— … The Poet did it, I’d say …
— Oh, was it that chancer …
— No certainly not. It wasn’t him. He wouldn’t be that lucky. Big Micil Connolly made it up:
“Bonking an Old Yank was our Baba Paudeen
And there was no one just like her in all of Maine …”
— Honest, Margaret, I’ve forgotten all that business about Caitriona Paudeen in the place above. It’s the culture, Margaret. It raises the mind up to the noble heights and exposes the magic fairy forts in which the hidden elements of sound and vision dwell, just as Nibs said in “Evening Tresses.” You don’t have any interest any more in normal inanities nor in the petty pastimes of mortal life. My mind is possessed by a glorious disorder for this last while as a result of the rushing wonders of culture …
— … “And there was no one just like her in all of Maine
She came back home dressed up to the nine
With money the old hag left to her name …”
— Baba Paudeen never married, but she was looking after an old crone since she went to America. What do you know, but the old one left her all of her money — well nearly all — when she was dying. Baba Paudeen could fill all the graves in this cemetery with golden guineas, at least that is what they say about her, Dotie …
— … It was Coley who made up all that rubbish. What else?
“‘Ara, Baba, my darling,’ said Caitríona’s cat
‘Don’t yield a farthing,’ said Nell’s cat back.
‘If I only got the money,’ said Caitríona’s cat
‘It’s all for me, honey,’ said Nell’s cat at that.”
— Caitriona would prefer, better than another thousand years, to scrub Nell from Baba’s will …
“‘I have a nice deep pocket,’ said Caitriona’s pussy.
‘I have a nice deep pocket,’ said Nell’s pussy back.”
—“‘For an old hag’s money,’ said Caitríona’s pussy.
‘Baba didn’t promise you,’ said Nell’s pussy at that.”
— She had every single teacher in the whole area totally driven out of their minds getting them to write to America for her …
— And Mannix the Counsellor …
— The Old Master told me he wrote very cultured letters for her. He picked up a lot of Americanese from the films …
— That time when he used to bring the young mistress to the Fancy City in his car …
— The thing that really pisses Caitriona off is that she died before Nell. I often heard her going up the lane and muttering to herself: “I’ll bury her yet before me in the Cemetery Clay.”
— … Tell the truth, Coley. Did you write that rubbish?
— Big Micil Connolly did it. He did “The Ballad of Caitríona” too, and “The Ballad …”
— … But Nell is still alive. She’ll get what’s in Baba’s will now. There’s no other brother or sister, only herself …
— I’m not sure about that, Margaret. Baba was very fond of Caitriona.
— Do you know what my boss used to say about all of them, the Paudeens: “Weather cocks,” he’d say. “If one of them went to market to buy a cow, he’d come home with a donkey. Then he’d say to the next person who made some smart remark about the donkey: ‘I’m sorry now I didn’t buy a cow instead of that old bag of bones of a donkey. She’d be a lot more useful …’”
— … “Would you come along home with me, I’ll shelter you under my cloak,
And I swear young Jack the Lad, we’ll have songs until we croak …”
— … It’s a strange nickname for a man, alright, Dotie … Yes. Jack the Lad. He lives up there at the top of the town land where Caitriona and myself lived. I knew the original Lad himself, Jack’s father … The Old Lad. He was one of the Feeneys, really … No need to laugh, Dotie … Dotie! “Lad” is just as handy as “Dotie” any time. Even if you do come from the Smooth Meadow, I’m telling you, we weren’t pupped by hens no more than yourself …
— De grâce, Marguerita …
— … “‘I’ll marry Jack,’ said Caitríona’s dog.
‘I’ll marry Jack,’ said Nell’s dog too …”
— Caitriona refused many men. One of them was Blotchy Brian. He had a good chunk of land and pots of money. Her father advised her to hook up with him. He was so worthless, according to her, she wouldn’t give him the time of day …
— … Start that song again, and sing it right this time …
—“The Lad’s son he got up and went …”
— … You’d nearly think that God gave Jack the Lad a soul so that he could go about singing. If you heard his voice just once it would haunt you for the rest of your life. I don’t know at all what exactly to call it …
— A musical dream.
— That’s it, Nora. Just like a strange and beautiful dream. There you are on the edge of a cliff. A drowning hole down below you. Your heart thumping with fear. Then, suddenly, you hear Jack’s voice wafting up from the depths. Your desire immediately banishes your fear. Then you seem to let yourself go … You feel yourself sliding down and down … and down … getting nearer all the time to that voice …
— Oh my, Margaret! How thrilling! Honest …
— … I never met anyone who could remember exactly any song that Jack sang. We would forget everything but the soul he put into his voice. Every young girl in the place would lick the winding path which he trod to his door. I often saw the young ones up on the bog and as soon as they caught a glimpse of Jack the Lad over at his own turf they would crawl through muck and glob just to hear him sing. I saw Caitriona Paudeen doing it. I saw her sister Nell doing it …
— Smashing altogether, Margaret. Cultured people call it the eternal triangle …
— … “Jack the Lad rose up and took the early morning air
And went off chasing women with the frolics at the fair …”
— … Too true. It was at the Big Pig Fair that Nell Paudeen and Jack the Lad took off together. Her people were fit to be tied, for all the good it did them. I don’t know if it’s the way you do things over on the Smooth Meadow, you know, that the eldest daughter has to get married first …
— … “She carried him off through bog-holes, swamps and mucky glob
Disturbing all the curlews whose chicks had open gobs …”
— Jack was up on the bog and all he had was waste scrub and some drowned moorland …
— Ara, Maggie Frances, I never saw a more awkward pathway up to a house than that of Jack the Lad’s. Didn’t I twist my ankle that night coming home from the wedding at …
— … You did, because you made a pig of yourself, as usual …
— … The night of the wedding in Paudeen’s house Caitriona was holed up in a corner in the back room with a face as miserable as a wet week. There was a small gang of us there. Nell was there. She started ribbing Caitriona: “I really think you should marry Blotchy Brian, Caitriona,” she said. She knew right well that Caitriona had already refused him …
— I was there, Margaret. “I’ve got Jack now,” Nell said. “We’ll leave Blotchy Brian for you, Caitriona.”
— Caitriona went ape. She stormed out, and she wouldn’t go near the room again until the next morning. Nor did she go to the church either the following day …
— I was cutting a bunch of heather that day, Margaret, and I saw her winding her way up through the bog by Tulla Bwee even though the wedding was over the other way at the Lad’s house …
— She didn’t put one foot, right or left, across the threshold of Jack the Lad’s joint from that day to this. You’d think Nell was riddled with some kind of nasty pox the way she used to give her a wide berth. She never forgave her for Jack …