A RAMBLING IRISHMAN

A Third Revisionist Policeman

"As I came round the bend of the road, an extraordinary spectacle was presented to me. About a hundred yards away, on the left-hand side, was a house which astonished me. It looked as if it was painted like an advertisement on a board on the roadside and indeed very poorly painted. It looked completely false and unconvincing. It did not seem to have any depth or breadth and looked like it would not deceive a child. That was not in itself sufficient to surprise me because I had seen pictures and notices by the roadside before. What bewildered me was the sure knowledge deeply-rooted in my mind, that there were people inside it. I had no doubt at all that it was the barracks of the policeman. I had never seen anything with my eyes ever in my life before anything so unnatural and appalling and my gaze faltered about the thing uncomprehendingly as if at least one of the customary dimensions was missing, leaving no meaning in the remainder…

I kept on walking, but walked more slowly. As I approached, the house seemed to change its appearance. At first, it did nothing to reconcile itself with the shape of an ordinary house but it became uncertain in outline like a thing glimpsed under ruffled water. Then it became clear again and I saw that it began to have some back to it, some small space for rooms behind the frontage. I gathered this from the fact that I seemed to see the front and the back of the ‘building’ simultaneously from my position approaching what should have been the side. As there was no side that I could see I thought the house must be triangular with its apex pointing towards me but when I was only fifteen yards away I saw a small window apparently facing me and I knew from that that there must be some side to it. then I found myself almost in the shadow of the structure, dry-throated and timorous from wonder and anxiety. It seemed ordinary enough at close quarters except that it was very white and still. It was momentous and frightening: the whole morning and the whole world seemed to have no purpose at all save to frame it and give it some magnitude and position so that I could find it with my simple senses and pretend to myself that I understood it. A constabulary crest above the door told me it was a police station. I had never seen a police station like it."



Flann O'Brien - The Third Policeman




There's a bad smell in thon barracks, all over norn iron…the pigs…the coming of Baggot…t…Marteen's plan…we are saved …the....There was always a bad smell in the barracks in the bhogside. Passers-by neither stopped nor even walked when in its vicinity but raced past its entry and never ceased, until they were half a mile from the bad smell. There was a house two hundred yards down the road from it and the smell was that bad, that the people there cleared out, went to Amerikay and never came back.

Police at the barracks were guilty of this stench. You see there was a born again virgin sow there, which was possessed. She had numerous teats. There was none for one wee one though, when the piglets were suckling for their nourishment from her, altogether as always. Marteen was a shy one in the beginning and when hunger struck the piglets, all at the same time, he was left with nothing at all. Unfortunately God's every creature possesses its own smell and this pig's inherited aroma was rotten.

When Marteen was little, he had a little smell. When his size increased, his smell grew accordingly. When he was big, the smell was likewise big. At first, the situation was not too bad hroughout the day, because they left all the windows open, the door unshut and great gales of wind swept through the barracks. But when darkness fell and the sow came in with the piglets to sleep, that indeed was the situation which defies both oral and written description.

Well you see, the sow with all the teats became a born again virgin but the smell stayed all the same. In the middle of the night it still seemsed the piglet suckers of norn iron(PSNI, abb.,) would never see the morning alive. Some of them often still went outside to walk ten miles in the rain, trying to escape from the stench, you see for their safety, they slept in their barracks at night for fear of the wrath of the dissident protestant population. The barrack dogs even refused to come in at night and were found every morning drenched and wet, there was hardly a night without a downpour in bhogside. Their dogs however as a result of interaction with the occasional local street bitches and mongrels, were in good humour, despite all they suffered from the inclemency of the weather. Strangely enough, as a result of some baggot training from their english master, they were never hungry in the morning.

Anyway, matters continued like this for a little while at the Bhogside PSNI barracks, while Marteen was swelling rapidly and the local Sergeant said that shortly, he would be fat enough to be out on parole with the other fat pigs. He was the Sergeant's baggot pet and that is why they could not drive out this unfragrant pig from the barracks by cudgeling, although their health was failing due to the putrid stench.

One morning the PSNI noticed suddenly that Marteen, all in one night it seemed, had increased to a fearful size. He was as tall as the sergeant but much wider. His belly reached the ground and his flanks were so swollen that they would frighten even the most loyal of commoners. The Sergeant was putting down a large pot of potatoes for the pig's dinner, when he too noticed that all was neither good nor natural. 'pon me soul! Said he, this one here is about to burst! When he scrutinized Marteen sharply, it was clear that the poor craythur was almost fully cylindrical, although only last night he appeared sausage-like to the sergeant.. Whether it was due to over-eating or over sucking of the artificially created teat the sergeant regularly gave him or some other foul disease struck him, nobody was sure.. The smell was now almost insufferable for all at the barracks and especially the one PSNI sowlet fainted at the end of the barracks, her health failed due to the stench.

