re right, I think I’ll chance it. Here’s me bus. Cheers.
THE BROTHER can’t look at an egg.
Is that so?
Can’t stand the sight of an egg at all. Rashers, ham, fish, anything you like to mention—he’ll eat them all and ask for more. But he can’t go the egg. Thanks very much all the same but no eggs. The egg is barred.
I see.
I do often hear him talking about the danger of eggs. You can get all classes of disease from eggs, so the brothers says.
That is disturbing news.
The trouble is that the egg never dies. It is full of all classes of microbes and once the egg is down below in your bag, they do start moving around and eating things, delighted with themselves. No trouble to them to start some class of an ulcer on the sides of the bag.
I see.
Just imagine all your men down there walking up and down your stomach and maybe breeding families, chawing and drinking and feeding away there, it’s a wonder we’re not all in our graves man, with all them hens in the country.
I must remember to avoid eggs.
I chance an odd one meself but one of these days I’ll be a sorry man. Here’s me Drimnagh ’bus, I’ll have to lave yeh, don’t do anything when your uncle’s with you, as the man said.
Good bye.
If you keep this column reasonably clean and return it to me when used, I will allow you a halfpenny on it. Think not too ill of me, I am young, my nails are broken and it is years since I amused myself by rubbing them on slates.
I WAS OUT in a boat with the brother down in Skerries, where he’s stopping with the married sister. On his holliers, you know. A great man for the sea, the brother.
Ah yes. If the brother had his way, of course, it’s not here he’d be but off out with real sea-farin men, dressed up in oil-skins, running up and down ropes and all the rest of it.
I see.
The brother was givin out about the seals. ‘Tumblers’, he called them. The brother says all them lads should be destroyed.
That would be a considerable task.
They do spend the day divin and eatin mackerel. If them lads had their way, they wouldn’t leave a mackerel in the sea for you and me or the man in the next street. They do swally them be the hundred, head an’ all. And the brother says they do more than that—they do come out of the water in the middle of the night-time and rob gardens. You wouldn’t want to leave any fancy tomato-plants around. And you wouldn’t want to leave one of your youngsters out after dark, either, because your men would carry it off with them. The brother says they do take a great interest in the chislers. They do be barkin out of them during the day-time at chislers on the beach.
That is most interesting.
The brother says the seals near Dublin do often come up out of the water at night-time and do be sittin above in the trams when they’re standin in the stables. And they do be upstairs too. Begob the brother says it’s a great sight of a moonlight night to see your men with the big moustaches on them sittin upstairs in the trams lookin out. And they do have the wives and the young wans along with them, of course.
Is that a fact?
Certainly, man. The seals are great family people, always were. Well then the brother was showin me two queer lookin men with black and white feathers on them and black beaks, out sittin there in the water.
Two birds?
Two of the coolest customers I ever seen, didn’t give a damn about us although we went near enough to brain them with the oars. Do you know the funny thing about them lads?
I do not.
Them lads takes a very poor view of dry land. Never ask to go near the land at all. They do spend their lives sittin on the sea, bar an odd lep into the air to fly to another part of it. Well do you know what I’m going to tell you, I wouldn’t fancy that class of a life at all. Because how would you put in your time or what would you do with yourself, stuck there out on the water night an mornin? Sure them lads might as well be dead as have a life like that. Annyway, it wouldn’t suit me and that’s a certainty. Would you fancy it?
Scarcely, but then I am not a bird. Birds have ideas of their own.
Begob they’ve a poor time of it, say what you like, no comfort or right way of livin’ at all. Sure they do have to lay their eggs out in the sea.
Do they?
Certainly they do. The brother says the mother-hen has some kind of pocket in under the wing. Nobody knows how she whips the egg into the pocket when she lays it. Do you know what the brother called it? ONE OF THE GREAT UNSOLVED MYSTERIES OF THE SEA.
I understand.
ONE OF THE GREAT UNSOLVED MYSTERIES OF THE SEA. And of course there wouldn’t be anny need for anny mystery at all if they had the sense to land on the shore like anny other bird. That’s what I’d do to lay me eggs if I had anny. But no, the shore is barred, they do take a very poor view of everything but the water. Begob, here’s me ’bus. Cheers!
Good bye.
DID YOU ever meet our friend’s dog?
Whose dog?
Your man’s.
But whose?
The brother’s.
No.
Well that animal’s an extraordinary genius. Do you know what I’m going to tell you, he could take you out and lose you. There’s nothing he can’t do bar talk. And do you know what?
What?
Who said he can’t talk?
I thought you said so yourself.
Don’t believe a word of it man. The dog talks to the brother. He does be yarnin with the brother above in the digs of a Sunday when everybody’s out at the first house of the pictures. Believe me or believe me not now.
Upon what subjects does this animal discourse?
Sure luckit. I seen meself on a day’s walk with the brother off out in Howth last March. Your man was with us and the three of us went for a ramble.
Arthur. The dog. Well here was I in front, suckin in the fresh air and exercisin meself and payin no attention. What happens? I hear the brother chattin away behind me and been answered back. Then the brothers gives a laugh at some joke d’other lad was after makin’ Then there’s more laughin and chattin. I look back but the brother’s hidden be a bend. I wait there unbeknownst and I see the brother comin into sight laughin his head off and your man beside him gruntin’ and growlin and givin chat out of him for further orders. Course I was too far away to hear what was goin on. And when the pair sees me, the laughin stops and the two gets serious. It wouldn’t do, of course, to say annything to the brother about a thing like that. He wouldn’t like that, you know. An extraordinary pair, Arthur and the brother.
I see.
But I’ll tell you what takes me to the fair. Your men above in the park. The fellas that’s tryin to hunt the deer into a cage. Sure the brother and Arthur could take charge of them animals, and walk every wan of them up to Doll Erin of a Monda mornin if there was anny need for them to go there.
I see.
