Some say the Devil went an' died;
Aye th' Devil went an' died;
So th' Devil went an' died
Got buried in Kilarney.

Others say he rose again;
Aye they say he rose again:
So th' Devil rose again
An' joined th' British Army......




Yipeeeeeeeeeee!!  First light!..... Hey!

Is iontach an radharc e.....

Iontas a dheanamh de rud!....

See Dawn struts th' dancin' streets o' daybreak, th' like o' th' sham'less whore. Ain't she just th' soldier's woman!? Gaudy, gilded goddess! Flashin' Hope t' any man enought t' take her. Don't yous just love that bitch!? An' hey! Don't we all of us want a taste o' what it is she's offerin'.....A chance......Just a chance...... Away an' look again now..... See the sun in his golden chariot rides f' out God's furnace...... See that crazy blazin' bastard fire th' curtain cloud o' dark an' turn all them rooftops t' molten bronze.............. Now sand slips th' hourglass an' time's astride a boltin' stallion........So much t' win.... So much t' loose!....... The world's a very wide an' wonderful place, don't yous think? Turns on its axis every day, so they say.......But wait on th' now...... Is it not also true however soon'st yous is up; th' Devil's always up ahead o' you!....It is true! .... Hear me talkin' now will yous.... However fastest you is stridin' up th' road t' rest an' redemption; yous'll find you is always walkin' in His shadow......

An' by the way. Have you noticed? The first creatures you ever set eyes on of a morn,.... is rabbits!?.. Rabbits......? Yeah......Rabbits.



No matter. What I'm gettin' round t' sayin is, can't we all of us point t' somethin' that maybe moulded our lives? Somethin' set in stone. Is it not a fact!? Made us what we are. Somethin' seminal, in a manner o' speakin'. Somethin' that forms our every day. That shapes our every footprint from first falterin' steps t' eternity. Isn't it so? Maybe that somethin' was at birth. Or happened long before we was thought of. No matter. There's always that somethin'........ Don't you think? 

With me, would yous credit it, I can actually put a date on it. No jossin'. An actual time on the clock even: 3.24 pm on the 26 April 1920. That's when the South Galway Number 2 Brigade of Michael Collins Irish Republican Army stormed the Auxilliary Police Barracks at Ballynacraig in County Cork. In the firefight that followed th' B'hoys shot dead Superintendent Henry Stenning and mortally wounded two other Service Auxilliaries. That's Tans t' yous. Good riddence t' all o' them cunts, I says. They fuckin' deserved it. An' oh yes. I almost forgot. A British Regular Army sentry gotten snuffed as well. Poor dumb bugger of a kid got posted as th' resident scarecrow an' his head got turned b' two pretty birds. Obviously hadn't boned up on his Bumper Book of Irish Ornithology. Well someone should have told him we got monstrous big bad birds o' prey in Ireland. Oldest trick in the book that. But always works.......Mind, they didn't actually shoot him. Cut th' bastard's throat on account o' they didn't want no noise; an anyhow they was short on bullets. Seventeen he was. Some mother's son. Came f' Burnley, or somewhere. Who cares now anyhow.

Point is my Daddy lead th' Brigade. An' th' attack. Thomas Joseph Connolly. ' Big Joe ' as he was called. And my Mammy, Kitty Shine as she was then. Along with Pearse Ponchas o' Rossa; Paedar Connolly; Sally McStiophann; Aidan Bews; Eoin McAteer an' Donovan Mc Ginnis- Dog's Teeth they used t' call him 'cause th' bastard never let up on nothin'. Out o' earshot mind. An' only amongst his survivin' friends. [ An' you could count them on the fingers of an amputee ]. Sure there were one or two others. But since a few o' them got relatives still servin' Th' Cause, best less said about them the better.

They freed two o' th' West Cork Brigade's most wanted ' Altar Boys ' who'd bin lifted b' th' British Army on account o' they got caught misbehavin' wi weapons. Sean McDiamarda and Hurlingham Strong.........Oh yeah. There was one other flit th' trap that day. Danny Lennehan. Celebrated folk singer and cuddly ginger head psychopath. Had an interest in buildin' toy trains in his spare time; that is when he wasn't out an' about assassinatin' his nearest and dearest. Became Chief o' Staff o' th' Officials f' th' whole o' th' West of Ireland, he did, so he did.

