Looking south by south west from the Rialto Bridge on the Grand Canal in Dodge City aka DUPlin, on one’s right hand used to stand Fatima Mansions before they were demolished in 2006. The Fatima in question had nothing at all under the toenail of a crescent moon to do with the daughter of Muhammad. Neither has the Third Secret of Fatima anything to reveal or do with the flattening of this flat complex. It was heroin which brought it to its needles and knees and then to the ground.
Thus, the good young folks of this ‘hood whose focus is the Rialto Bridge got an early grounding in the gerund. The demolition acted as a crammer in advanced grammar in more ways than one. Take the h-word which brought the 12 (by 4 storey) blocks tumbling down and many of its unfortunatee inhabitants to the slammer:
-heroin.
Thankfully there is no danger of mixing heroin up with heroine as the latter word has been vetoed and Metooed out of both use and existence alike, entirely, guys: Kellie Harrington, f’rinstance is a hero, Nero. More todo about which anon, Ron. Ron,
Ag breathnú o dheas siar o dheas o Dhroichead Rialto ar an gCanáil Mhor i gCathair na Seifteanna ata DUPlin sheasadh Árais Fatima ar thaobh na láimhe deise, go dti gur leagadh go talamh iad, Olive, Árais na n-Íochtarán, i 2006. Nil dluthbhaint da laghad faoi ionga choise an chorráin gealaí ag an bhFatima seo le hiníon Muhammad. No, ní raibh aon bhaint ach an oiread ag Tríú Rún Fatima le leagadh na n-Árasán.
Mar sin, fuair aos og na ‘sanachta morthimpeall an Droichid Rialto buneolas maith sa gheireann, Erin. D’fheidhmigh an leagadh mar shac-scoil san ardghrmadach ar bhealaigh éagsúla. Tog an h-fhocal a tharraing na bloic (dosaen díobh 4 stor) chun talún agus go leor dá n-áitritheoirí mífhortúnacha chuig cillin an phríosúin.
-hearoin.
Ar an dea-uair, nil baol dá lagadh go ndéanfar hearoin agus banlaoch a mheascadh suas lena chéile de bhri go bhfuil an dara focal sin crostaithe ag an Misechomhmaith crosta maidir le húsúid agus le huile, ina iomlán, a chairde. Is laoch í Kellie Harrington, mar shampla, Sam. Breis amach anseo faoi cad atá i mdán dúinn, Ron. Ron.
To the left one can still see Our Lady of Dolours RC Church, Dolphin’s Barn. (No, this is not where the missing Fungi, the humungous dolphin from Dingle is hiding out, having swam via the Shannon estuary, turning right at Banagher and beating a hasty exit east to Rialto a la Trollope in search of Sam)
Ar thaobh na láimhe clé is féidir Eaglais CR Mhuire Mháthair na nDolás i Sciobol na Deilfe fos a fheiceáil. (Ní hea, ní hé seo an sciobol atá in úsáid mar chro folaigh ag Fungi, an deilf ollmhor on Daingean, i ndiaidh do snámh go slítheánta, bealach inbhear na Sionainne, ansin, casadh géar ar dheis ag Beanchor agus ansin d’éalaigh soir go gasta dála Trollope agus é sa toir ar Sam).
One first made one’s aquaintance with this delightful spot during the Fabulous Fifties when pop music still qualified as music and long before the Din-loving Tin-eared Fat-cats put the cac into cacophany. This was the joyful decade of rosaries and and Venetian blinds which at last and at first found a window of opportunity to bat their slats, Matt, from Sindo-reading windows of the neigbhourhood known nowadays as Dublin 8.
One has a confession to make here: one often, in the company of one’s shortpanted pals from farther afield, received the Sacrament of Penance on innumerable occasions in the Confesson Box of Fr. Meleady, whose fame as a merciful dispenser of punishment took the form, as befitted its proximity to the Rialto Bridge, of ‘the quantity of mercy is not strained, it droppeth like the downpours upon Dolphin’s Barn, Dublin 8’.
