Youre told never never go to the post office to cash one of those
money orders for anyone or youll lose your job forever. But what are
you supposed to do when an old man that was in the Boer War hun-
dreds of years ago says his legs are gone and hed be forever grateful if
youd go to Paddy Considine in the post office and tell him the situa-
tion and Paddy will surely cash the money order and keep two shillings
for yourself grand boy that you are. Paddy Considine says no bother but
dont tell anyone or Id be out on my arse and so would you, son.The
old man from the Boer War says he knows you have telegrams to deliver
now but would you ever come back tonight and maybe go to the shop
for him for he doesnt have a thing in the house and hes freezing on top
of it. He sits in an old armchair in the corner covered with bits of blan-
kets and a bucket behind the chair that stinks enough to make you sick
and when you look at that old man in the dark corner you want to get
a hose with hot water and strip him and wash him down and give him
a big feed of rashers and eggs and mashed potatoes with loads of butter
salt and onions.
I want to take the man from the Boer War and the pile of rags in
the bed and put them in a big sunny house in the country with birds
chirping away outside the window and a stream gurgling.
Mrs. Spillane in Pump Lane off Careys Road has two crippled
twin children with big blond heads, small bodies, and bits of legs
that dangle over the edges of the chairs. They look into the fire all
day and say, Wheres Daddy? They speak English like everybody else
but they babble away to one another in a language they made up, Hung
sup tea tea sup hung. Mrs. Spillane says that means,When are we get-
ting our supper? She tells me shes lucky if her husband sends four
pounds a month and shes beside herself with the abuse she gets from the
Dispensary over him being in England.The children are only four and
theyre very bright even if they cant walk or take care of themselves. If
they could walk, if they were any way normal, shed pack up and move
to England out of this godforsaken country that fought so long for free-
dom and look at the state of us, De Valera in his mansion above in
Dublin the dirty oul bastard and the rest of the politicians that can all
go to hell, God forgive me.The priests can go to hell too and I wont
ask God to forgive me for saying the likes of that.There they are, the
priests and the nuns telling us Jesus was poor and tis no shame, lorries
driving up to their houses with crates and barrels of whiskey and wine,
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