'Course they had th' Brits after their arses f' that day off an' would yous believe I still got my first picture o' my folks as mugshots glarin' out from a poster: 'WANTED FOR MURDER'. Nice snap o' th' Mammy mind. Had her hair bunned up wi' them sparkin' eyes th' like o' sunshine on water. Dandy bit o' jazz. Quite understood how she was such a fetch f' th' Da. Even th' Brits couldn't spoil that. Both finished up spirited away t' America courtesy  o' the Irish Republican Army Travel Agency 'Holidays Abroad ' scheme. Stayed there in Boston an' married. Then come back t' Ireland under th' Amnesty followin' on Partition. The Da settled down t' farm th' family fields wi' his two brothers.The Mammy t' bring up children an' keep house, as was th' way o' things in them days. Very traditional.

But as was also th' way o' things, that wasn't all that was very traditional. You see Republicanism, Irish style, isn't somehtin' you relinquish. Leastways not voluntarily. Once yous in; yous in f' life. There's no ' Oh I think I'll take early retirement a' buy that little bungelow I always bin after wantin'. Oh no. Ooooooooooooh no. The only way out is through th' churchyard. An' that's when th'  Squadman, th' Gaisioch hi'self, fires that lone volley over yer coffin t'announce t' all yous is away t' meet yer maker - in many cases that's a funny lookin' feller wi' two horns an' a tail. Only then you get t' rest in peace if you have served th' Cause. An' in pieces if you haven't. Till then yous is always on call, whenever it comes. An' believe me that Batphone will ring. An' when it does, no ifs; no buts. You're on active service.

All o' which is b' way o' gettin' round t' explainin' why th'Da, though he didn't give up his day job, put in those extra hours after nightfall as Chief Executive of th' South Galway Sundown Business Bureau. I once got t' hear o' th' crude term 'Gun Running? ' Ever come across it? Never quite certain what that meant. As I understood it back home, th' Da was in th' respectable an' honourable profession o' ' Purveyor of Fine Weaponry to the Sporting Gentlemen of Galway'. Should have stuck it on th' side o' his cart wi' his coat of arms. Would have looked good, don't you think?

Hey! I have t' own up t' havin' a joss at th' duck-egg drivel logic o' th' Brits. Forever bangin' on about how guns was comin' int' Ireland. Jesus Jones! Guns comin' int' Ireland!!? Seven hundred years of violent insurrection. Followed b' a fuckin' fratricidal Civil War. Followed b' heavily armed neutrality 1939-45, [ th' 'Emergency', as we Irish call it ],  expectin' invasion b' th' Brits or th' Gerries at any moment; an followed then by th' beargarden barney Upcountry! An' they is scratchin' theit balls wonderin' where th' guns is comin' from!!?? Comin' from!!?? Comin' from!!?? God's fuckin' donkey's fuckin' bare butt!! Has it not dawned on th' bonehead bosthoons, they isn't comin' f' nowhere! 'Cause Ireland is just about th' biggest fuckin' international arms dump this side o' th' risin' moon!!!

Its th' truth, I tell you! Hear me talkin' now will yous. I grew up on our farm in Galway. The House......Our farmhouse........ Excuse me. Did I say farmhouse? Pardon me. What I meant was Advance Field Heavy Ordinance Ballistics Depot. On account o' there was more arms an' ammo stacked up in that place that fuckin' Fort Apache! Five adults an' seven children there was livin' there. Alongside sixty four assorted rifles an' carbines; twenty six handguns - mostly Mausers an Lugers-; an' five Main Battlefield Assault weapons. [ That's Mortars an' Bazookas, f' those of you unacquainted wi th' savagery of manhood ]. John Wayne an' ten platoon o' Custer's Cavalry could have turned up an' tooled up there, an' hey! Guess what? No bastard would have noticed dickey shite! Come t' think of it no bastard did notice dickey shite cause they took good care not t' notice dickey shite. An' instead t' be busy gooseneckin' th' other way!

' Guns!? What guns? We never seen no guns.......Joe Connolly? Gran' feller. Always lookin' out f' folks an' does th' visitin' f' th' SVP. An' Herself puttin' out th' flowers f' th' church of a Thursday an' be takin' communion of a day. Lovely pair.....Guns?....Loadin' up a cart wi' rifles!??.......Naw, Guard o' Roucha.....Was probably just broomstaves or sommat yous heard of. Naw yous definately well mistook there.....'