Sure luckit here man, I seen meself out in Santry four years ago when the brother had Arthur out on sheepdog trials and I’ll go bail no man ever seen a dog parcel up sheep the way Arthur done it. There was a hundred of them in it if there was wan. Did Arthur start jumpin and scootin about an’ roarin out of him? Did he start bitin and snarlin, snawshilin and givin leps in the air with excitement?
I deduce that quite the contrary was the case.
O nothin like that atchall. Not a sound out of him but a short step this way, a step maybe that way, the nose down in the ground, the tail stuck sideways, just enough to put the fear of God into your men the sheep. You’ll see the right ear go up. That means a sheep two hundred yards away is thinkin of makin a dash out. Does he do it after Arthur puts up the ear? He certainly does NOT.
I understand.
He stops where he is and he’s a sound judge. But I got on to the brother about them deer. Why is it, says I, that you and Arthur don’t take a walk up there some fine day and march the deer in instead of having your men above there makin exhibitions of themselves with their lassoos and five bar gates and bicycles? Do you know what the brother said?
THE DEER, says the brother, IS MAN’S FRIEND. The deer is man’s friend. That’s what he said. And he’s right. Because when did the deer harm you?
Never, I assure you.
And when did they take a puck at me?
Never.
When did they try to ate your men on the bicycles?
Never.
Then tell me why they’re tryin to slaughter them.
I am sorry I do not know. I perceive my large public service vehicle approaching. Good bye.
Your bus? OK. Cheers.
DO YOU KNOW that picture by George Roll* that was banned be the gallery?
I think I understand your reference.
Well the whole thing was gone into in the digs the other night. The brother was layin’ down the law about pictures and art and all this class of thing. The brother says that any picture done be a Frenchman must be right.
Admittedly there is a widely held opinion that the French excel in artistic pursuits.
The brother says the French do be at the art night and mornin’. They do have it for breakfast, dinner and tea.
Is that a fact?
The brother says some of them lads thinks nothing of being up in the middle of the night-time workin’ away at the pictures. Stuck inside a room wearin’ the hair off a brush. Very mad-lookin’ stuff some of it is too, so the brother says. But very INTERESSTIN’ stuff. O very interesstin’. Very … very … interesstin’.
I see.
Then other lads does be stuck below in cellars makin’ statues. There’s a quare game for you now. They do be down hammerin’ away in the middle of the night-time.
Surely not the most healthy of occupations.
Ah, yes. Well then do you know what goes on in the mornin-time in a French house?
They do all come down for breakfast, ready to tuck into a damn fine feed of rashers and black puddin’. Starvin’ with the hunger, do you understand, after been up all night workin’ at the art. What happens?
I take it they eat their meal.
Notatall. In marches your man of the house with overalls on him. Will yez all come in here, says he, into this room, says he, till I show yez me new picture. This, of course, is something he was after runnin’ up in the middle of the night-time. So in they all march and leave the grub there. And be the time they’re finished lookin’ at that, your man below in the cellar is roarin’ out of him for them all to come down and take a look at what HE’S after doin’. Do you understand? No breakfast. But plenty of art, do you know.
That is a rare example of devotion to the things of the intellect.
The brother says it’s what they call art for art’s sake. Well then do you know what goes on on Sunda?
I do not.
The brother says that beyond in France they have a big palace be the name of the Tweeleries. The Tweeleries was built in the days of the French Revolution be Napolean Bonipart himself and built be slave labour too. None of your one and fourpence an hour with time and a half on Saherdas. Well annyway all around the Tweeleries they do have fancy gardens and parks. What would you say is in the gardens?
Root crops, one should hope, in keeping with these stern times.
I’ll tell you what’s in the gardens. The gardens is full of statues. And of a Sunda the Frenchmen do be walkin’ around the gardens havin’ a screw at the statues.
I see.
They do be up early in the mornin’ waitin’ for the gates to be opened. And then nothin’ll do them all day only gawkin’ out of them at the statues. They’ll ask nothin’ better than that. As happy as Larry lookin’ at them first from this side and then that. And talkin’ away in French to one another. And do you know why?
I do not.
Because the statues is art too. The brother says the statue is the highest form of art. And he’s not far wrong because even look at the height of some of the ones we have ourselves above in the Phoenix Park.
The effigy of Nelson also ranks high.
Ah yes, great men for the art, the French. Sure the brother says a man told him they do be sellin’ pictures in the streets. Here’s me ’bus. Cheers now.
Cheers.
THE BROTHER is thinkin of goin up.
Going up what?
The brother is thinkin of standin.
Standing what? Drinks?
The brother is thinkin of having a go at the big parties.
Do you mean that your relative is considering offering himself as a candidate when a general election becomes due by reason of constitutional requirement?
The brother is thinkin of goin up at the elections.
I see.
Of course it’s not the brother himself that is all mad for this game. He’s bein pushed do you understand me. Certain influential parties is behind him. They’re night and mornin’ callin’ to the digs and colloguin with the brother inside in the back-room with the brother givin orders for tea to be made at wan in the mornin’. Any amount of fat oul’ fellas with the belly well out in front, substantial cattle-men be the look of them. No shortage of the ready there. And do you know what I’m going to tell you?
I do not.
It’s not today nor yesterday this business started. Months ago didn’t I catch the brother inside in the bed with the Intoxication Act they had all the talk about. He was havin’ a rare oul’ screw at it, burnin the light all night. Says I what’s this I see, what’s goin on here? Do you know what the answer was? Says he I’m makin—wait till you hear this—I’m makin, says he, COPIOUS NOTES. That’s a quare one. Copious notes is what the brother was at in the bed.
I understand. Your relative no doubt realises that the study is the true foundation of statesmanship.
And I’ll tell you a good wan. The brother has books under the bed. I seen them.
The love of books has been a beacon that has lighted the way in our darkest hour.
Sure wasn’t the landlady getting on to the brother for havin the light on till four and five in the mornin. Of course the brother doesn’t mind the landlady.
I see.
The brother takes a very poor view of the Labour Party. Cawbogues he calls them. And what else are they?
