Page 1256 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

there from before the flood dressed up poor man and he in
mourning for the son then the same old bugles for reveille
in the morning and drums rolling and the unfortunate
poor devils of soldiers walking about with messtins

smelling the place more than the old longbearded jews in
their jellibees and levites assembly and sound clear and
gunfire for the men to cross the lines and the warden
marching with his keys to lock the gates and the bagpipes
and only captain Groves and father talking about Rorkes
drift and Plevna and sir Garnet Wolseley and Gordon at
Khartoum lighting their pipes for them everytime they
went out drunken old devil with his grog on the
windowsill catch him leaving any of it picking his nose
trying to think of some other dirty story to tell up in a
corner but he never forgot himself when I was there
sending me out of the room on some blind excuse paying
his compliments the Bushmills whisky talking of course
but hed do the same to the next woman that came along I
suppose he died of galloping drink ages ago the days like
years not a letter from a living soul except the odd few I
posted to myself with bits of paper in them so bored
sometimes I could fight with my nails listening to that old
Arab with the one eye and his heass of an instrument
singing his heah heah aheah all my compriments on your

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