Writer
Barry Dickins's manuscript of the Saint Dymphna's Bells has been lost, the only
document of the poem is my recording of it. Below is my transcription of the
recording. I have transcribed the poem without using any punctuation marks,
instead using line breaks to reflect pauses in Dickins's reading as they are
heard in the recorded version used for the installation Someone.
Saint Dymphna's BellsİBarry Dickins
Someone
rang Saint Dymphna's bells
Someone
did
At
precisely eight in the country morning
Someone
did
Ringing
for Cecilia Ryan
They
rang those bells special
Not
so much for Ron, her son
Who
disappeared from the face of the earth
in
Melbourne
Stepping
up to meet his hangman
Without
so much as an introduction
Hood
on his head
And
the beam ready
And
his executioner paid time and a half
Like
the good public servant he was.
Someone
rang Saint Dymphna's bells
Someone
did
At
country eight in the morning
At
Balranald town
Where
Ronald dudded his workmates out in the scrub
He
took them in
Taking
aces from the bottom of the deck
Playing
poker on stumps they'd cut as mates
Learning
how to defraud came easy to Ron
He
had the imagination to take people
At
Salesian Boys home in Sunbury
He
fooled smaller boys with consummate ease
Acquired
from a crooked old man
Who
deserted him
And
his three sisters
Doing
that with consummate ease as well
And
Ryan never forgave him
In
a letter that I read
Written
by Ronald Ryan he said
To
his father who cleared out on them
Why
did you, father, abnegate your position
As
hero
Out
there cutting sleepers
For
the New South railways
Ryan
dreamt of gossamer wages
Money
so beautiful only a thousand birds would know about it
Money
so beautiful it's unreal
Like
birds unreal
Money
so beautiful it's unreal
May
come your poor way at considerable expense
How
considerable only a thousand birds really knew
When
you went through the trap
When
you went through the trap
Only
birds knew at Balranald town
It
was like the end of the world had come
Said
a listening crim
To
Kingdom come
Is
that right
All
the way to an anonymous lime pit
Birds
were singing already
Along
the postcard banks of the Murrumbidgee
They
really are
And
folks from that town still speak well of your poor old mum
Cecilia
But
as for you
Senior
Detective Richie
from
North Altona CIB
When
I interviewed him
he
said "If you're gonna paint a picture of Ryan
Make
sure you get him right
Cause
he wasn't a burglar
He
was a bungler"
As
for you
Bungling
safe cracker
Essence
of hard done by Irish Catholic clown
Your
memory
As
well as your ghost
Are
still unwelcome at Balranald town
You
robbed
Or
you tried to rob
Banks
You
belted up a poor old Salvation Army officer
Didn't
you
You
slew Prison Officer Hodson
You
made Victoria tremble
You
hanged
You
conned people
If
you didn't slay Officer Hodson on Sydney road
You
were executed for the theft of
One
hundred and fifty-three Pope motor mowers
Which
you stashed in a shed
Or
you said you did
Even
during the war years you let Balranald down
You
attempted to knock over the Commercial Bank once
But
the bank officer decked you
He
busted his rifle across your head
Then
you swam under water across the mighty Murrumbidgee
And
then your mum lied to the coppers
That
you'd been asleep all night
And
that was right
How
could the Balranald police disbelieve a lovely old lady like that
Even
though she was a drunkard who screwed derros
"He's
a good boy really"
She said to Danny Webb
On
Channel Seven News when I tuned in
And
so he was
Ryan
In
his fashion
"A
good boy really"
Whom
the state really hanged
Twenty
years after the last one
A
rushed autopsy
The
body still bleeding
When
it was dumped in a hole full of quicklime
But
up at dreamy Balranald town
Someone
set the church bells to sweetly ringing
In
sympathy for a lovely old lady from their township
Who
had no evil in her body or her spirit
And
now
At
the back of Jika Jika gaol
Lies
Ronald Ryan
Unspoken
as the dawn
And
the slight chill
The
morning breeze
And
lovely thing it is
And
lovely thing it is too
When
you really want to live