Taking Adams through the wasteland of IRA atrocities
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Long ago, in Cork, out for a walk of a summer's evening with my friend Fineen O'Driscoll, we would sometimes chant aloud the compulsive cadences of TS Eliot's poetry. Last Monday, these lines kept coming to mind as Miriam O'Callaghan took Gerry Adams through the graveyards of the armed struggle.