“Old Meg? Who’s old Meg?” our hostess demanded.
“You must know her. The dirtiest beggar woman in Dublin.”
“I know her,” a woman exclaimed, “a dreadful old creature. She tore her dress open in front of me the other day in Wicklow Street, and said, ‘For the love iv Heaven, lady, buy me some combinations. It’s after perishing with cold I am this minute, and you in furs. Look at me poor bare body. It’s you have the good heart, lady, and you’ve never felt the cold.’ ‘Indeed,’ I said indignantly, ‘I have. I feel the cold very much. Cover yourself at once, you disgusting old woman. Do you see the policeman looking at you?’ ‘Him!’ she said scornfully, ‘I take no notice iv him. It’s a son I have in the I.R.A. Give me the price of the combinations, lady, and I’ll let you go.’ ‘I’ll do no such thing; but I’ll give you a shilling if you promise not to go near the public-house with it.’ ‘Indade, an’ shame on ye, lady, why would a poor old woman like me be going near a public-house?’”
“That’s Meg,” said the youth. “She’s a great character, and her mother and grandmother begged on the streets. She was curfewed outside my house the other night. Must have been the night you gave her the shilling. Drunk? I heard a commotion and leaned out of window, and there she was defying the British Army. But they collared her. ‘What’re you doing out now?’ asked a Black-and-Tan, sticking a revolver where her belt should have been. ‘It’s going home, I am,’ said Meg. ‘For the love iv Heaven give me a copper.’ ‘It’s a bullet I’ll give you, you old vermin. Get into that lorry quick.’ ‘That,’ says Meg, ‘that! I’m after being a lady now. Och, and it’s me great-grandfather who was after being a king.’ ‘You’ll be after being a corpse if you don’t get a move on.’ They made a start, and suddenly she saw me. ‘Hallo, dearie,’ called out the descendant of kings, ‘I’m curlewed!’”
“The Irish beggars are priceless,” exclaimed the second priest, who had rolled and twisted with laughter until the tears ran down his cheeks. “You heard about the flower-women the day Lord French was attacked?”
“No,” said our hostess. “Tell us, father.”
“Two old flower-women watched the whole thing. ‘Did ye see the bullets flying?’ said one. ‘I did, indeed, and a grand sight it was. Did ye see the boys all standing there cool and steady, firing at Lord French? And a lady with him. “Let me get out,” sez she to he, “let me get out,” sez she. “This is no place for me,” sez she. “Let me get out,” sez she. “You will not,” sez he to she, “and you will not,” sez he.’”
“And now for a last story,” said the second priest, getting up. “The other day a friend in Cork was searched by the Black-and-Tans just before Curfew, for arms, of course. As usual after going through his pockets, the gentleman went through his pocket-book, took all he had, which was five pounds, and also took his silver watch. My friend, who isn’t a man to sit down under things, went over to the officer in charge and said what had happened. The officer came up and told the Black-and-Tan to return the loot. The man grumbled and hauled out of his pocket a dozen watches, and a bundle of notes. ‘Take which is yours,’ he said, swinging the watches, and he held out a handful of notes. It was quite dark, and when my friend got under a light, he found he had got a gold watch for his silver one, and ten pounds for his five.”
In the middle of the laughter that followed the story, the priest made his exit.
We followed suit, and we were not many steps on the way when the old lady I had noticed came up behind us.