I do not know.
Not that the brother fancies the other crowd either. Begob wan day there came a collector to the digs lookin for election money. This is years back, of course. Well do you know what, he walked into it. Everybody thought the brother was out and the crowd in the digs was all for payin up and lookin pleasant. But begob the next thing the brother comes marchin down the stairs. I need’nt tell you what happened. Your man was humped out on his ear. A very strict person, the brother. He’s not a man to get on the wrong side of.
I do not doubt it.
Well then the brother was workin away at figures. Do you know what it is, says he. I think I can see me way to pay every man woman and child in the country four pounds ten a week. That’s a quare one. Four pounds ten and no stamp money stopped.
That is quite remarkable.
The brother was a bit worried about the ten bob for a day or two. But he got it right in the end. He’ll be able to manage the four-ten. Begob I had to shake him be the hand when he told me the news. It’ll be changed times when the brother’s party gets in. And do you know what? Certain proof that the brother is goin places …
What?
The brother was down the kays the other day pricin’ claw-hammers.
An excellent omen.
Here’s me bus. Cheers!
DO YOU know what it is, the brother’s an extraordinary genius.
I do not doubt it.
Begob he had them all in a right state above in the digs.
Is that a fact?
Comes in wan night there, puts the bike in the hall and without takin off coat, cap or clips walks into the room, takes up the tea-pot, marches out with it without a word and pours the whole issue down the sink. You should see the face of her nibs the landlady, her good black market tay at fifteen bob a knock!
An extraordinary incident.
But then does your man come back and explain?
I should be astonished if he did.
O not a bit of it. Marches upstairs leavin the lot of them sittin there with the eyes out on pins. They do be easily frightened be the brother.
A natural reaction to this unusual personality.
Well annyway the brother is upstairs for half an hour washin and scrubbin himself and smokin fags in the bathroom. And the crowd below sitting there afraid to look at wan another, certain sure they were all poisoned and not knowin which was going to pass out first.
I see.
Well after a while the brother marches downstairs and gives strict orders that nobody is to drink any more water. Gives instructions to the landlady that there’s to be no more tea made until further notice. The brother then goes out to the kitchen and makes a dose of stuff with milk and some white powder he had in the pocket and makes them all drink it. The whole lot might be dead only for the brother.
Your relative will no doubt be compensated elsewhere for his selfless conduct.
Well next mornin he’s off on the bicycle up to the waterworks at Stillorgan and comes home with bottles full of water. He was above in the waterworks carrying out surveys and colloguin with the turncocks—never lettin on who he was, of course, just chattin and keepin th’oul eye open.
I understand.
And the crowd in the digs livin on custard and cocoa made with milk, the unfortunate landlady crucified for a cup of tea but afraid of her life to make a drop or even take wan look at the tap.
Quite.
Well annyway up with the brother to the bathroom with the bottles of water and he’s stuck inside there for hours with the door locked. The brother was carryin out tests, d’y’understand.
I do.
Down he comes at eight o’clock, puts on the hat and coat and begob you should see the face. The brother was gravely concerned. Very gravely concerned. He doesn’t look at anyone, just says, ‘I’ll have to see Hernon to-morrow.’ Then out with him.
A most ominous pronouncement.
The next mornin the brother comes down in the blue suit and gives orders that if anybody calls he’s above in the City Hall with Hernon and that he’ll be back late and to take any message. Well do you know I never seen the digs so quiet after the brother left. And that night at tea-time there wasn’t two words said be anybody. The whole crowd was sittin there waitin for the brother to come back from Hernon. Seven o’clock and he wasn’t back. Eight, Nine. Begob the suspense was brutal. BRUTAL.
I can quite imagine.
At half nine the door opens and in comes the brother. I never seen a man lookin as tired. And would you blame him, fifteen hours non-stop stuck up in the City Hall?
Undoubtedly a most arduous exertion in the public interest.
Well annyway the brother sits down and starts takin of the boots. And then without liftin the head, he says: ‘From tomorrow on,’ says he, ‘yez can have your tea.’
Indeed.
Well begob there was nearly a cheer. But the brother just goes upstairs without another word, tired to the world. He was after fixin the whole thing and puttin Hernon right about the water.
Undoubtedly a most useful day’s work.
WELL, do you know the brother’s taken to the books again.
You do not say so.
Comes home to the digs wan day a month ago with a big blue one under d’arm. Up to the bedroom with it and doesn’t stir out all night. The brother was above havin a screw at the book for five hours non-stop. The door locked, of course. That’s a quare one.
Odd behaviour without a doubt.
Well wan Sunda I see the brother below in the sittin-room with the book in the hand and the nose stuck into it. So I thought I’d get on to him about it. What’s the book, says I. It’s be Sir James Johns, says the brother without liftin the head. And what’s the book about, says I. It’s about quateernyuns, says the brother. That’s a quare one.
It is undoubtedly ‘a quare one’.
The brother was readin a book about quateernyuns be Sir James Johns.
A most remarkable personality, your relative.
But I’ll tell you another good one. The brother does be up in the night-time peepin at the moon.
I see.
What do I see wan night and me comin home at two in the mornin from me meetin of the Knights only your man pokin the head out of the window with the nightshirt on him. Starin out of him at the stars.
A practice beloved of all philosophers throughout the centuries.
Well I’ll tell you this, mister-me-friend: you won’t find yours truly losing sleep over a book be Sir James Johns. Damn the fear of me been up peepin out of the window in the night-time.
I accept that statement.
Well then another funny thing. The brother does be doin sums. The digs is full of bits of paper with the brother’s sums on them. And very hard sums too. Begob I found some of the brother’s sums on me newspaper wan day, written all down along the side. That’s a quare wan. Workin away at sums breakfast dinner and tea.
Proof at least of perseverance.
