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  <node>
    <title>Hewitt004</title>
    <Collections>The Mortal Place</Collections>
    <Contributor>John Hewitt Estate</Contributor>
    <Coverage>1986</Coverage>
    <Creator>Linen Hall Library</Creator>
    <Date>Wednesday, March 16, 2016</Date>
    <Format>TIFF</Format>
    <Identifier>Hewitt004</Identifier>
    <ItemDescription>Manuscript</ItemDescription>
    <Keywords>Catholic, Estate, Shot</Keywords>
    <Language>English</Language>
    <Path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/hewitt004</Path>
    <Publisher>Linen Hall Library</Publisher>
    <Relation>Linen Hall Library</Relation>
    <Rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</Rights>
    <Scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Hewitt004_0.jpg</Scannedimage>
    <Source>LHL Archive</Source>
    <Transcript>﻿John Hewitt
The Mortal Place

Now it has come to this, the little glen
within the tree-groined slope of the quarried hill
where we lit our twig-fires some Saturdays
on flat ground near the stream we paddled in,
a few months since was nest of a hid body,
a Catholic shot by gunmen never named. 

The gate which leads to that glen steps off the road
that is a highway now with frequent cars,
but once a country lane. Here then it was
my mother pushed my pram, when once I spoke
my first recorded words observing the lough,
Ship. Boat. Water – saluting its distant port
below us south in the sunny valley.
A new estate swarms up its rising ground;
there in the house, in the bed a young woman was shot,
her only crime to marry outside her faith. 

From nearer home peal out familiar names
of streets beside our terrace, chiming names,
a litany of Dargle, Annalee,
Avonbeg and Roe.
The two last resonant in anxious bulletins
</Transcript>
    <Type>Text</Type>
  </node>
</>
