Eamonn Fitzgerald's Rainy Day

It's 16 June today. Meaning? Well, if you have to ask… It's Bloomsday, of course. Today, we celebrate the immortal literary works of James Joyce and commemorate the events in his masterpiece, Ulysses, all of which took place in Dublin on 16 June 1904. The James Joyce Centre in Dublin, informs us, however, that it has cancelled all its Bloomsday events as a mark of respect to the former Taoiseach (Prime Minister) Charles J Haughey, whose state funeral takes place today in Dublin.

Since his death on Tuesday, millions of words have been published about this most hated, loved, corrupt, idealistic, sinister, charming, bitter man, so we have no notion of adding to the deluge. Except to say that when we asked the Rainy Day mother last night what she thought of him, she replied, "Sure, he was a great man," and in the same breath added, "But he was a rogue." In our view, he was a disgrace to his office and his nation.

The best way to remember Charlie Haughey on this Bloomsday, we've decided, is with a few excerpts from Chapter 6 of Ulysses, the Hades episode, which begins with Leopold Bloom entering a funeral carriage with Simon Dedalus. They make their way to Paddy Dignam's burial. The main motifs are death and decay:

Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the edge of the paper, scanning the deaths. Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what Peake is that? is it the chap was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? no, Sexton, Urbright. Inked characters fast fading on the frayed breaking paper. Thanks to the Little Flower. Sadly missed. To the inexpressible grief of his. Aged 88 after a long and tedious illness. Month's mind. Quinlan. On whose soul Sweet Jesus have mercy.

It is now a month since dear Henry fled
To his home up above in the sky
While his family weeps and mourns his loss
Hoping some day to meet him on high.

Poor Dignam! His last lie on the earth in his box. When you think of them all it does seem a waste of wood. All gnawed through. They could invent a handsome bier with a kind of panel sliding let it down that way. Ay but they might object to be buried out of another fellow's. They're so particular. Lay me in my native earth. Bit of clay from the holy land. Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in the one coffin. I see what it means. I see. To protect him as long as possible even in the earth. The Irishman's house is his coffin. Enbalming in catacombs, mummies, the same idea.

Why add anything else? Joyce said it so well. "The Irishman's house is his coffin." Charlie Haughey RIP.