Of course all the brother’s sums isn’t done in the digs. He does be inside in a house in Merrion Square doin sums as well. If anybody calls, says the brother, tell them I’m above in Merrion Square workin at the quateernyuns, says, he, and take any message. There does be other lads in the same house doing sums with the brother. The brother does be teachin them sums. He does be puttin them right about the sums and the quateernyuns.
Indeed.
I do believe the brother’s makin a good thing out of the sums and the quateernyuns. Your men couldn’t offer him less than five bob an hour and I’m certain sure he gets his tea thrown in.
That is a desirable perquisite.
Because do you know, the brother won’t starve. The brother looks after Number Wan. Matteradamn what he’s at, it has to stop when the grubsteaks is on the table. The brother’s very particular about that.
Your relative is versed in the science of living.
Begob the sums and the quateernyuns is quickly shoved aside when the alarm for grub is sounded and all hands is piped to the table. The brother thinks there’s a time for everything.
And that is a belief that is well-founded.
Here’s me bus. Cheers now.
DID YOU hear the latest about Eugene?
Who is Eugene?
The brother’s dog.
I did not hear the latest about Eugene.
The brother is gettin Eugene fixed up.
He was above in the park chattin Kissane for five hours a Monda.
Who is Kissane?
The head-buck-cat in the Guards. The brother was inside with Kissane colloguin in a back office about Eugene’s prospects. Kissane takes a very high view of the brother. He does often be gettin advice from the brother about managin the Guards. Do you know what Kissane calls the brother?
I do not.
Kissane calls the brother AN IRON DISCIPLARIAN.
I see.
Kissane does be sendin the brother out an odd time to keep th’oul eye open, chattin Guards at night when they do be out on their beats. The brother and Kissane is very strict about the Guards smokin fags in doorways or nippin into pubs at ten o’clock to get the crowd out and then swallyin a couple of pints on the q.t. when nobody’s lookin. Great men for keepin the Guards right, Kissane and the brother.
I have no doubt of it.
Fierce men for maintainin order.
I quite understand.
And of course very strict men for seein that the Guards is kept honest. If Kissane or the brother catches a Guard pinchin stuff, the Guard has to go. Matter a damn what else, the Guard has to go.
How do these considerations affect your relative’s dog.
The brother is gettin Eugene into the Guards.
I see.
The Guards is lost for an animal like Eugene. The Guards could be lookin for something for six months where Eugene would find it in two minutes. A great man for sniffin and usin the nose, Eugene. That dog has a nose on him that would save the Guards five thousand pounds a year.
That is a considerable sum.
Of course Eugene does be smellin things out on his own. The brother and Eugene do take turns doin private police work. And an odd time the brother sends Eugene off on a special job. No sign of Eugene in the digs for four or five days. And the growlin and barkin that goes on between himself and the brother when he comes back is something fierce.
I see.
Well, anyway, the brother has it fixed up with Kissane that Eugene is to go up to the Depot a Tuesday for an interview. Kissane, do you see, is tied up be the regulations. You can’t get into the Guards without havin an interview and then into a back room to be stripped be the doctor. That’s why Eugene has to have his interview a Tuesda.
I understand. A bureaucratic formality.
Kissane is for makin Eugene a sergeant but the brother won’t have this at all. The brother wants Eugene to start from the bottom like anybody else. The brother is very strict about wire-pullin and favours. Wouldn’t have that at all, even if it was his own mother. But of course Eugene won’t get anny pay, so it doesn’t matter. Begob I’ll jump this one! Cheers!
Good bye.
THINGS IS movin in great style above in the digs. The brother has the landlady humped down to Skerries.
This is scarcely the season for seaside holidays.
Wait till you hear what happened man. This night, d’y’ see, the landlady is for the pictures. Has the black hat and the purple coat on and is standin in the hall havin a screw at the glass and puttin on the gloves. The shoes polished and shinin like an eel’s back, of course. All set.
I understand.
Then the key is heard in the hall door and in comes the brother. He’s half turnin into the room when he gives a look at her nibs. Then he stops and comes back and starts starin like a man that was seein things. The landlady gets red, of course.
A not unnatural reaction in the circumstances.
Well annyway the brother orders the landlady into the room where he can see her in the light. He puts the finger on the landlady’s eye and starts pullin the lids out of her to get a decko at th’inside. Begob the poor landlady gets the windup in right style. Then the brother starts tappin her chest and givin her skelps on the neck. Inside ten minutes he has her stuffed into bed upstairs with himself below in the kitchen makin special feeds of beef-tea and the crowd in the digs told off to take turns sittin up with the landlady all night. That’s a quare one for you.
It is undoubtedly a very queer one for you.
And th’unfortunate woman all set for the pictures thinkin’ she was as right as rain. Wasn’t it the mercy of God the brother put his nose in at that particular minute?
The coincidence has that inscrutable felicity that is usually associated with the more benevolent manifestations of Providence.
Well the next day the brother gives orders for the landlady’s things to be packed. What she wanted, the brother said, was a COMPLETE REST, The brother said he wouldn’t be responsible if the landlady didn’t get a complete rest.
I see.
So what would do him only pack the landlady down to the married sister in Skerries. With strict orders that she was to stop in bed when she got there. And that’s where she is since.
To be confined to bed in midwinter in that somewhat remote hamlet is not the happiest of destinies.
Of course the brother does things well, you know. Before he packs the landlady off in a cab for the station, he rings up Foley. And of course Foley puts the landlady on the train and sees her right t’oblige the brother.
I see.
A great man for lookin after other people, the brother. Ah yes. Yes, certainly …
I quite agree. And now I fear I must be off.
Ah yes … I’ll tell you another funny thing that happened. Queer things always happen in pairs. I was goin home late wan night and I was certain sure I was the last in. I’m lying there in the bed when I hear the door been opened below. Then the light is switched on in the sittin-room. Next thing begob I think I hear voices. So not knowin what’s goin on, I hop out of bed and run down in me peejamas.
A very proper precaution in these queer times.
