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Events in Ulysses chapters 3 (Proteus), 6 (Hades), and 13 (Nausikaa) are all hard to place on this map.
Chronologically, the funeral procession of ch6 starts a little after 11am. Bloom has just come from his bath by tram, most logically to the intersection of London bridge and Tritonville. He walks from there to Dignam's house and (apparently) gets directly into the carriage, facing forward, on the left:
He passed an arm through the armstrap and looked seriously from the open carriagewindow at the lowered blinds of the avenue...All waited. Then wheels were heard from in front, turning: then nearer: then horses' hoofs. A jolt. Their carriage began to move, creaking and swaying. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. The blinds of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar...
They waited still, their knees jogging, till they had turned and were passing along the tramtracks. Tritonville road. Quicker. The wheels rattled rolling over the cobbled causeway and the crazy glasses shook rattling in the doorframes.
-- What way is he taking us? Mr Power asked through both windows.
-- Irishtown, Martin Cunningham said. Ringsend. Brunswick street...The carriage swerved from the tramtrack to the smoother road past Watery lane. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, clad in mourning, a wide hat.
-- There's a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, he said.
-- Who is that?
-- Your son and heir.
-- Where is he? Mr Dedalus said, stretching over across.
The carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the tenement houses, lurched round the corner and, swerving back to the tramtrack, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels.
But what is Stephen doing so close to Gouldings, on Bloom's side of the street? And why does Simon need to stretch over across -- wouldn't Stephen naturally come into Simon's view as they pass him?
[Gabler deleted a comma between "over, across" in most editions, and notes that Joyce may have intended to replace 'across' with 'over'.]
Some analysts think Stephen got off the train at Lansdowne station, others that he changed to a tram and got out like Bloom at the intersection of London bridge and Tritonville. But neither of these models can explain why he'd be anywhere near Watery lane at 11:10am.
Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot.Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells...
Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand..?
They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking in the silted sand...
His pace slackened. Here. Am I going to aunt Sara's or not..?
The grainy sand had gone from under his feet. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the shipworm, lost Armada. Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a midden of man's ashes. He coasted them, walking warily. A porterbottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in the cakey sand dough. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Broken hoops on the shore; at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master mariners. Human shells...
He halted. I have passed the way to aunt Sara's. Am I not going there? Seems not. No-one about. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse...
His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sand furrows, along by the boulders of the south wall. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Gold light on sea, on sand, on boulders. The sun is there, the slender trees, the lemon houses...
He had come nearer the edge of the sea and wet sand slapped his boots. The new air greeted him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. Here, I am not walking out to the Kish lightship, am I? He stood suddenly, his feet beginning to sink slowly in the quaking soil. Turn back...
Turning, he scanned the shore south, his feet sinking again slowly in new sockets. The cold domed room of the tower waits...
He lifted his feet up from the suck and turned back by the mole of boulders. Take all, keep all. My soul walks with me, form of forms. So in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood...
The flood is following me. I can watch it flow past from here. Get back then by the Poolbeg road to the strand there. He climbed over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant in a grike...
A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand. Lord, is he going to attack me? Respect his liberty. You will not be master of others or their slave. I have my stick. Sit tight. From farther away, walking shoreward across from the crested tide, figures, two. The two maries. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Peekaboo. I see you. No, the dog. He is running back to them. Who?
Cocklepickers. They waded a little way in the water and, stooping, soused their bags and, lifting them again, waded out...
Along by the edge of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock. and from under a cocked hindleg pissed against it...
Passing now.
A side eye at my Hamlet hat...In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, rising, flowing. My ashplant will float away. I shall wait. No, they will pass on, passing, chafing against the low rocks, swirling, passing. Better get this job over quick...
He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant. Moving through the air high spars of a threemaster, her sails brailed up on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a silent ship.
At 16.450, DB Murphy will claim this ship arrived at 11am:
-- We come up this morning eleven o'clock. The threemaster Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks. I shipped to get over. Paid off this afternoon. There's my discharge. See? D.B. Murphy, A.B.S.
Bloom seems to be facing southwest, Gerty northeast with the church behind her:
Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bay, on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her who is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the stormtossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea.The three girl friends were seated on the rocks, enjoying the evening scene and the air which was fresh but not too chilly. Many a time and oft were they wont to come there to that favourite nook to have a cosy chat beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine,
Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and crimsoned at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that out loud she'd be ashamed of her life to say, flushing a deep rosy red, and Edy Boardman said she was sure the gentleman opposite heard what she said.
And then there came out upon the air the sound of voices and the pealing anthem of the organ.
And Gerty, rapt in thought, scarce saw or heard her companions or the twins at their boyish gambols or the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey called the man that was so like himself passing along the strand taking a short walk.
The twins were now playing in the most approved brotherly fashion till at last Master Jacky who was really as bold as brass there was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball as hard as ever he could down towards the seaweedy rocks. Needless to say poor Tommy was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman in black who was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the rescue and intercepted the ball. Our two champions claimed their plaything with lusty cries and to avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey called to the gentleman to throw it to her please. The gentleman aimed the ball once or twice and then threw it up the strand towards Cissy Caffrey but it rolled down the slope and stopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little pool by the rock.
She gazed out towards the distant sea.
And Cissy and Edy shouted after them to come back because they were afraid the tide might come in on them and be drowned.
She jumped up and called them and she ran down the slope past him
Cissy came up along the strand with the two twins
So over she went and when he saw her coming she could see him take his hand out of his pocket, getting nervous, and beginning to play with his watchchain, looking up at the church.
Edy began to get ready to go and it was high time for her and Gerty noticed that that little hint she gave had had the desired effect because it was a long way along the strand to where there was the place to push up the pushcar
And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy saw it too over the trees beside the church, blue and then green and purple. --It's fireworks, Cissy Caffrey said. And they all ran down the strand to see over the houses and the church
She leaned back far to look up where the fireworks were
And she saw a long Roman candle going up over the trees
He was leaning back against the rock behind.
--Gerty! Gerty! We're going. Come on. We can see from farther up.
Slowly, without looking back she went down the uneven strand to Cissy, to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to little baby Boardman. It was darker now and there were stones and bits of wood on the strand and slippy seaweed.
There she is with them down there for the fireworks.
Didn't look back when she was going down the strand.
A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Zrads and zrads, zrads, zrads. And Cissy and Tommy and Jacky ran out to see and Edy after with the pushcar and then Gerty beyond the curve of the rocks. Will she? Watch! Watch! See! Looked round. She smelt an onion.
Howth. Bailey light.
All quiet on Howth now. The distant hills seem.
A last lonely candle wandered up the sky from Mirus bazaar
And far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom.
What's that? Might be money. Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the strand.
Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot. Write a message for her.
Strand road (further south)
Merrion Pier (further south)
Pembroke map (tiny and blurry)
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