![]() ![]() 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. It was an ordinary gray British Ford, the spartan economy model with right-hand drive customary in Ireland. ![]() ![]() May the hearthstone of hell be his bed rest forever! -Old Irish Curse ![]()
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