I whip open the sittin-room door and march in. What do I see only the brother leppin up to meet me with the face gettin a little bit red. This, says he, is Miss Doy-ull.
A lady?
The brother was with a dame on the sofa. I suppose he was chattin her about banks and money and that class of thing. But … do you know … if the landlady was there … not that it’s my place to say annything … but her nibs would take a very poor view of women been brought into the digs after lights out. Wouldn’t fancy that at all.
That is the fashion with all landladies.
Well the brother does have Miss Doy-ull in every night since. They do work very late into the night at the bankin questions. I couldn’t tell you when she leaves. A very hard-workin’ genius, the brother. I was askin’ him when he’s goin to let the landlady get up below in Skerries. A thing like this, says he, will take a long time, but I might let her up for half an hour a Sunday.
Care is necessary in these delicate illnesses, of course.
You’re right there, but it’s not the first breakdown the brother pulled the landlady through. Begob here’s me bus!
Good-bye.
Hullo, kaykee vill too!
Atá sinn folláin et ar dheagh-shláinte maille le toil Dé.
Taw shay mahogany gas-pipe. An vill Gwayleen a gut?
Is eol dúinn an chanamhain mhín mhilis mháthardha atá fós le clos a ccríoch Bhriain na mbuinneadh ngeal, in Éirinn, i bhflaitheas Ír, Éirimoin agus Éibhir.
Taw Gwayleen eg an dreehaar.
Cúis meisnigh et mór-mheanmhan dúinn an ceileabhar binn íbéirneach a bheith go beacht ag an té sin atá gaolta libh.
Taw an dreehaar ee Gloon na Booey ogus insan Kunra ogus insan Crayv na Hashery. Ack neel na deeney shin dareeriv galore do’n dreehaar.
Binn linn díoghrais et deagh-bheartacht an té sin atá ina bhráthair agaibh.
Jer an dreehaar nock tigin na deeney shin an Gwayleen hee gcart ogus nock mbeen an grawmayr goh creen a-cuh. Jer an dreehaar goh vill na deeney shin golayr ass Bayl Fayrstcheh ogus goh vill an Bayrla goh dunna a-cuh freshen. Neel na foomanna carta a-cuh ins an Gwayleen naw ins an Bayrla. Jer an dreehaar nock faydir loe ayn changa do lowirt goh creen. Jer an dreehaar goh vill an cheer lawn deh deeney as Bayl Fayrstcheh. Been sheed hee gconey eg kynt ogus eg baykfee hee druck-Gwayleen ogus druck-Bayrla.
Dar linn a blas féin a bheith ar an mhín-chanamhain mháthardha do réir mar is loc-labhartha di, í grad gonta grinn ins an áird thuaidh agus mall múinte mín-fhuaimeach sa taobh theas, acht cheana í máthardha milis ion-mholta pé di theas nó thuaidh.
Well taw an dreehaar eg moona Gwayleen ogus Bayrla doh na deeney shin golayr er agla goh n-ahvyoke sheed rud aygin nock Gwayleen naw Bayrla ay. Shin an ubar wore ataw aw yayniv eg an dreehaar er sun na cheera ogus na changin.
Is é ár nguidhe go bhfuighidh an té sin atá gaolta libh díol agus cúiteamh as ucht a shaothair agus má’s amhlaidh é ina n-éaghmuis sin ar shroichtin dhó foirceann na beathadh saoghalta is é fós ár nguidhe go mbeidh an díol sin agus an lán-chúiteamh ag dul dó sa chrích allmhurdha ainglidhe anaithnid.
Taw farg et an dreehaar lesh an illskull.
Ní iongantach linn go dearbhtha é sin go léir.
Jer an dreehaar goh mbeen reenkee goulda er shool gock eeha insan illskull ogus nock vill Gwayleen eg an ooctarawn.
Tá a theist sin ar an fhoirgneamh fíorfhada dá ngoirtear a nGaedilg Coláiste na hollscoile agus ag Sacsaibh University College Dublin a Constituent College of the National University of Ireland.
Kirin a lehayd shin farg er an dreehaar. Taw an dreehaar ogus Gloon na Booey eg erry rang Gwayleena do cur er shool san illskull leh high na moistree avawn. Boh vah lesh an dreehaar veh eg moona Gwayleena des na moistree gock eeha.
Dar linn gur geal an chuspóir í sin, gur binn, gur breágh agus gur buntáisteach.
Och taw an dreehaar hee gcroocoss. Taw shay roe-gayluck leh dul ischack insan oitch goulda shin in aykur, neer vah lesh a kussa doh hala. Daw vree shin nee fulawr des na moistreee chackt amack go jee tig an dreehaar kun go moona shay an Gwayleen doyv.
Is é ár nguidhe nach saoth leo an turas tráthnónamhail sin go h-aitreabh agus buan-bhaile bhur mbráthar.
Beg na moistree eg chackt kun an dreehaar an vee shoh hooin, jer an dreehaar nock lecky an nawra doyv gan chackt. Taw agla er na moistree anish taraysh an ree-raw avee ins na pawpayree tamal ohin. Taw agla er na moistree goh gcalyah sheed na pustana dassa ataw a-cuh.
Dar linn gur mithid agus gur trathamhail a n-aithrighe.
Begob, shoh kooin mo bhus. Slawn lat anish!
Go soirbhighidh Dia daoibh, agus go bhfuighidh an té sin atá gaolta libh cuideadh agus coimirce san obair mhór atá ar láimh aige dochum onóra na hÉireann.
THE BROTHER’S bag is out of order.
Is that so?
Going round like a poisoned pup. Gets the pain here look. A great man for taking care of the bag, the brother. But where does it get him?
Nowhere, apparently.
I mean to say, I wouldn’t mind a man that lifts the little finger. Whiskey puts a lining like leather on the bag, so a man from Balbriggan was telling me. But the brother doesn’t know what to blame. Hot water three times a day if you please and this is what he gets for his trouble. All classes of pains in the morning.
I am sorry to hear it.
