As I walked along the canal from Harold's Cross into town, more then 20 swans were bathing in the water, fragile and elegant in the sunlight, writes Martha Van Der Bly.
Two swans seemed in love. They stretched and bowed their long necks simultaneously, perfectly mirroring each other.
I thought about how carefully God must have created the swans and how their beauty reflected God's greatness.
It was the morning of Saturday, February 21st and I was on my way to Trinity College to rehearse for a play: Electra by Euripides.
Watching the swans, I recalled some of the lines of the play and said them softly, making sure nobody could hear me. When Electra mourns the death of her father, she falls down on her knees and raises her hands like wings, saying with a soft voice, as if in a trance: "As a tuneful swan, by the river's streams, I call to you father. . ." Then Electra says to her father: "But you are dead, in the tricky snares of the net. Your flesh washed in the last washing of all. In death's most lamentable repose. . ."
I mumbled the lines without really feeling what they meant. I just studied the eternal beauty of the swans, and thought about love, and life and the coming afternoon: I was going to a nightclub in Leixlip, where friends were shooting a short film, in which I would do some acting.
After the rehearsals at Trinity, about 12.30, I decided I would have soup somewhere in Temple Bar before leaving for Leixlip.
On Wellington Quay I passed two black guys, who winked at me. One had his hair in dreadlocks, with brightly coloured beads, the other wore a lively red T-shirt. I smiled back and joked with them. It was a sunny day, and everybody seemed to be in a good mood. I was wearing my favourite skirt: orange with embroidered red, white and blue flowers, which reminded me of my country, Holland. Bright colours were everywhere. Who would think of the darkness?
About five past one I arrived at the bus stop and stood beside the timetable, waiting for the 1.15 bus. Across the Liffey, people were strolling on the boardwalk, and I recalled happy times when I had walked there with my boyfriend, hand in hand.
Beside me stood an older lady, dressed in purple. She seemed to be on her own and I felt like talking to her, so I asked her if she knew if the bus to Leixlip stopped here. She said she didn't know. Then we both looked up and saw the no. 66 bus to Maynooth arrive.
"Do you know if the bus to Maynooth stops in Leixlip?" I asked her. She said she didn't know because she was travelling in another direction. Then suddenly she looked up to me, straight into my eyes and then I saw her light blue eyes, as clear as water, and I thought of the swans and of eternity.
"Go inside the bus," she told me. I hesitated. I wanted to talk to her. She insisted "Go inside the bus" - and it seemed a command, no longer a suggestion. "Ask the driver. He will know." Her silver-grey hair was like a crown of light around her sweet face. I thanked her and stepped into the 66 bus. I saw the reflection of her purple coat in its mirror.
Inside the bus it was twilight. There was somebody in front of me, paying with coins. I tried to catch the driver's attention. Then something strange happened. I took out my book of Celtic prayers and looked up the prayers for Saturday morning. I read slowly:
"Blessed are you, Lord God,
revealed in your saints.
Through your holy ones you
give us a glimpse of your glory.
Holy and Strong one, Holy
and Mighty One, extend
our vision
And make us to be numbered
with your saints.
Increase our faith
And make us to be numbered
with your saints.
Direct our thoughts."
Then a dark shadow fell over the pages. Darkness was everywhere. A dark monster passed by. From a distance I heard screaming. The glass of the windows broke. One moment of silence. Then there was light again. The entrance to the bus was clear.
I thought: "I have to get out before the bus explodes." I put the prayer book back in my handbag. I got out and saw people on the ground everywhere, the black guys whom I had encountered earlier, the woman in purple.
Like so many people who survive an accident, I ask myself constantly why I lived. A mother of three died, a mother of four, a father. Why me? I do not have anyone who needs me as much as these children need their parents. I just came to Ireland to do a Ph.D. in globalisation at Trinity, to act, to find my destiny, follow my star.
Why me? Live to tell? To tell what? This story? When the bus took off on its horrific journey into darkness, prayers were sent out. May the five who are deceased rest in peace. May they be numbered with the saints. May the injured recover fully.
But praying is not enough. We must work hard to prevent anything like this happening again. The traffic situation in the centre of Dublin is appalling. It is chaotic, busy and unstructured. Whatever the outcome of the investigation might be, the tragedy at Wellington Quay cannot be regarded as an unavoidable freak accident.
So I urge the Irish Government to create a pedestrian zone in the centre of Dublin, bounded roughly by St Stephen's Green, the Liffey South Great George's Street and Trinity College, with adequate facilities for the disabled; to establish one central body for public transport in the city; and to relocate car parks to an outer ring of the city centre with connecting bus transfers.
Why wait for another tragedy to happen?