Though it contains, as noted above, many stage-and screen-Irishisms, their English speech is that of Counties Meath, Westmeath, Kildare and Longford.
For a time after Franco’s victory, Mr. Bolívar was not permitted to do business with any part of Spain, but when things settled down, it was discovered by Franco’s Embassy that as long as Mr. De Valera’s party ruled the country, they must do business with Mr. Bolívar or get no spuds. For Mr. Bolívar, in his day, had been representative of the Irish Republic in South America.
In the Catalonian Cabinet Room hung his mementoes of earlier Republics. A manifesto signed by, amongst others, Señor Loyola Bolívar, on behalf of: ‘Los Libertadores en la América del Sur.
La Raza Gaélica.
Los pueblos ya no podrán ser manejados como el alfil sobre el tablero. Ellos serán los únicos árbitros de sus propios destinos.’
Presidente Wilson occupied one side of the mantelpiece, and on the other side was a large and beautifully engraved Irish Republican Bond:
‘República de Irlanda.
Certificado de Título.
Diez Pesos.
A………….
Yo, Éamon De Valera, Presidente de Gobierno de la República de Irlanda –’ and more to the same effect I’ve no doubt, dated Febrero, 1921.
So, in the Irish Government, Mr. Bolívar had many friends, and devil a much good the Bishops could do the Caudillo, so long as De Valera’s party was in power, and if Franco wanted Irish spuds, he had to get them through the same source that the Reds got them.
For the Fianna Fáil crowd recognised but the one true Pope, by the name of Éamon De Valera, late of 42nd St., and lesser Popes were taken notice of only in a religious way.
They would always grant his Holiness censorship of immoral publications (such as this) but a tariff or a trading quota was, as my sincere colleague the late Anton Chekhov would say, a character out of a different opera.
So, Mr. Bolívar re-opened his trade with Spain and announced to his friends of the Friends of the Spanish Republic that it would be only penalising the proletariat there by refusing to send them any spuds.
He had other interests besides wine and potatoes, and for years had a big house in the County Dublin between the mountains and the sea. He ran two cars – one of them a large Hispano-Suiza.
Though an abstemious man, the cooking of his Basque chef was famous, and his cellar was one of the best in Ireland.
‘If Loyola Bolívar did not have a good sup of wine,’said the other Dublin businessmen ‘in the name of God – who would?’
Besides, the businessmen at Loyola’s table were usually supposed to be on diets. They were not very strict about these diets, only for a few days after the death of one of their number, but they preferred to diet on an excess of whiskey or claret than on an excess of starch.
It was agreed on all hands that Loyola’s lunches and dinners would have been worth ten times as long a journey, and out to his house trooped the businessmen who ate and drank and did deals over the cognacs till Mrs. Bolívar lost her temper one day, and from an upstairs window dropped an Ibizenco fish-weight on the head of the President of the Scottish Widows Mutual Financial Trust while he stood at the hall-door waiting for his car to drive up and thanking Mr. Bolívar for a wonderful lunch.
Mrs. Bolívar and Loyola married when he was twenty-one years old and she was a shy girl of eighteen from the plains of Kildare, living the simple, ample, and happy life, the only daughter of an Irish grazier.
Horses and cattle were the great interest of the countryside, and the devil and as much María Bolívar didn’t know about them.
Her maiden name was the same as her lover’s, for they were third cousins. It was in their great grand-uncle’s house that they met when he was a schoolboy on holidays.
María hunted in the season and went to Dublin in August for the Horse Show, and in May for the Spring Show, and for two weeks after
For a time after Franco’s victory, Mr. Bolívar was not permitted to do business with any part of Spain, but when things settled down, it was discovered by Franco’s Embassy that as long as Mr. De Valera’s party ruled the country, they must do business with Mr. Bolívar or get no spuds. For Mr. Bolívar, in his day, had been representative of the Irish Republic in South America.
In the Catalonian Cabinet Room hung his mementoes of earlier Republics. A manifesto signed by, amongst others, Señor Loyola Bolívar, on behalf of: ‘Los Libertadores en la América del Sur.
La Raza Gaélica.
Los pueblos ya no podrán ser manejados como el alfil sobre el tablero. Ellos serán los únicos árbitros de sus propios destinos.’
Presidente Wilson occupied one side of the mantelpiece, and on the other side was a large and beautifully engraved Irish Republican Bond:
‘República de Irlanda.
Certificado de Título.
Diez Pesos.
A………….
Yo, Éamon De Valera, Presidente de Gobierno de la República de Irlanda –’ and more to the same effect I’ve no doubt, dated Febrero, 1921.
So, in the Irish Government, Mr. Bolívar had many friends, and devil a much good the Bishops could do the Caudillo, so long as De Valera’s party was in power, and if Franco wanted Irish spuds, he had to get them through the same source that the Reds got them.
For the Fianna Fáil crowd recognised but the one true Pope, by the name of Éamon De Valera, late of 42nd St., and lesser Popes were taken notice of only in a religious way.
They would always grant his Holiness censorship of immoral publications (such as this) but a tariff or a trading quota was, as my sincere colleague the late Anton Chekhov would say, a character out of a different opera.
So, Mr. Bolívar re-opened his trade with Spain and announced to his friends of the Friends of the Spanish Republic that it would be only penalising the proletariat there by refusing to send them any spuds.
He had other interests besides wine and potatoes, and for years had a big house in the County Dublin between the mountains and the sea. He ran two cars – one of them a large Hispano-Suiza.
Though an abstemious man, the cooking of his Basque chef was famous, and his cellar was one of the best in Ireland.
‘If Loyola Bolívar did not have a good sup of wine,’said the other Dublin businessmen ‘in the name of God – who would?’
Besides, the businessmen at Loyola’s table were usually supposed to be on diets. They were not very strict about these diets, only for a few days after the death of one of their number, but they preferred to diet on an excess of whiskey or claret than on an excess of starch.
It was agreed on all hands that Loyola’s lunches and dinners would have been worth ten times as long a journey, and out to his house trooped the businessmen who ate and drank and did deals over the cognacs till Mrs. Bolívar lost her temper one day, and from an upstairs window dropped an Ibizenco fish-weight on the head of the President of the Scottish Widows Mutual Financial Trust while he stood at the hall-door waiting for his car to drive up and thanking Mr. Bolívar for a wonderful lunch.
Mrs. Bolívar and Loyola married when he was twenty-one years old and she was a shy girl of eighteen from the plains of Kildare, living the simple, ample, and happy life, the only daughter of an Irish grazier.
Horses and cattle were the great interest of the countryside, and the devil and as much María Bolívar didn’t know about them.
Her maiden name was the same as her lover’s, for they were third cousins. It was in their great grand-uncle’s house that they met when he was a schoolboy on holidays.
María hunted in the season and went to Dublin in August for the Horse Show, and in May for the Spring Show, and for two weeks after
Similar Books