Chuir an laoch méarchláir seo aitheantas don chéad uair ar an áit aoibhinn seo le linn na gCaogaidí Galánta nuair a aithníodh an ceol pop, mar shampla, mar cheol go foill i bhfad sar a chuir na Trupadoirí ud, Boic Mhora na gCluasa Stáin an cac isteach sa challán, a Sheáin. B’é seo deichniúr lúcháireach na nDallog Lataí a d’aimsigh fuinneog na faille sna scortha fuinneoga Indo lena lataí a sméideadh, Adie, sa chomharsanacht ar a dtugtar ar na laethanta deireanacha se,:BÁC8.
Tá admháil le déanamh agam anseo: is minic a ghlac mé Sacraimint na hAithrí ar uuaireanta dochomhairithe anseo i mBosca Faoistine an Athar Meleady, a bhain clú fairsing amach (i measc buachaillí oga an cheantair agus níos faide anonn) mar dháileoir trocaireach píonois. Ní nach ionadh, nuair a thogtar san áireamh congaracht a Bhosc Faoistine don Droichead Rialto: ‘níl cainníocht na trocaire scagtha, steallann sí anuas dála na tromfhearthainne a bhíonn ag clagarnach de shíor anuas ar Sciobol na Deilfe’
Our Lady of Dolours RC Church in more recent times and Times has been tagged, Tadhg, with an alternative name:
-Anathema Mansion.
Le deireanas tagraítear don Eaglais CR Mhuire Mhathair na nDolas le hainm nua malartach.
-Aras Gráine.
And it is no sercret neither, Ida, that the reason for this is the manner in which the Hand in Glove Department of the Hierarchy of the Hackitariat (and their disciples, those of the platitudinous attitudes, the herd of the overheard cliché) one of whom surfaced recently in the litter column of TUT in the big, bonny shape of Butterfield Cushnahan who has made his home in the Golden Vale of Limerick. Him with his eyes like two holes in a blanket burnt through, little wonder this neo-Yune loathes the blanket men, Oonagh, like a real royal True Blue nor that his breath in the moorning would scare a Kerry coo and that he wears, of necessity, gigantic galoshes which draw goshes of D-lite from the poshies of DUPlin 4 . These disciples of the The Media Partners and the Demogogic Rulers by Dodge in EmmerDáil Aryan compete with each other in their visceral loathing of the RC Church and its (alleged) pomps and papered-over Papacies.
Agus ní haon rún ach an oiread, Herod, gurb é an fáth atá leis an fuath seo ná an choimhlint atá idir Cliarathas na Gamarsáide (agus a ndeisceabail nach ligeann an leath-dheis thart, lucht lochtach an mheoin sheanchaite, an tréad in éad leis an fhírinne a chuala an cliché de thaisme d’aon ghno) agus gur nocht ceann acu i gcoúun brúscair TUT, ar ais in uachtar aris, i gcruth breá, mor Butterfield Cushnahan atá neadaithe anois i nGleanntán Orga Luimní, BC. Sea, an té céanna le súile cosúil le péire poll i mblaincéad doite, ní haon chúis iontais go gcothaíonn sé an dearghráin bhán agus ghorm do na Poblachtánaigh pluide mar is dual don mhaidrín dílis lathaí, no go gcuirfeadh a anáil Angla-lárnach scanradh ar bho, bo na leath-adhairce i gCiarraí ar maidin, de lo is d’oíche no go gcaitheann sé, de bharr riachtanais, buataisí rubair chomh mor sin go bhféadfadh siad bheith déanta don Goliath Gallda féin, agus a chuireann ríméad ar na boic ardnosacha lena srona san aer i DUBlin 4) agus na Rialoirí Déimegoigeacha trí Sheift féachaint cé acu is fearr chun an fuath is géire agus is gallda a leiriu don Ealgais CR agus (más fíor) a mortais agus a Pápaireacht Cheilteach cheilte.
Y is this ? As the man from Ballyfarout on the banks of the Il Canale Grande a little further west of Il Ponte di Rialta, D8 might emote. .That is the Turd Secret of Anathema, whose bowels will be evacuatated with the broader vowels of Ballyfermot further anon. Cross one’s noble ‘art.
But before taking the 77 (appropriate number!) bus and heading south for a long mile road to another spot which contains two other mansions on opposite sides of the road, one of which is central to the latest Dodge of the Free Southern Southeen one must first pause for a waterbreak..
