"But what a neats ung gels!"

(359.21-361.17)  The reading today begins with a two-word sentence/paragraph/line:  "Group A."  I don't see any Group B coming up, so what "Group A" is supposed to indicate is another Wake mystery, at least for me.  Regardless, we learn in the next paragraph that we've "jest . . . beamed listening through . . . his haulted exceprt from John Whiston's fiveaxled production, The Coach With The Six Insides."  This is another radio program.  Perhaps it's referring to what we've just heard in the pub, or perhaps it's referring to something we haven't heard.

Another radio broadcast begins.  It sounds like one to which we should be particularly attentive, since it's preceded by, "Attention!  Stand at!! Ease!!!"  This program is referred to as "the dewfolded song of the naughtingels":  the dew-folded song of the nightingales, or the two-folded song of the naughty girls (those always-nearby two young women from the park).  The song, which takes up the bulk of the remaining passage, is often sing-songy, sometimes beautiful, and (unsurprisingly) mostly obscure.  It's rooted in the musical greats -- from "beethoken" to "badch" to "sweetmoztheart" -- and it deals with themes prominent throughout the Wake.

One interruption occurs in the middle of the song.  It's some patrons of the pub noting that they recognize the radio presenter, "Roguenaar Loudbrags, that soddy old samph!"  One of the patrons adds, "We knows his ventruquulence."

The song tells us that it's the "golden sickle's hour," in which we must reap the harvest of HCE after his fall and feast on this "enormanous his," this "Panchomaster," in imitation of the Eucharist.  After this immigrant is made to feel comfortable in Ireland ("teach him twisters in tongue irish"), his fall is brought about by the two young women:  "And move your tellabout.  Not nice is that, limpet lady!  Spose we try it promissly.  Love all."  HCE falls for their flirtations:  "How a mans in his armor we nurses know.  Wingown welly, pitty pretty Nelly!  Some Poddy pitted in, will anny petty pullet out?  Call Kitty Kelly!  Kissykitty Killykelly!  What a nossowl buzzard!  But what a neats ung gels!"