Grandfather.
Aye. Aye. But its no use talkin' now. Ye might ha' been a wee bit the less hasty.
William John Granahan.
And who was goin' to thole yon conduck. It was too bad of him and after the to-do we had over him this very day. Its a sore heartscald, Robbie John, ye've been to me this day.
Samuel James.
Ach, sure its over. Its full time we were in our beds.
Viciously.
You'd think he was dead and buried to hear the two of ye goin' on. Sure for all know, he may be comin' back and a great name wi' him.
Grandfather.
That's you to the ground, ye cunnin' rascal. Keep him out at all costs.
Thunder and lightning.
D'ye hear yon? To think o' that poor sowl wi' his wee bit o' a coat out in the coul' and wet. If any harm come till him, Samuel James, know this, you were the cause o' it.
Samuel James.
It was his own choosin'.
Grandfather.
His own choosin'. Who flattered him and led him on? Who kep' the fiddle hangin' there and would let no one take it down, a continuin' temptation till him? And you, William John Granahan, wi' your lust for money. Aye. Lust for money. You couldn't abide him heartenin' up the house wi' a tune or two, but ye'd brak the boy's heart sendin' him out till work again, and him workin' as much as two of Samuel James there. Ye thought he was wastin' time and money. D'ye think there's nothin' in this life beyond making money above the rent. I tell you it's not the money alone that makes life worth livin'. It's the wee things you think nothin' o', but that make your home a joy to come back till, after a hard day's work. And you've sent out into the coul and wet, the one that was makin' your home somethin' more than the common. D'ye think them proud city folk will listen to his poor ould ballads wi' the heart o' the boy singin' through them. Its only us—its only us, I say, as knows the long wild nights, and the wet and the rain and the mist o' nights on the boglands,—its only us I say, could listen him in the right way,
Sobbing.
and ye knowed, right well ye knowed, that every string o' his fiddle was kayed to the cryin' o' your own heart.
William John Granahan.
Half sobbing.
There. There. God forgive me, my poor ould boy. I did na know. Whist. Maybe if I say a word or two:—OhGod forgive us this night our angry words, and ha'e marcy on my wayward son, O Lord, and keep him safe from harm, and deliver him not unto the adversary. Amen.
Grandfather.
Amen. Aye. Aye. Ye done well. Let no the sun go down upon your wrath.
William John Granahan.
Going to door.
It's a coorse night.
Pauses.
I'll lave the door on the hesp.
He unbolts the door.
Curtain.
O'GORMAN AND COMPANY, PRINTINGHOUSE, GALWAY.
"The Turn of the Road" ... is beyond question one of the most sterling products of the Irish literary revival ever seen at the Abbey Theatre. Whether depicting a matchmaker like the astute Mrs. Granahan ... or reproducing the conversation of farmers just returned from fair or market, discussing parish affairs or speculating on harvest prospects, the author is equally delightful and successful.—Irish Times.
The "Turn of the Road" ... is one of the most successful pieces ever written dealing with Irish life. The author "Rutherford Mayne" has drawn his characters with a master's hand and they stand out clear and distinct.—Freeman's Journal.
The play was of engrossing interest and was a masterpiece of composition which speaks hopefully of the work to be expected of the Ulster School of Drama.—Daily Express.
"The Turn of the Road" is a brilliantly written comedy characteristic of the County of Down.—Irish Independent.
The charm of this little play is delightful and natural; its comedy is beautifully balanced and its pathos ... superb and admirably restrained.—Evening Herald.
"The Turn of the Road" is a clever and poetic conception clothed in smart effective County Down dialogue with many bright and sparkling lines. The significance, the pathos, and inherent beauty of the concluding scene is a piece of consummate art.—Belfast Newsletter.
The author ... builds his scenes out of simple materials but always with the eye of a craftsman for striking effects and incidents.... The "Return from Market," "The Marriage Bargain," and the last scene ... have the illusion of life, and are in a phrase—which, though blunted by misuse, expresses a real need in Irish Art—"racy of the soil"—The Northern Whig.
"The Turn of the Road" is a cleverly constructed picture of life in a County Down farmhouse, evidently drawn by one who knew his characters or their prototypes in the flesh.—Irish News.
It is a play that transports the hedge rows, the farm kitchen with its dresser and turf fire, and above all the real vernacular right into our preception more vividly than an experience. The author has written a remarkable fine play of life, humour, and realism.—Nomad's Weekly and Belfast Critic.
Into the brief compass of his two acts Mr. Rutherford Mayne has compressed the age-long attitude of Ulster towards the arts.... Light is breaking after the long Arctic night. The very existence of this poignant play pregnantly indicates that the old order is changing and must soon give place to the new.—The Lady of the House.
The more we see this peasant drama in two scenes and an epilogue, the more we admire its unpretending art and its real greatness.—Belfast Evening Telegraph.