Breakfast on top of the wardrobe in the bedroom and then what’s that smell months afterwards.
A familiar situation with topers.
Now you’re talking man. Who’s going to believe that a sour bag is the trouble. You know the way they talk above in the digs. O him? Drunk night and morning. Can’t look a breakfast in the face.
A very unjust judgment.
I’m telling you now, if the bag is in good order be thankful for it.
I am thankful.
Because there is nothing so bad as a bad bag.
I’LL TELL you a good wan.
Indeed?
I’ll give you a laugh.
How very welcome.
The brother’s studyin the French. The brother has the whole digs in a right state and the nerves of half of the crowd up there is broke down.
How truly characteristic of your relative.
The brother comes down to breakfast there about a fortnight back, ten minutes late. And I’ll tell you a good wan. What be all the powers had the brother up here at the neck.
I do not know.
A bow tie begob.
I see.
A bow tie with spots on it. Well luckit. I nearly passed out. I didn’t know where to look when I seen the bow tie. You couldn’t … say anythin, you know. The brother wouldn’t like that. The brother takes a very poor view of personal remarks. Did you not know that? Shure that’s well-known.
I did not know that.
Well anyway the crowd tries to pretend to be goin on with the breakfast and pay no attention to your man but of course there wasn’t wan there but was shook in the nerves be the appearance of the brother. Gob now the atmosphere was fierce. What does your man do? Does he sit down and start eatin?
I should be astonished to learn that he did.
Not at all man, over with him to the mantelpiece and starts workin and pokin and foosterin at the clock, he was squintin and peerin and peepin’ there for five minutes and then he comes along and starts lightin matches to see better, manipulatin and cavortin there for further orders, you’d swear he was searching for the hallmark on it. He was openin the glass … and shuttin it … and opening it … and slammin it shut again—you’d need the nerves of an iron man to sit there and swally the grub. It was fierce.
I have no doubt.
There we were the whole crowd of us sittin waitin for the blow to fall, the landlady changin colour like something you’d see in a circus. The only man that wasn’t sweatin there was meself. Bar meself, the nerves of the crowd was in flitters.
Pray proceed to the dénouement.
At last begob the blow fell. Without turnin round at all, the brother speaks in a very queer voice. I don’t see any Hair Dev, says he. I don’t see any Hair Dev. Well luckit. Do you know what it is?
What is it?
The crowd nearly passed out. The poor ould landlady—there was tears in her eyes. What’s that, says she. But the brother doesn’t pretend to hear, sits down very cross-lookin and starts swallyin tea, you could see the bow tie waggin every time your man swallied a mouthful. There wasn’t another thing said that fine morning.
I see.
Next thing off with the poor landlady down town to Moore Street, tried every shop in the street lookin for the brother’s fancy feed but it was no use, she didn’t know whether it was sold loose or in a bag or in a tin. The nearest French stuff she could get was the French beans. So what does she do only have a feed of them things laid out for the brother’s breakfast next mornin. What’s this, says the brother. Them’s French garden vegetables, says the landlady. The land of France, says the brother, never seen them things.
That is what one would call ‘a quare one’.
Thing’s is gone from bad to worse. The brother now had a jug of Hair Dev bought be himself above in the bedroom. Breakfast in bed and drinkin tay out of a glass! And the bow tie never offa the neck!
And one assumes that is only a beginning.
The brother says he doesn’t know why he lives in this country at all. Takes a very poor view. Here’s me bus! Cheers!
Cheers!
WELL, BEGOB is it yourself! How’s thricks?
It is and they are well.
How did you get over the Christmas?
Safely, thank you. May I ask how you find the new white bread?
Hah?
The white bread?
The white bread? Why, did you not hear?
Hear what?
Sure me dear man the brother wouldn’t have that stuff in the digs at all. Wouldn’t hear of it … at anny price. So I never got a chance of puttin’ it in me mouth at all.
I see.
Takes a very poor view. Begob there was ructions there a fortnight back. Skin an’ hair flyin’ above in the digs. A fierce heave wan mornin’. Her nibs the landlady got herself into very serious trouble with the brother.
One sympathises with the lady.
The day before the white bread is due, the brother issues ordhers to all hands. No white bread … in anny circumstances. The brother said that he was after goin into the whole thing personally, analysin and workin at the chemical ends of it above in d’Upper Castle Yard with a man be the name of Wheeler. The brother says the white bread is poison, wouldn’t hear of annybody puttin it into his mouth. And begob her nibs the landlady with her tongue hangin out waitin’ for the white loaf the next morning!
One again sympathises with that lady.
So the white bread is barred. But begob about a week ago the brother comes down to breakfast and starts into the French Hair Dev that he does have in a special jug of his own above in the bedroom. Suddenly begob he puts down the spoon and says he: WHAT’S THIS I SEE?
And what did he see?
Wasn’t there a white crumb on the table cloth. Well luckit.
I am looking.
If you seen the face the brother put on him. WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS, says he in a fierce voice. No answer, of course. I wouldn’t like to be the one to say yes to that, would you?
I would not.
So up with the brother without another word and out to the kitchen. The crowd could hear him rootin and searchin and foosterin around the suddenly the landlady goes the colours of the rainbow when she hears him pullin over a chair to have a screw at the top of the dresser. Sure enough in he comes with the half of a white loaf in the hand. Well luckit.
I still am looking.
It would frighten you to look at the brother’s face. WHICH OF YEZ IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS, says he, lookin hard at the landlady. I am, says she in a terrible watery voice. Then gettin the wind up from the brother’s face, she says No, I mean I’m not, it was left here be the married sister that lives below in Skerries. Wasn’t that a good wan. The brother’s married sister.
An excellent one, in fact.