Cad is cúis le seo? Mar a cheisteodh an bleadarálaí o Bhaileibhfadigcéin ar bhruacha na Canála Moire beagáinín siar o dheas o Il Ponte di Rialto, D8. Sin é Triu Rún na Formaide, a ndéanfar a phutoga a fholamhú amach as le gutaí nios leithne Bhaile an Fhormaid, amach asneo.. Gealltanas.
Ach sar a dtogfar an Bus 77 le taisteal siar o dheas bothar an mhíle eile fhada, go láthair eile mar a sheasann dá áras, ag stánadh ar a gcéile trasna an bhothair, agus a nglacann ceann den dá áras páirt lárnach sa tSeift is déanaí san Saor Stáitín o dheas, ní mor sos a ghlacadh, sos uisce.
One must look just a long left jab beyond Dolphin’s Barn and pause for the bell to ring on a memorable sight during a momentous night in the National Boxing Stadium on the South Circular Road. Back in the day when it was known as The McCourt of King James. (Incidentally, Griffith Barracks next door was named after Arthur, rather than Emile)
This was the era of the immaculate Jim, a redoubtable southpaw from the wee North. Jim was some boyo, Ngaio, and while he might never have played in the, erm, Marshes nonetheless he was more than just adept at, erm, downing his opponents with an economy of effort. Indeed, so economical was he with his punches that it might even be said he boxed according to the Marquis of Keynesbury Rules. So he did.
Ní mor amharc siar sonc fada clé o Sciobol na Deilfe agus bomaite a fhanacht leis an cloigín a chlingeadh ar radharc dodhearmadta le linn oíche chinniúnach sa Staid Náisiúnta Dornála ar an gCuar-Bhothar Theas.(Dála an scéil, ainmníodh Beairic Griffith béal dorais leis an Staid i gcuimhne Arthur seachas Emile). Tharla seo siar sa lá nuair a thugtaí McCúirt an Ri Shéamais air.
B’shin é ré Sheamais fhoirfe, an t-éadrom-mheáchan umhadhaite, chiotogach dhian o na Sé Chontae. Ba bhuachaill neamhchoitianta é, Ian, agus biodh nár throid sé riamh sna Riasca mar sin féin bhí sé oilte san ealaion uasal a bhain le leagadh anuas a chéilí comhraic le beagán iarrachta. Dáiríre, Gordon Pirie, bhí taoiseach seo an chro dornála chomh tíosach sin lena bhuillí go bhféadfaí an cás a dhéanamh go rathúil gur throid sé de réir Rialacha an Mharcais Keynesbury. B’shin mar a rinne sé é.
One night one had the great luck to get a good look at one of the most remarkable pugilistic photos in the making. Ireland were in the blue corner and Wales in the red corner. In the first minute of the lightweight contest Gentleman Jim caught his unfortunate opponent with an in-reach peach of a punch, a left hook, as a result of pivotting his fleet hips a little closer to the bone, and which was delivered as quickly as ‘threeHailMarysoneOurFatherandaGlory Be’ from the shortpanted penitents as dropped from the merciful mouth of Fr Meleady (May the unquenchable light shine forever on his gentle spirit !) well, almost as quickly, for nothing was ever quite as speedy (apart from, possibly, Ballyseedy) as that oft- repeated penance – which decked the Welshman in a classic Portcawl sprawl. While a a dab hand with the jabs King Jim was positively aesthetic with the old aenesthetic. Cool as a queue of cucumbers King Jim strolled to the neutral corner and nonchalantly draped his brawny arms across the ropes while the numerate and wristy referee took up the count, Christy.
Bhí sé de mhor-ádh orm oíche amháin radharc maith a fháil ar cheann de na griangrafanna dornála ar leith agus a bheidh trácht air sa stair. Bhí Éire sa chúinne gorm agus Cymru sa chúinne dearg. Sa chéad noiméad ina throid d’aimsigh Séamas, Uasal a chéile mífhortúnach comhraic sa smig le seoid de bhuille: o aois luath aithnaíodh e mar anaestéiseolai le hard aeistéitic san ealaíon a d’isligh. Cuar-bhuille ciotoige a deineadh a sheachadadh chomh tapaidh leis an ‘tríSédobheathaaMhuireÁrnAthairamháinagusGloiredon’ a dheireadh na haithrigh i mbíistí gearra tar éis e bheith cloiste o bhéal trocaireach an Athar Meleady (Solas Síorai na bhFlaitheas ar d’anam lách, cineálta, a Shagairt a rúin !), bhfuel, geall le bheith comh gasta mar níor sháraigh aon ni riamh an luas lena dheirtí an pionos síor-ath-ráite sin (seachas Baile Uí Shíoda, b’fhéidir) -lena leag se a chéile comhraic in aithris den scoth ar scrabaíl Portcawl. Chomh sona le scuaine cúcamair bhog an Rí Séamas chuig an cúinne neodreach mar a rinne sé a lámha matánacha a chrochadh ar na ropai fhad is chrom an réiteoir uimheartha leis na rostaí ar an gcomhaireamh, a stoir..
