dedalus Posted November 14, 2010 Share Posted November 14, 2010 (edited) We were called to the gathering at the hill of Tullahogue, shop-keepers and middle-aged people of the town, idlers, old women, children, for all the young men had gone south with O’Neill. There was to be a great battle. Tullahogue with its ancient stone is a great green valley in a dip of the woods; we settled in, murmuring, hushing the children, among the whispering waving trees, we, the People of the North. There were three Engish prisoners. They were brought before us. A great hush and abaugh arose among us for we did not like them. But then the Sherriff of the Town, didn’t he stand up on his legs, waving a cleaver, and call for the butcher McCaughlan who came up to the stand, by God, stripped to the waist and the sweat rolling off his heaving muscularity and I knew what was going to happen and I covered the eyes of Síle, my daughter, and I asked my wife to turn her head away and she said No. She said no, I want to see the fuckin bastards killed. The mother of my children, an O’Cahan whose brother fell in the battles last year when I was in my dreary little shop scraping together the pennies to keep us alive. God, how she despises me! The Englishman is young, he shivers, but not from the cold, he wants to be brave. The butcher plays to the crowd, he pretends to swipe, then strikes, a great gout of blood, and the young men roar and cheer. Why are they not with O’Neill in the South? I catch a glimpse from my neighbour and I can see he is thinking the same. He has his son clasped tightly within his cloak and as our eyes glance off one another, he sees my woman forcing my children to watch. Nothing good can come of this. The second and third prisoner are likewise dispatched but the cheers grow thin. We know. We know that the English will come and do the same to us, to my sweet little daughter, to my infant son. My wife shines with a look of fiery grandeur. She has no idea. http://irishantiquities.bravehost.com/tyro...tullahogue.html http://dublinerinjapan.blogspot.com/2004/0...en-and-her.html Edited January 4, 2011 by dedalus Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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