Hey! No worries on that account. Th' stoats's well tied up in the sack. Mention o' firearms an' th' whole population o' South Galway comes over wi' a sudden take of amnesia. 

Wasn't it th' Da summed it up more often than I can recall. It was his mantra. It may as well have been th' manrta f' th' whole o' th' bloodsoaked history of Ireland's tilt f' her freedom.

' Keep your head. Keep your counsel. But above all keep your guns '.

Wasn't it Cromwell said somthin' similar? Remember:

' Trust in God? Yea. Yet keep you your pistol whereat it may be handily had'.

Takes one t' know one I says. See you never know when th' sneaky bastard Brits might just nip back. Get my drift? In the playground as a nipper I remember we was fond o' singin' somethin' none too different.

' Talkin' t' th' English?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Its th' only fuckin' language
They ever understand. '



Now I readily own there may have been some smartarses who just might have bin askin' what in th' name o' slippy shite a pious an' decent churchgoin' Catholic family could possibly want wi' such fearsome, ferocious firepower?..........Well let me tell yous.... I'll give it to you straight......Rabbits.......There's yer answer. Rabbits. That's th' official explaination, mind. An' mind I can't answer f' those wi' a nasty suspicious nature what thinks that's all moonshine an' prefers t' atribute less innocent motives.  Let God be th' judge o' them I say. No. The guns was all held legal, see. An' th' Guards always come round an' checked th' Licence Certificates was in order. That is when they could be arsed t' drag themselves away from other critical, pressin, police business, th' like o' a game o' dominoes; a brew; or a two hour trip t' th' Station Pookies f' a dump an' a smoke wi' a copy o' The Sportin' Life'. In fact I recall actually hearin' f' myself one o' th' gormless thaves rockin' up f' th' annual inspection. Hideous little hunchback dwarf o' a feller forever fond o' fartin down his nose, name o' Guard Donal Lynne. Used t' call him Trim on account of his well pressed uniform, since most o' th' other bastards looked as though they shared their's wi' th' Station nags.


Th' Da knew all th' Guards. An' all th' Guards knew th' Da. They knew who he was. An' more's th' issue; they knew what he was. Thats's why they afforded him rather more than a modest modicum o' respect, pussyfootin' around when theys rolled up t' do th' Snoop. ........Trickey business Gun Control. Specially in Ireland. An' specially since they got t' leakin' gas an' lightin' it Upcountry. I'm talkin' 1971. So yous realise it was all conducted very formal; in keepin' wi' th' strict stipulation o' Resolution 2541 of Dail Eirenne : ' An Act for the Control, Supression and Supervision of Dangerous Firearms in Accordance  with Article Six of the Constitution of the Irish Republic, 1937'. Guards take it real serious. An' watchin' th' policeman and my father face eachother across th' scullery table it didn't take long f' me t' realise I was privileged to witness the Guardai Siochana, th' ageless sentinels of Ireland's freedom, in full execution of sacred duty; gravely preoccupied with the fearless enforcement of our nation's laws.


' Two Jacks an' a Queen. I'll see yous an' I raise yous four, Joe.'

Th' Da was fresh in from up th' top field. He'd still his boots on an' his dunker pushed clear clean o' his forhead, chewin' on his toothpick. He threw down his hand.

' No brag. That's me in an' beat, Donny.'

' That's two shillin' yous owe me, Joe', says the policeman. ' Mind, I'll take another sclog on account. .....Slainte!.....Mmmmmm. Jeeeze but that's good! Powerful fine hootch yous got here, Joe.'

The Da smiled. ' Pisses in it m'self, Donny. F' th' flavour yous understand.

' Whatever which', says the policeman. Makes a man forget which end he's t' piss from ever. Which reminds me. I 've forgot why th' fuck I'm here anyhow!?

Th' Da stroked his chin an' took a pinch o' shag f' his baccy pouch t' roll up. ' Somethin' about Gun Control, or somethin'.'

' Jeeeze! Th' fuck I am! ', the daft rozzer replies. ' That's it! Toss me them papers over here will yous , Joe. An' let's get shut o' this tit palaver.'

There was a wad of official lookin' documents. All wi' crests stamped on 'em.