The brother pokes up the fire, puts the loaf in it and then away upstairs with him. Down again with the coat and hat on and in the hand a dose he was after makin up in a glass, desperate-lookin red tack. HERE, says he to the landlady, THROW THIS BACK. Her nibs, of course, has no choice. Now, says the brother, I’M ON ME WAY TO SKERRIES AND I’LL BE BACK TO-NIGHT. IF THINGS ISN’T SERIOUS. Begob he’s hardly out of the door when the landlady takes bad. Starts gripin’ and moanin’ and goin’ pale in the face. The crowd in the digs has to cart her upstairs to bed, sixteen stone begob. Fierce work.
I have no doubt of it.
Well she’s lyin there all day in a terrible condition but of course nobody was goin to chance calling a docthor. The brother wouldn’t like that, you know. The brother takes a very poor view of the docthors.
So I recollect.
Well annyway when the brother comes home at night, I tell him the landlady took bad after the red dose. IS IT ANNY WONDHER SHE’S TOOK BAD, says the brother, AFTER PUTTIN THAT WHITE POISON IN HER MOUTH. DIDN’T I WARN YEZ ALL. IT’S A GOOD JOB I TOOK HER IN TIME, says he. And then up to start dosin’ her again, black stuff this time. She’s above in the bed still. Gob, me bus. Cheers!
Good-bye.
YOURSELF, is it? Fit an’ well you’re lookin. I’ll tell you a good one. I’ll give you a laugh.
Do.
I’ll give you a laugh. The digs was in the front line for near on a fortnight. Martial law, begob. It was a … thremendious business. Fierce.
One divines a domestic crisis of unexampled gravity.
Some was for handin in the gun after the first week and runnin off on holidays, muryaa, off down to Skerries or Arklow where they were sleepin five in a bed and not a place to be had for love or money. All hands was losin weight be the pound. It was a … most … thremendious … war of nerves.
No doubt your relative was the author of this tension?
Tuesday fortnight was D-Day. The brother comes down to breakfast without the mark of a shavin-razor on the jaw. The brother—!
Indeed?
A man … a man … that was never known to put the nose out of the room of a mornin without everything just so—the handkerchief right, the tie right, and never without a fierce smell of shavin-soap off him. An’ the hair-oil standin out on the head like diamonds!
One cannot always maintain such an attitude neque semper tendit arcum Apollo.
Of course the crowd starts eatin an’ takin no notice. There would be no question of anybody passin remarks, you know. There was very ferocious eatin goin on that morning. The brother just reads the paper and then off to work. He only opens the beak once. Goin out he says to the landlady ‘Pardon me but I may be delayed to-night and there is no necessity for you to defer retiring.’
A most considerate thought.
The next mornin the crowd is sittin at the table as white as a sheet, all waitin for the brother to come down. Begob you would think they were all for the firin-squad. And down comes the brother. Do you know what I’m goin to tell you?
I do not.
The face was as black as a black-faced goat. I never seen a more ferocious-lookin sight. Begob there was hair on him from the ears to the neck. The crowd begins to feed like prisoners given thirty second to swally their stew. The landlady’s face gets red and out she comes in a big loud voice with a lot of chat about the war. The secret was out! He was tryin to raise wan.
Trying to raise what?
To raise a whisker. Your man was puttin up a beaver!
Curious that any activity so ancient should be considered reprehensible!
I couldn’t tell you how the crowd in the digs lived through the next ten days. You wouldn’t know your man to look at him. A fierce lookin sight, comin in and sittin down as bold as bedamned. Starts enlargin the bridgehead from wan day to the next. An’ not a word out of him but Pardon me this an’ Pardon me that. O a very cool customer, say what you like. And no remarks passed, of course. Do you know what it is?
I do not.
If the brother came down without a face on him at all, there wouldn’t be wan that would pass a remark. The heads would go down, the chawin and aytin would go on and the landlady would pass the brother the paper. A nice crowd begob.
A remarkable character.
After a fortnight the brother got himself into a condition I never seen a man in in me life. There was hair hangin out of him behind the ears an’ there was hair growin into the eyes. The strain was terrible. The digs was about to crack. It was H-Hour. Then begob the big thing happened. Next mornin the brother comes down with his face as smooth as a baby’s, sits down and says Parding me, ma’am, but I think that clock is four minutes slow be the Ballast Office. Well luckit.
I am looking.
The crowd in the digs goes off their heads. They all start chattin an’ talkin and roarin out of them about the time and peepin at their watches and laughin and cavortin for further orders. I think we’ll need more tea, the landlady says, gettin up to go out. Do you know what it is?
I do not.
I’ll give you a laugh. Her nibs was cryin.
Not unusual in such an emotional crisis.
I never put in such a fortnight in me life. Begob here’s a 52. Cheers!
Cheers!
It IS myself.
I see where the Christmas is on. Things is in full swing.
It cannot be denied.
I’ll tell you a good wan.
Pray, by all means do so.
I’ll tell you a good wan about the brother. The brother is holdin a conversasioney in the digs, Sahurda. All hands is to report for duty. A hand of cards, thrifle, plum puddin and a bit of a sing-song. No jars, of course, bar a few bottles of stout in the pantry for the hard chaws. An ould-fashioned conversasioney, that’s what the brother calls it. Ladies present, o’course.
I see.
Do you know why?
I do not.
The brother is for keepin the crowd in over the Christmas. Have your life if you looked for a pass-out to mooch off down-town aSahurda.
One admires the preservation of ancient customs.
The brother was makin’ inquiries about the pubs. Peepin’ in here and there, askin an odd question, chattin the curates, maybe takin an odd sip for himself on the Q.T. Do you know what the brother says?
I do not.
The brother says there’s stuff been got ready.
Indeed?
The brother says there’s special stuff been got ready for the Christmas.
You mean inferior and poisonous potions?
The brother says there’s lads below in cellars at the present time gettin stuff ready be the bucketful. They do be below in the daytime mixin stuff in firkins. Whiskey by yer lave. For the Christmas. Two bob a glass.
Surely the police should be informed?
There’s mixtures been made up that was never made up before. This year it’s goin to be the works altogether.
Surely the reputable houses in their own interest should communicate with the police?
