Men only

Lee and I went back to the derelict Basley's Radio shop on Ledwell St. last night to systematically root through the piles of clothes and suitcases in case we’d missed anything on our first trip.

The place still got us with its forensic photo atmosphere and the eerie clutter of the rooms. Someone had been back since our first visit and rummaged around in one of the front bedrooms, taking a few copies of the Men Only and 'sixties Playboys that were scattered about. We hoped he would return—very definitely a ‘he,’ because only men seem to indulge in this form of nighttime entertainment—so we could hide and leap out on him. Lee got a leather suitcase and a 1937 book on photography.

Morale here is better than it was on Thursday, when we reached our lowest point with everyone directing their anger at one another and turning it inwards. I’m now quite looking forward to the experience of Thursday’s court case, never having been in court before. If we get an agreement it will happen outside the courtroom and the actual hearing itself should only take a few minutes. A few people will be coming along to lend moral support, and the press and TV are expected to be there.

This afternoon, Lee, Alex and I visited the abattoir off Gaunt’s Hill Road to collect blood for Lee’s photographs. It was deserted save for two men, one of whom told us to come back on Tuesday morning and also said that they have lots of work if we want it.

After they were out of sight we wandered round the place, which was quite deserted and had an uncared for air, broken doors swinging in the wind. We walked into the killing plant with its rooms of metal and blood, a giant electric power saw hanging from the ceiling, the saw-teeth flecked with fur and blood, the killing bays just metal partitions with electric stunners. A dark unfriendly place to die. Across from these a contraption in which cows are beheaded, a steel box which shuts around the animal leaving only the head protruding, then swings 180˚ degrees upside down so the unfortunate beast can be decapitated. The blood drains away into a trough in the stone floor.

What effect would daily exposure to all this have on me if I worked there? Would it encourage Dachau tendencies, lack of feeling, narrowed senses, and numbed concentration on set tasks? Alex says he will apply if I will.