If this pig is not put out of the barracks at once, said she from the bed at the end of the barracks, I'll set the barracks on fire and blame the protestant dissidents for it, that will put an end to the hard life in this barracks of ours and even if we finish up later in hell, at least that roasted pig would smell better ! Hell ! we can't as it is even go home to our families at night, with so many of them dissident protetsants from both sides waiting for us.

The sergeant was puffing at his peace pipe strenuously, in an attempt to fill the barracks with smoke, as a defence against the stench and the sight of Marteen. He replied to her, Woman he said ! the poor craythur is sick and I'm slow to push him out and he without his health or a friend left in the Bhogside. 'Tis true right enough, that this stench is beyond belief but don't you see that the pig himself is making no complaint, although he has a snout on him just like yourself there.

He’s dumb from his own stench, she said.

If that's the way it is, said she to the sergeant, I'll put rushes in flames in the barracks! The two of them continued bickering with one another for a long while but at last the sergeant agreed to eject Marteen. He went forward plamasing the pig to the door with whistling, nonsensical bullscutter and pet-words but Marteen stayed as he was, unmoved. It must have been that the pig's senses were deadened by the smell and that he failed to hear what the sergeant had to say. At any rate, the sergeant took down a shillelagh and drove the pig to the door, lifting him, bating him and poking him with his weapon. When he reached the door it appeared that Marteen had become too fat, to go out between the jams.

'pon me soul! said the sergeant, but the poor craythur is too well-fed and the door is too narrow, although there is room in it for an elephant.

If that's the way of it said the PSNI born again sowlet from the bed, then 'tis the way and 'tis hard to get away from what's going to happen us.

Her voice was weak and low and 'twas certain she was now willing to bow to her fate, to the rottenness of the pig, and to face hell. Suddenly a smothering fire arose in the end of the barracks, with the PSNI burning their own place. Back went the sergent in a jump, threw a couple of ould sacks on the smoke and bate them with a big baseball bat sent from Amerkay, until the fire was quenched. He then bate his subordinate sowlet and gave her the benefit of his advice while doing so.

God bless us and save us! There was never such a hard a life as that which Marteen gave them for a fortnight after that. There's no describing the smell in the barracks. The pig was doubtlessly ill and vapour arose from him, reminiscent of a corpse above ground for a month. The Bhogside barracks was rotten and putrid from top to bottom. During that time the virgin sowlet was at the end of the barrracks unable to stand or speak. At the end of the fortnight, she said goodbye quietly and feebly and set her face towards eternity.

The sergeant was smoking his peace pipe as energetically as ever during the night, as a shield against the stench. He leapt up and dragged the sick sowlet out to the road, saving her from death although both of them were drenched to the skin. The following day all the beds of the barracks were put out by the road in the Bhogside and the sergeant said that there they would remain, because said he, it is better to be without barracks or life, even if they were drowned in the norn iron rain at night or burned by the dissident protestants, that death itself was better than the hell within a PSNI barracks.

Adam O'Geriatric happened to be going along the road, on his way from Belfast next morning, when he saw the unfragrant pigs beds outside, beneath the sky, beside the deserted barracks, he stopped and struck up a conversation with the sergeant.

'Tis true that I don't understand life said he and the reason that the beds are outside, but look at the barracks on fire! , he said.

The sergeant's glazed eyes fixated on his barracks while he shook his head.

That's not a fire, said he, but a dirty big rotten pig left in our barracks by the name of Marteen. That's not smoke that's drifting from the barracks, as ye think Adam, thats pig-steam.

That steam is not pleasing to me at all, a tall, said Adam, I'm ashamed of it.

There's no health in it, right enough ! replied the sergeant.

Adam meditated on it for a while he too sucked a peace pipe.

It must be the way of it, said he, that this particular pig of yours is a pet, otherwise you would have cut his throat long ago and buried him?

'Tis true, tis true right enough for you, Adam, said he.

If that’s the way, said Adam, I'll give ye help!

He went up on the roof of the barracks and put scraws of dry grass in the chimney-opening. He closed the doors and blocked the windows with pig excrement and discarded jam rags from the born again virgins of the RUC, to keep air from going in or out.

Now, said he, ye must stop squealing for an hour.

'pon me soul, said the sergeant, I don't understand your work but it's a wonderful world that's there today and if you're pleased with what your at, I won't go against you.



After an hour, Adam O'Geriatric opened the door and they all went in except the born again virgin sowlet, who was still weak and feeble on her damp bed. Marteen was stretched out cold and dead, on the hearth-stone. He died of his own stench and a black cloud of smoke wafted from him and almost smothered everyone. The sergeant was very upset but gave heartfelt thanks to Adam and ceased puffing his peace pipe for the first time in years. Marteen was buried in an honourable and becoming manner for any pig. Everything was all right once more in the Bhogside. The sick sowlet died from her ill-health and was once more energetic, boiling large pots of potatoes for the other pigs, who were all enjoying the perfume of roasted pork in their new location.

Marteen was an odd sort of a pig and I do not think his like will be smelt again. Good luck to him if he's alive in another world today!


- Myles O'Ryding