Next thing one’ eye was distracted by a vigilant camera-toting (a box-camera, not) paparazzo (though this word was not current at the time, notwithstanding its proximity to Il Ponte di Rialto) as the chap manoevered himself into position to take the zap snap of the season.
The next morning one of the dailies featured the resulting photo: of the stricken Welsh lightweight whose lights has been quenched, framed by the heels of McCourt’s black Lonsdale boxing boots. A moment in time, caught sublimely : ‘ a still life on canvas’ in contrast, say, to those fereocious fighting fellows in full flight which feature in George Bellows’ rathter less than mellow paintings of pugilism in the, erm, Bellowing Twen’ies of New Yawk. Well worth a gawk, if it could ever be retrieved from the dark room of d’archives.
An chéad ni eile deineadh m’aird a bhaint le ball den paparazzi (biodh nach raibh an focal sin in úsaid ag an am, d’ainneoin a congarachta le Il Ponte di Rialto sul Canal Grande an oiche sin, agus coíche) fhad is rinne an ceamara (nach raibh cruth an bhosca air) a áinliú aige mar ullmhú chun griangraf an tséasúir a ghlacadh.
An mhaidin dar gcion, d’fhoisligh ceann de na nuachtáin an ghriangraf den chéile cloíte cothrománach comhraic o Cymru, frámaithe idir agus ag buataisi dubha dornála Lonsdale Mhic Cuairte. Bomaite ama, gafa go gleoite: ‘ní neamhbheo ar chanbhás’, i gcodarsnacht, abair, leis na dornálaithe fíochmhaire faoi lán seoil a áitríonn péintéireacht George Bellows i rith an bhFichidí Búireacha san Úll Mor. B’fhiú go mor an girangraf seo á lorg i seomra dorcha na gcartlanna.
Before leaving Punchestown (as a McCourt jester once termed The National Boxing Staidium) which was formerly a venue for stallions and colts and not mares nor fillies, it must be said that one never appreciated the full significance of Kellie’s Welcome till the recent Céad Míle Fáilte extended by Portland Place. Curious how Seattle has also been in the IRE-news of late, involving two ladies called K: almost a case of ‘Come down the Mountain, Kellie and Katie, daily.’ Call it part of the Origin Trail. Merrion, oops, Marian Finucane, late of RTE, would have had both on as guests before you could say R.I.L, Lil: : Restricted Invitation List.
Mention of RTE reminds one to welcome Cap’n Doug Beattie who appears to be in Boot Camp in training as the next Mil Cor of Montrose, D4.. A dodgie dodge involving Dougie? Pshaw ! Such puerile suggestions make one’s gorge rise, George , a canard to make one’s pet doggie, a St. Barnard, break wind. Indeed, if one had an Afghan hound (which one might call ‘Lushkar Gah’) he’d have done ditto, without a sound.
Sar a bhfágfar Baile na mBuillí (mar a thug fuirseoir Mhic Cuirte ar Staid Náisiúnta na Dornála tráth) a bhí teoranta tráth do staileanna agus bromaigh (o Brummy fiú, ar chorruair) láireanna agus láireoga, ni mor a rá nár thuig mé an bhrí a bhí le Fáilte Uí Cheallaigh i gceart go dtí an Céad Míle Fáilte a fearadh ag Plás Portland le déanaí. Díol spéise, dála an scéil, go raibh Seattle san nuachtIRL ar na mallaibh, chomh maith. Cás, geall leis, de ‘Tar anuas den Mhullach, Kellie agus Katie, ar bhonn laethúil’. Tabhair Rian an Dúchas air. Bheadh an dís diva in n-aíonna ag Merrion, úpsanna, Marian Finucance, i RTE tráth dá raibh, sar a d’fhéadfai ‘L.T.C’. a rá, a ghrá: Liosta Teoranta Cuireadh’.
