turnip-mash

Updated: May 6, 2025

I'll tache him to refuse a frind, says he. 'Sarve him right, says he, 'av I bate his head into a turnip-mash an' poolverise him into Lundy Foot snuff. May be I won't, whin I meet him, thrash him till the blood pours down his heels, says he. That'll be the way iv it. That's what Gladstone will say whin the bill's lost, which he manes it to be, the conthrivin' owld son o' a schamer.

Robert John Buckley - Ireland as It Is: And as It Would be Under Home Rule