Word: dublins
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...that time Dr. Douglas Hyde ("make way there, yous, keep back, keep back, give him space there") was a famous, fine man. Playwright Sean O'Casey, now 65, remembers that Dublin gawked and said wasn't Hyde the grandest champion the glorious Irish language had ever known, although to be sure he hardly spoke a word of it himself. Indeed, a famous man, a "sure sage, with almost all the priests applaudin' "; and him a Protestant, too ("make way, there-silence-"). And standing nearby was Jim Connolly, "the renowned Socialist leadher," author of Socialism Made Easy...
...written by a good Irishman about those days, Drums is at bottom sentimental and romantic, but the resemblance to the standard stops about there. O'Casey is no standard Irishman; he lives in England, is a Communist,* obviously has no great affection for the powers at Maynooth or Dublin Castle. But he remembers affectionately the Ireland of his young days, though even then he was often dead set against it. With many a "saucy, fine, pene-thratin' phrase," he recalls his own worries and wonderings, the stirrings almost everywhere, the "gospel of discontent smoking faintly in the hearts...
...spare shilling to spend on a ticket to the Abbey Theater, O'Casey swung a pick & shovel as a day laborer, worked at nights for the cause of the Gaelic League, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, the Citizen Army. He lived with his mother in a few flea-ridden Dublin slum rooms. When bis sister died, there was no money in the house to bury her. When his brother-in-law went crazy, the clutchers came in a plain, black cab and carried him off to the home for loony paupers at Grangegor-man. He himself had been born with...
Shaw & Larkin. One day a friend told him about Bernard Shaw: "the cleverest Irishman the world knows, Sean. A wit of wonder. A godsend to men who try to think." Another day he listened to Jim Larkin talk at Liberty Hall in Dublin-about the Irish Transport and General Workers Union, the "red flag rather than the green banner...
...Larfable." "Poor, dear, dead men," says O'Casey now, "poor W. B. Yeats." The wit and rich lingo of Juno and the Paycock, the legendary and the tragic, real Ireland of The Plough and the Stars, run through his pages like the River Liffey through Dublin...