• December Bride
  • Part Three



vigorous life, and the whiskey only fired them and
loosened their tongues. And Petie, who had drunk
more in the past two hours than he had in the past
ten years, hung grimly on to the discourse, and the
table. The brothers held out their arms for him to
feel and boasted about their strength and skill at
gaelic football.

"And I tell ye what, Petie, me bould cock," said
Hugh, "you’ll see the day when we’ll all be playing
the ould Irish games - all creeds and persuasions o'

This generous piece of heterodoxy was matched by
Petie raising himself uncertainly at the table and

Ireland was a Nation
Alien England was a pup
And Ireland will be Ireland
When England's buggered up.
I'm as good a Roman Cath-o-lick
As ever went to Mass
And all you English gentlemen
Can kiss me Irish Ass!

A tremendous uproar broke out from the snug at
this. Hugh Ogle thumped the partition with his fist,
and Peter, tears of laughter running down his face,
raised old Petie's hat and clapped it back on his head.
"Ch-ho, ye black-mouthed ould Presbyterian! We’ll have
ye in wi’ us yet, before ye die!" he roared. The bar-
tender had to shout before he could make himself heard.
"Come on you men, pack it up. Ye saw that sign up there
- 'No Party Songs'. You’ve had enough - more'n enough
by the look o’ your da," and he jerked his thumb at

'One more for the road, manager," said Hugh, raising
his hand. "Not a damn drop - you've got all you're gonna
get in this house." He held the door open invitingly.
"Now, any time ye like - gentlemen."

Ireland, Laughter
Linen Hall Library, "Hanna231", Northern Ireland Literary Archive, accessed Sun, 05/09/2021 - 18:43, https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/hanna231