' There you goes, Donny', says th' Da.  

The policeman peered at the pages.

' Grand. .....Jeeeze! Hey! What th' fuck is all this horseshit gabble? Th' fuckin' words is in double dutch or somethin'.'

Th' Da leant across. ' I think yous got it downside up, Donny.'

Trim turned th' page an' bent an' screwed his eyeballs at th' fancy letterin' like some frog eyed freak closely examinin' its lunch.

'Th' very fuck I have! Yous a canny feller, Joe Connolly. There that's better. Fuckin' thing don't make no sense either waybut leastways we starts off f' th' off. ' Then he hands th' papers back t' th' Da. ' Awwwway Jeeze an' fuck me now if I ain't gone an' left me specs in th' saddle bag. Read it to me f' yourself, will yous Joe. I can't b' twatted t' get up off me butt t' get 'em. '

Th' Da peered at the first page.

' Says here yous is t' make a thorough an' detailed inspection o' th' depository where th' arms is kept......'

The policeman sucked an' gozzed into the fire. An' the fire spat back.

' Th' fuck I have! If Station thinks I got time t' go sniffin' round good Catholic Christian folks houses when there criminals an' Protestants abroad given th' run o' every highway th' length an' breadth o' th' Green, then they's even more do lally than a dope head donkey! Sign it will you, Joe, yerself an' put my monika on it too. Aye an' keep th' carbon. I'll take top copy f' th' records. Needs t' keep everythin' ship shape in case o' inspection f' Dublin. Mind th' last time them cocksuckers come round God was in shorts. Much I should worry. '

I watched my father still chewing on his toothpick. He signed in silence. Then read on.

' Says here yous is t' get th' signatures witnessed b' an independent person o' known, unblemished an' upstandin' character? '

The policeman snorted,

' Does it th' fuck! Well that rules out th' fuckin' entire population o' th' Republic of Ireland b' my calculation at present. An' why would they be wantin' t' waste hours lookin' t' rope in some soap tongued garsun t' tell us what we know already, eh? Hey, Joe. T' hell wi th' fuckin' stickybeaks an' their idle biddin'. Shove Callaghan's name down there will yous, Joe. New recruit f' over Duneen way. Th' ligs fuckin' illterate; not t' mention havin'  th' savvy o' th' butcher's goose. Has t' get th' Sergeant t' sign f' him. Hey Joe. Here's grand craic! Would you believe f' th' last twelve month th' balloon head bromannah's bin collectin' his wages as Mickey Mouse!  Waheeeeeh!! ..... Should be interestin' when they comes t' do th' audit, eh?' An' he guffawed th' like o' a mule on heat. ........'Now. Just a few places f' yous t' sign, Joe.' An' he blinked an' poked a brown stained fingerat th' foot of th' page. ' Here.....'

The policeman squinted so popeyed hard at th' page so I swear th' words would have jumped up an' bit him.

' An' here too, if yous don't mind.'

' OK? '

' Grand. Just grand. An' here too if yous will. Joe.'

' That it? '

' All done an' dusted f' another year, Joe.' says Trim, scoopin' up th' papers. An' oh yes. I've t' give you this. Spot o' bedtime readin' f' yous.' And the policeman handed th' Da a booklet entitled " Guns. Your Responsibilities ". 

It was then Guard Donal Lynne cast a snivellin' leer at th' Da.

' Course if I'm a fussy sort o' feller I'm supposed t' actually get t' see th' guns too. Make sure they is all accounted f'. Make sure none's gone walkabout. But we don't need t' sweat on that one eh, Joe? I'm sure th' cupboard's all looked after, eh? An' them guns is all locked up safe and sound as th' sleepin' infant, eh? '

Swift as you swat th' pausin' fly, th' Daddy's eye caught an' fixed that o' Donny Lynne. For a moment they shared a look of mutual contempt frozen through an age of boundless and brutish antipathy. An' in that instant the whole of Ireland's bloody history passed between them. It was as though monsters thought long ago extinct has risen from the deepest deep of the ocean again to confront.

' Keeps th' key up th' crack o' me arse, Donny. '

Guard Donal Lynne broke a smile. And looked away.

' That right, Joe. Powerful brave feller as 'll go theivin' f' it there, eh? '

Th' Da now also smiled. He took a draw on his roll up an' gathered his share o' th' papers, handin' th' list o' firearms t' th' policeman. 

