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 wit
hout 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.
Best of Myles Page 7