Strange turns on the road to redemption

WITH all due respect to your columnist Steven King’s sceptical demythologising of the Northern Executive’s head honchos (January 16), the two old political cons (Paisley and McGuinness) have surprised more than themselves on their road to Damascus.

Or, perhaps, that should be the road to Buxton on the way to Zihuatanejo on the Pacific coast of Mexico. It’s often a strange road, right enough, the road to redemption.

But listen to this slice of narrative from Frank Darabont’s spellbinder ... “There’s a big hayfield up near Buxton ... one in particular. It’s got a long rock wall, a big oak tree at the north end. It’s like something out of a Robert Frost poem ... “Promise me, Red. If you ever get out, find that spot. In the base of that wall you’ll find a rock that has no earthly business in a Maine hayfield. A piece of black, volcanic glass. There’s something under it I want you to have ...”