PatrickDignam
And raise also my new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper. My collar too springs up.
| PatrickDignam As the glossy horses prance by Merrion square I, waiting, see salutes being given to the gent with the topper |
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| PatrickDignam That was Mr Dignam, my father. I hope he is in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. |
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| PatrickDignam I couldn't hear the other things he said but I saw his tongue and his teeth trying to say it better. Poor pa. |
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| PatrickDignam Never see him again. Death, that is. Pa is dead. My father is dead. He told me to be a good son to ma. |
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| PatrickDignam and he looked butty and short in his shirt. |
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| PatrickDignam The last night pa was boosed he was standing on the landing there bawling out for his boots to go out to Tunney's for to boose more |
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| PatrickDignam Pa was inside it and ma crying in the parlour and uncle Barney telling the men how to get it round the bend. A big coffin it was. |
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| PatrickDignam The scrunch that was when they were screwing the screws into the coffin: and the bumps when they were bringing it downstairs. |
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| PatrickDignam His face got all grey instead of being red like it was and there was a fly walking over it up to his eye. |
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| PatrickDignam Uncle Barney said he'd get it into the paper tonight. Then they'll all see it in the paper and read my name printed and pa's name. |
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| PatrickDignam I'm not going tomorrow either, stay away till Monday. I meet other schoolboys. Do they notice I'm in mourning? |
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| PatrickDignam The blooming stud is too small for the buttonhole of the shirt, blooming end to it. I meet schoolboys with satchels. |
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| PatrickDignam No Sandymount tram. I walk along Nassau street, shifting the porksteaks to my other hand. My collar springs up again and I tug it down. |
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| PatrickDignam In Grafton street I see a red flower in a toff's mouth and a swell pair of kicks on him and he grinning at what the drunk is telling him. |
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| PatrickDignam But the best pucker for science was Jem Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked the stuffings out of him, dodging and all. |
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| PatrickDignam The best pucker going for strength was Fitzsimons. One puck in the wind from that fellow would knock you into the middle of next week, man. |
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| PatrickDignam One of them mots that do be in the packets of fags Stoer smokes that his old fellow welted hell out of him for one time he found out. |
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| PatrickDignam I turn to the right and on my right Master Dignam turns. Buttoning my collar down, I see the image of Marie Kendall, beside the two puckers. |
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| PatrickDignam Master Dignam on my left turns as I turn. That's me in mourning. When is it? May the twentysecond. Sure, the blooming thing is all over. |
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