"- And, Martin Cunningham said, we wouldn't have scenes like that when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin onto the road.
- That was terrible, Mr Power's shocked face said, and the corpse fell about the road. Terrible!
- First round Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. Gordon Bennett cup.
- Praises be to God! Martin Cunningham said piously. " (U6.415)
"In silence they drove along Phibsborough road. An empty hearse trotted by, coming from the cemetery: looks relieved." (U6.436)
"Crossguns bridge: the royal canal.
Water rushed roaring through the sluices. A man stood on his dropping barge between clamps of turf. On the towpath by the lock a slacktethered horse. Aboard of the Bugabu.
Their eyes watched him. On the slow weedy waterway he had floated on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Athlone," (U6.438)
"Mullingar, Moyvalley, I could make a walking tour to see Milly by the canal. water." (U6.444)
"Or cycle down. Hire some old crock, safety. Wren had one the other day at the auction but a lady's. Developing waterways. James M'Cann's hobby to row me o'er the ferry. Cheaper transit. By easy stages. Houseboats. Camping out. Also hearses. To heaven by water. Perhaps I will without writing. Come as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin." (U6.445)
"With turf from the midland bogs. Salute. He lifted his brown straw hat, saluting Paddy Dignam." (U6.451)
"They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. Near it now.
- I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr Power said.
- Better ask Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said.
- How is that? Martin Cunningham said. Left him weeping, I suppose?
- Though lost to sight, Mr Dedalus said, to memory dear.
The carriage steered left for Finglas road." (U6.453)
(Image courtesy of the ZJJF)
"The stonecutter's yard on the right. Last lap. Crowded on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white, sorrowful, holding out calm hands, knelt in grief, pointing. Fragments of shapes, hewn. In white silence: appealing. The best obtainable. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor.
"The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. Dark poplars, rare white forms." (U6.486)
"Forms more frequent, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the air." U6.487)
"The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped. Martin Cunningham put out his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open with his knee." (U6.490)
"Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. It's all the same. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. Pomp of death." (U6.498)
In contrasting pomp of death, the funeral of King Edward VII in 1910 - here showing the German military delegation.
"Where is that child's funeral disappeared to?
A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a granite block. The waggoner marching at their head saluted. Coffin now. Got here before us, dead as he is. Horse looking round at it with his plume skeowways. Dull eye: collar tight on his neck, pressing on a bloodvessel or something. Do they know what they cart out here every day? Must be twenty or thirty funerals every day." (U6.506)
"Then Mount Jerome for the protestants." (U6.513)
"Funerals all over the world everywhere every minute. Shovelling them under by the cartload doublequick. Thousands every hour. Too many in the world." (U6.514)
"Mourners came out through the gates: woman and a girl. Leanjawed harpy, hard woman at a bargain, her bonnet awry. Girl's face stained with dirt and tears, holding the woman's arm, looking up at her for a sign to cry. Fish's face, bloodless and livid." (U6.517)