Then it was the policeman's turn, as he cast a knowing glance down the long catalogue o' licensed weapons.

' Mind, Joe. Lookin' at this stack o' shooters you got stashed about here, a man could b' forgiven f' wonderin' what they's all for, eh?

Th' Da pulled his toothpick from out th' side o' his mouth an' himself spat into th' fire.

' Rabbits, Donny. Fuckin' rabbits. Fuckin' plague o' th' creatures hereabouts. Fuck th' state o' th' economy' An' fuck th' knobheads what's got us int' this state. What's Dublin gonna do about th' fuckin' rabbits, I says? What sort of an answer has Charlie Haughey got f' that one?' And he sat backin his chair eyeballin' Donny Lynne an takin' another long draw on his roll up.

The policeman looked away and laughed to himself, spittin' in th' fire again an' then, with a nod, left. Not noticin' how quickly th' fire spat back. 




Sure. I knows what you is thinkin'. Yeah! Sure! Th' Guards knew what was goin' on. An' hey! Maybe some o' them was complicit. An' even them what wasn't, like th' Da said, they had lives, limbs an' some o' them litters. An' all o' them lived local. They knew what it said on th' tin. Special like that th' B'hoys always did what it said on the top o' th' tin. So stands t' reason, given a choice, they always plumbs f' " The Healthy Option". Yous hear me talkin'?



Soon'st th' door swung to, th' Da whistles f' me t' come over. I saw him sling th' booklet into th' flames that gorged on it th' like o' greedy chicks.

' Away over here, Mister.' An' he fished a brownie f' out under the clock on the mantel.

' Here's ten shillin', Mister. Be out tonight! Scoot! Yous understand? An' take yer cousins t' th' Flicks. Th' Mammy's away wi' Teresa t' yer Auntie Gracie's.' An' he flicked his nose wi' a wink. ' I've a Good Feller comin' round. Needs a dog what bites. Yous understand? '

Grand! Hey! Did I understand!? You bet I understood. Like cats have tails. Here me talkin' now will yous! That's th' great beauty o' being brought up b' a brotherhood o' sadistic, homicidal hoodlums. Yous get t' see so many super films. An' all free an' gratis. If I recall right that one was  ' The Texas Chainsaw Massacre '. I remember 'cause a couple o' days later, Upcountry, th' B'hoys pulled over a carload o' Loyalist fuckers an' lies 'em down front o' th' motor an' whacks th' fuckin' lot o' them back o' th' head. Was all over in a jiffy, so they said. Was all over th' papers too. Said th' guns come in f' th' Republic. But Christ! They would say that wouldn't they? Mind, happened so often yous'd have t' be a sixpence short not t' think somethin's up when every time you gets t' go t' th' Flicks, straightways after some poor bastard gets wasted f' real!.........Well...... I'm exaggeratin'. Maybe not every time. Once I got sent out t' see ' The Italian Job ' an' none bought it no place I got t' hear of. Though there was th' big bank job at Kilensale. Three Mill slipped th' lead. But no one got hurt. Just like no one got caught. Hey! No sweat! Probably just coincidence.

But I'll tell yous one what wasn't no coincidence. Near th' last time I ever got shipped away of an evening, so t' speak. Not long afore th' Daddy hi'self got took away b' th' heart trouble he'd had all his life. It was when Lenny McGreal, th' Galway Grass, got took out. Remember th' Supergrass Trials? Again they was goin' on Upcountry, but everone in the Republic was followin' them. An' take my word there was a bottomless well o' serious. seeeerious, seeeeeeeeeeerious bad feelin' over what that fuckin' little stoolie done shootin' his gob off t' th' Brits........More's th' point grassin' up th' B'hoys is just about th' fastest way o' jumpin' th' queue f' th' issue o' your Death Warrant. Yes sireeeeee! That gets you Gold Standard GUARANTEED Same Day Delivery Service. An' Lenny had put th' finger on a lot of very big, brutal and unnatural cavemen.

