It was Tessie's habit to spend the rest of the day with her widowed sister who lived in a remodeled gatehouse off the Dun Laoghaire bypass "just a few minutes out of his way." This was a Wednesday. On that one day each week, Tessie spent the morning doing "light secretarial" for a betting shop in King Street. Bley left for work early every Wednesday, giving himself time to run a few errands and then pick up his wife, Tessie. He was Francis Bley, a retired postman working part-time as a watchman at a building site in Dun Laoghaire. Speaking from her hospital bed, one witness said: "The break was a jagged thing and I was afraid someone would be cut if they brushed against it." Two of those who recalled seeing the car come out of Lower Leeson Street knew the driver casually, but only from his days in postal uniform. Several other surviving witnesses commented on a crumpled break in the Ford's left front wing. A nightmare capsule of memory, it excluded everything else in the scene just the car and that arm. John Roe O'Neill would remember the driver's brown-sweatered right arm resting on the car's windowsill in the cloud-filtered light of that Dublin afternoon. May the hearthstone of hell be his bed rest forever! - Old Irish Curse It was an ordinary gray British Ford, the spartan economy model with right-hand drive customary in Ireland. I fear for the shape of things which may come from the heat of O'Neill's plague.
It's like some terrible plastic memory sitting there in the dark of our minds, ready on the instant to reshape itself into primitive patterns the moment the heat touches it. There's a peculiar human susceptibility you see when you look at the Soviets, them building an almost exact copy of the czarist regimes: the same paranoia, the same secret police, the same untouchable military, and the murder squads, the Siberian death camps, the lid of terror on creative imagination, deportation for the ones who cannot be killed off or bought off. This may be the lot of any government, Marxist Russians included. Such separation requires docile Subjects as well. Sometimes it's done with great subtlety as it was in America, the slow accumulations of power, law upon law and all of it manipulated by an elite whose monopoly it is to understand the private language of injustice. They always resolve themselves into widely separated Ascendants and Subjects, the latter being more numerous than the former, of course. It comes of having lost our ancient ways - the simpler laws, the rath and the family at the core of society. It has a peculiar shape with the Irish, though. PRECEDE There's a lust for power in the Irish as there is in every people, a lusting after the Ascendancy where you can tell others how to behave.
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