I’ll tell you another thing. The brother says there’s a black market in turps.
Indeed?
Yer men use a lot of turps for the mixtures, you know. Turps, sherry-wine and a drop of the Portugese brandy that was brought in early in the war. That’s yer glass of malt. And I’ll tell you a funny wan. Do you know what a glass of fine old brandy is, three and six a knock?
I do not.
Turps and sherry-wine.
You astound me.
The brother says the North of Ireland crowd is goin to be sorry men.
You mean the undiscerning stranger will be poisoned?
And there’s wan particular crowd gettin their own cigars and cigarettes ready, the brother says. Word’ll be sent round that so-and-so has bags of cigarettes and your men will all march in and do their drinkin there. First they’ll get the sherry-wine and the turps. Then on top of that the special fags got ready downstairs be the boss himself. And goin out, a half-naggin of turps for the morning.
I sincerely hope you exaggerate.
That’s why the brother is gettin up the conversasioney for the Sahurda. Here’s me bus. Happy Christmas now and mind yerself!
Good-bye, and thanks!
Cheers now.
YOURSELF begob! How did you get over the Christmas?
Excellently, thank you.
There was fierce goins-on in the digs over the Christmas.
Indeed?
The brother got up a conversationey for the Christmas Eve so as to keep the crowd out of the pubs where there was turps, and sherry-wine got ready as a Christmas present for all-comers. I’ll tell you a damn good wan.
Do.
The brother invites the uncle from Skerries up for the Christmas. Your man arrives up on the Thursday night. The brother takes out a bottle of sherry-wine. A very broad-minded customer, the brother. Offers the uncle a glass. But not on your life. The uncle puts up the hands, makes a terrible face, wouldn’t touch it. Thanks very much but not for him. A very abstemious character, the uncle. Next thing he’s off up to bed.
Admirable.
Next day is the Frida. Landlady up at eight o’clock, reports the uncle missin. A note on the hall table, ‘Very important appointment, back at twleve.’ Is he back at twelve?
I would hazard the opinion that he is not back at twelve.
He certainly is not back at twelve. Nor at wan. Nor at two. Nor at four.
Extraordinary behaviour.
And the dinner stuffed in the oven. Begob at six there’s a report that your man’s coat is on th’hallstand. One of the crowd goes up and peeps into the bedroom. Here is me bould man asleep, dead to the world.
Eccentric is scarcely the word for such behaviour.
The brother hears the story when he gets home. Says nothin’ but you could see he was takin’ a poor view. Goes up, takes a look at th’uncle, comes down, says nothin’ but starts with David Copperfold.
An ominous reaction.
Annyway next mornin’—this is the Christmas Eve, mind—th’uncle wakes up very tired and asks for a feed of Farola for breakfast. Says he had a busy day with appointments, buyin stuff an’ all the rest of it, and that he’s for stoppin in bed all day. The crowd in the digs start readin and snoozin and gettin ready for the conversationey. Twelve twenty-five, th’uncle’s coat is reported missin’.
My goodness!
The brother starts a sort of martial law in the digs. The crowd arrives for the conversationey but certain parties is ordered to keep a watch. Believe me or believe me not the coat is back at six and not a soul’s seen it comin!
Here one is almost tempted to suspect the machinations of the occult.
And the bould uncle stuffed above in the bed. You won’t believe the next thing that happened. Eight o’clock the crowd is workin’ away at the charades when word comes in that the coat is gone again—AND the brother’s bike!
Well, well, well!
Begob I never seen such a look on the brother’s face. Makes a signal for the crowd to carry on, on with the black velour, and out. Next thing that happens—ten o’clock Christmas Eve—a message is sent up be the Guards that the brother is stretched on one of the Guard’s beds. Dead to the world. Do you know what happened?
I do not.
Goes into a boozer lookin for th’uncle. Thinks he’ll chance a drop to make things look natural. Gets an extra special dose for himself offa one of the curates.
You mean this lethal mixture of turpentine and sherry?
Not at all man. The turps gave out at five. Do you know what he got?
I do not.
Surely you are not serious?
Paraffeen and sherry-wine. And th’uncle was never heard of since. Cheers. Here’s me bus! Happy new year!
I’LL TELL you another man that the brother fixed up—Jamesie D. Now there was a man that wasn’t getting his health at all. When he came to the brother he was a cripple. And look at him now.
In what condition is he now?
Sure wasn’t he picked for a trial with Rovers Seconds and couldn’t turn out because the ould mother beyond in Stepaside was taken bad on the Friday. A great big gorilla of a man.
And what was his trouble?
Arthreetus, so the brother said. It was a very poor glass of water, I’m telling you. But the brother got it in time.
That was fortunate.
Ah yes, if you don’t put it off too long the brother can work wonders. He does be often giving out about people that don’t come to him in time.
And what happened in connexion with that gentleman you mentioned?
Jamesie D.? Ah poor Jamesie had a bad time. The joint of the elbow went out of order with his arthreetus. He could no more lift a pint than he could lift a fog. The poor man took it very badly, hardly ever came down to the smoker of a Friday. A man remember that could play Ave Maria on the piana to bring the tears to your eyes. To tell you the truth he was half poisoned by the doctors. All classes of pills and bottles. And one doctor gave him the machine.
I beg your pardon?
As true as I’m here, strapped him down to some class of an electric chair and turned on the juice. Poor Jamesie thought it was the end. He thought your man was a maniac, you know, passing himself off as a doctor. Begob, what the chair did for him was to give him a bad ankle. It was after that that he went to the brother.
I see.
Well do you know what I’m going to tell you. The brother got that arthreetus at the elbow, he chased it up the arm to the shoulder, then down the back, over across to the other leg and down the thighs. He got it just above the knee. It took him two years but he got it in the end. He killed it just above the knee. And it never came back.
No, it never came back. Well, here’s me wagon. Good luck now and back no horses, as the man said.
Farewell, friend.
*Rouault. See Criticism, Art Letters.