'Course Lenny wasn't stupid. An' he got t' leg it t' Canada wi' th' aid o' th' witness protection honchoes. Yous all know Canada. Big place. Cold. Loads o' bears. Up t' yer neck in elkshit, sure yous couldn't find yer own cock t' slash wi' in that godforsaken place, let alone some slippery slyboots on th' run. Word got back he had renounced his violent past an' got hi'self a whole new identity - in more ways than one so it happens - an' had discovered " His true an' honest manifestation " .True an' honest manifestation!? True an' honest manifestation!!?? Pass me th' fuckin' sick bag will yous! Turns out he's come out as a Daiseyblower!! An' gone workin' down th' manhole!! An' he's livin' in peace an' harmony wi' his feminine persona, alongside...get this......get this......Marcel!!

Hey! Jesus H Christ! Shytehawke or what!! Picture th' scene. will yous, an' fuck me sideways if I lie.........Its th' annual meetin' o' th' B'hoys. Right?.... Th' great Ard fheis itself drawin t' a close. Right?... Big big Provo Pow Wow. Right?.... An' every wired up moosehead f' Cork t' Colraine is there. An' Danny Drumm hi'self, King Kong's bigger badder brother is in th' Chair. Hewn from th' Mountain o' th' Marble Giant this one. Missed his vocation when genocide went out o' fashion, he did, so he did.

' Any other business?' sez Cong.

' An some pinhead pipes up, ' Hey! Get this Chief! We just gotten a postcard f' Lenny! '.

' That so', sez Danny, crackin' his fingers, cuppin an' honkin' his hooter in his hand.

' Too right 't is so ', sez pinhead. ' Nice view o' a vase o' yellow pansies b' some cunt name o' Van somethin' or other.'

' I think yous means Van Morrison, ' sez Kong Senior.

' Huh!? Yeah! Him too ', pinhead pops back....... Sez " Hey there yous Bunnyfuckers!.....Missin' yous loads already!...... Mind not as much as I'll bet yous is missin' me. Not t' mention that missin' ten ton what went missin' f th' Republican Widows an' Orphans Missin' Persons Fund. An' am real sorry t' have t' go AWOL so sharpish after shoppin' th' fuckin' lots o' yous t' th' Brits. No chance t' say Toodle Pip. No need t' get sore though. What's a stretch amongst friends? An' I hears they is doin' free range eggs f' breakfast in Long Kesh these days, an' yous can order organic wi' a comlpimentry copy o' th' Racin' Post!..... Huge Hugs an' Big Sloppy Kisses.......Lenny "

' Oh! Hang about th' now, there's more', sez pinhead. " PS If yous is thinkin' on comin' after me, could yous be sweeties an' fetch them kinky pink lycras from me top drawer. I'm achin' f' Marcel t' see me in 'em.'

' That about it,' mumbles pinhead, passin' th' card t' th' Chief.

' Th' fuck it is', growls th' Great Ape, standin' an' wet fartin', droppin' his kecks an' wipin' his arse wi' th' aforementioned missive. Then he crumples it an' tosses it away, pullin' up his strides an' sinkin' back in his chair pointin' wi' forefinger an' thumb th' like of a gun; clickin' wi' his thumb like he's cockin' t' shoot......' Fuckin' Bang.... Fuckin' Bang..... Fuckin' Bang Bang Bang Bang!........Sweet darlin' fuckin' Bang!......'



Clever ol' Lenny. Yous have t' admire th' twinklin' balls o' th' thave. An' it seemed he's gotten clean away wi' it, when.... Oooops!...Bingo! His mother goes an' dies back home. Talk about bad timin'! Doted on her. Worshipped th' ground she trod. An' wait f' it.......Wait f' it.........TH' DUMBELL DOZY RUNT COMES BACK F' TH' FUNERAL!!!!! Would credit th' idiot brass neck o' th' lig!! Death wish or what!! An' that's not all. Barmy tosser turns up t' lead th' mourners in....A WHITE SUIT!!! An' we all know what that means. Leastways we didn't have t' worry about his wife an' children. Christ kiss my best friend's big an' beautiful butt! Loopy guy may as well 'ave marched th' whole way round Galway City wi' a sandwich board sayin' " Bent Mouth Pink Shillelagh Here. Come an' Wipe Me Yous Suckers ". 'Cause, hey! Surprise! Surprise! That's exactly what they gone an' done. Stevie Wonder could have seen it comin'. Mind, what none could have foreseen was th' way they gone an' done it. No...oh no. An' what no bastard could have drempt up was who it was what did it............


TO BE CONTINUED....