“Can we drive down till the old place up the Stranmillis?” Meg asked after she settled in the back of the taxi with her brother. Exhausted but hopeful, she felt the outline of the medicine bottle prescribed by Dr. Boyd in her handbag.
“Of course. Tomorrow you’ll be rested and we can take a wee dander if you like,” said David. He gave the cabbie directions to drive down to Sandy Row, back around to the Stranmillis and then onto St. Ives Gardens. Sitting back he said, “Well? How does the old city look?”
Passing Queen’s University, she said, “Wonderful, really. Little damage here. Have you cleared most of the rubble in the city?”
“Some nights it does feel like I’ve cleared most of the rubble in the city, but no. Much is cleared and most flattened, but there’s been no rebuilding. There’s no
