Leopold Bloom is almost run over by a street car

—I was with Bob Doran, he’s on one of his periodical bends, and what do you call him Bantam Lyons. Just down there in Conway’s we were.

Doran Lyons in Conway’s. She raised a gloved hand to her hair. In came Hoppy. Having a wet. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneath his vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the glare, the braided drums. Clearly I can see today. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. Talking of one thing or another. Lady’s hand. Which side will she get up?

—And he said: Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! What Paddy? I said. Poor little Paddy Dignam, he said.

Off to the country: Broadstone probably. High brown boots with laces dangling. Wellturned foot. What is he foostering over that change for? Sees me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Two strings to her bow.

Why? I said. What’s wrong with him? I said.

Proud: rich: silk stockings.

—Yes, Mr Bloom said.

He moved a little to the side of M’Coy’s talking head. Getting up in a minute.

What’s wrong with him? He said. He’s dead, he said. And, faith, he filled up. Is it Paddy Dignam? I said. I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. I was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it in the Arch. Yes, he said. He’s gone. He died on Monday, poor fellow. Watch! Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!

A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.

Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. Well, what are you gaping at?


The language of this passage seems mostly repetitive and mundane. It turns back and repeats itself without ever getting to the point. I assume it’s a purposeful device to illustrate an old Dublin Irish Tram Carhow tiresome McCoy actually is. The rest of the writing is so thick with meaning you have to slowly chew it to make it out, but this seems to be written to make your attention wander. I looked for meaning in both sparknotes and cliff notes (1) (2) and really came up with nothing but the fact that they are making small talk about Dingham’s death. Bloom is of course distracted by a flash of stocking then nearly run over by a tramcar. This will be my image. I like the thought of an oncoming car being the only thing that can stop McCoy’s drivel, as if it’s some kind of answer to prayer. I had to look up Tram cars from the Era. I wish they were still in use in more places. It seems a shame that they are not.