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  <title>Item Dublin Core</title>
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  <updated>2026-06-03T05:39:37+01:00</updated>
  <author>
    <name>admin</name>
    <email>niwa@bt48.com</email>
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  <entry>
    <id>1050</id>
    <title>Hewitt006</title>
    <updated>Tuesday, July 26, 2016 - 10:29</updated>
    <link href="https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/node/%25/atom"/>
    <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>Hewitt006</identifier>
    <itemdescription>Manuscript</itemdescription>
    <keywords>Roe Street, Coppers, Manor Street</keywords>
    <language>English</language>
    <path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/hewitt006</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/Hewitt006_0.jpg</scannedimage>
    <source>LHL Archive</source>
    <transcript>﻿whose names I still remember, druggist, grocer,
confectioner, baker, draper, by their wares.
From Dangle Street to Roe Street windows blazed
with sight&#039;s delight, with treasures pence could buy
when you had coppers, or on bidden errand,
each character with individual focus
dwindling at each end with strangers&#039; houses

Now just last week a taximan who lived
in Manor Street was gunned remorselessly,
and in between the streets,
Roe Street and Avonbeg, a wall&#039;s being raised
to hold the tribes apart. For in recent years
there&#039;s been a drift of folk from distant places
for kinships, friendships, comfort, security;
to paraphrase those words of Baudelaire
a town&#039;s more mortal than a people&#039;s fears. 
</transcript>
    <type>Text</type>
    <updateddate>Tuesday, July 26, 2016 - 10:29</updateddate>
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