Cuireann an tagairt seo do RTE i gcuimhne an Fáilte Ui Cheallaigh a fhearadh roimh an Captaen Doug Beattie atá i gCampa na mBrog i láthair ar chúrsa traenála, is cosúil, le bheith ina chéad Comhfhreagraí Míleata i gCnoc na Ros, D4.. Seift sheiftiúil le teacht i dtir ar Dougie? Amaidí ! Líonann a leithéid de mholtaí páistiúla mo sceadamán le domlas, a Sheoirse, ráfla, Rafael, a spreagann mo pheata madra, den chineál Bhearnaird Naofa, broim a scaoileadh. Da mbeadh cú Afganastánach agam,(thabharfainn Lushkar Gah air, seans) dhéanfadh se amhalaidh, gan glor: agus mar a deireann an seanfhocal, dá laghad a leitheid is mo go mor an bréan.
This is not to say that the fabled fisticuffs between females were unknown during the Fabulous Fifties. For they never failed to add greatly to the gaiety of the parish. Back then the venue in our j.b.’s neck of the woods was always of the open air variety, not unlike, say, Soldier Field which was the venue of the legendary Long Count fight between Tunney and Dempsey. (in our parish, it was Magser Cagney who took the part of Tunney and Lacy Lucy the part of Demptey in, erm, Off the Shoulder Field). Indeed one has vivid recollecitons of many such contests, all involving the crucial components, H and H, which served as the most potent of weapons in the feminine fist, and which were duly permitted under the Rules of the Marchioness of Kingsbury (she was the now forgotten wife of the Marquis of Queensbury, Marcus.)
-Handbags and Hairdragging.
It is clear, alas, that it is the husband’s legislation which has prevailed in the roped ring as one glimpse of the Headguard Rule which is compulsory for females alone, indicates.
Odd, very.
Ní hionann seo agus a rá gur cainníocht anaithnid a bhí sna babhtaí banda dornála le linn na gCaogaidí Glormhaire, no baol air. Is minic a shuimigh siad go millteanach le lúcháir an pharoiste. I láithreáin amuigh faoin spéir a tharlaiodh na babhtai speisialta seo, in ár bparoiste, ar a laghad. Láithreáin nach raibh neamchosúil le, abair, Gort an tSaighdiúra, mar a eagraíodh an choimhlint chinniúnach idid Tunney agus Dempsey (in ár bparaoiste dob i Magser Cagney a ghlac páirt Tunney agus Lacy Lucy páirt Dempsey sa,Ghort Gan Ghuaillí). Go deimhin, tá cuimhni beoga agam fos ar go leor, leor coimhlintí den chineál seo, ina ghlac H agus H páirt riachtanach mar na gléasanna troda b’éifeachtai sna doirn bhanda. Mar ba cheart, thug Rialacha an Marchioness Kingsbury (bean chéile, anois dearmadta, an Mharcais Queensbury) do na gléasanna seo atá go sainiúil banda.
-Málaí Láimhe agus Tarraingt na Gruaige.(TnG).
Is léir, áfach, gurb í reachtaíocht Rocky an fhir céile atá fos i réim idir ropaí an chro dornála, mar a chuireann srachfhéachaint amháin in iúl ar an riail phatriarcach faoin gclogad atá éigeantach do na dornálaithe banda amháin.
Aisteach, agus gan ach sin a rá, a ghrá.
Must go, here’s me bus: the number 77 (appropriate number) which will bring us along the first long mile road as far as the above-mentioned spot where all will be revealed about the latest Dodge in DUPlin, which might turn out to be, perhaps, even the most devious dodge of the lot. So it might.
Ní mor dom imeacht, seo chugam mo bhus: uimhir 77 (uimhir nach bhfuil mí-oiriúnach) a dhéanfaidh muid a iompair feadh céad bhothar an mhíle fhada slí go dtí an láthair thuas-luaite mar a nochtofar an tSeift is déanaí in DUPLin, b’fhéidir an tseift is slítheánta díobh go leir.
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